Bullseye
by Ohyeah100
Summary: Astoria Greengrass's war was never black and white. Sometimes you can make them love you, but you can't ever make them fear you. Political drama and Slytherin hijinks abound. Draco/Astoria.
1. The Sorting

_Disclaimer:_ _The author does not have any right to the Harry Potter universe or its fantastic cast of characters. All subsequent made-up characters with relations to any member of the Harry Potter universe are also forfeit. The direct quotes of other authors are hopefully either recognizable or otherwise cited._

 _A Note to the Readers AKA "Don't Shoot, Firing Squad!":_

 _Everybody who is currently awaiting an update on Welcome To Hogwarts 1949 is about to kill me but... I have new story that I've been working on._

 _This is some new story turf for me (there is romance) but as always it features Slytherins and a whole labyrinth of political drama. All questions, observations or points of confusion are my delight and I'll be sure to respond to any and all in the comments section._ _(I live in my comments box and my full time job is clarifying my own rubbish plot holes.)_

 _Hang in there Welcome to Hogwarts readers. You know I love you all the most. That update is coming._

 _Read, review, and enjoy._

 _0o0_

 _I listened, for secret inclinations are of abiding interest to a woman. In sometimes being able to determine the secret inclinations of others, woman had her single advantage over man."_

 _-Gregory Maguire_

 _Mirror, Mirror_

Chapter One

The Sorting

* * *

0o0

Astoria jolted upright into wakefulness, her long brown pony tail swinging to rest limply beneath her chin. Outside, a pale blue crack of alien light was gaining in intensity along the eastern horizon but that was not what had woken her.

Astoria pressed both of her hands flat against the sheets and closed her eyes, willing herself to remember her dream. When her breathing began to level out, Astoria gave up and allowed herself to open her eyes and stare at the darkly paneled eaves that ran above her bed down to her bulging dresser.

The twin wrought iron windows across from her were old and the glass panes were warped, but Astoria could clearly distinguish the dark forest two stories below coming into greater illumination. The woods almost looked scarier that way, Astoria mused idly, her thoughts still disconnected by sleep. The half light caught all the jagged edges of the branches and drew the eye to the places that were still shrouded in darkness. Ominous. That was the word she was searching for... Today, Astoria was going to take her sister Daphne to Diagon Alley for school shopping.

The book lists and acceptance letters had arrived a week before to much excitement on Astoria's part and relief on Daphne's. Poor Daphne had always been the quiet sort and because of that fact she was often the first to be underestimated.

They were both eleven, Astoria and Daphne and they both shared the last name Greengrass but in truth, they had only one parent in common. This was their father George Greengrass, a lawyer who had been married twice. His first wedding had been to Astoria's mother and then, as the war began to escalate he had married Daphne's mother. He was still married to the latter, albeit in misery.

Born a mere ten months apart in the same year, the role of the eldest had always been Astoria's and as such, more was often expected of her. It would be her job to chaperone Daphne today as though she was a strong-willed and practical teenager rather than the eleven year old girl that Astoria truly was. Things had always been that way but it was hard to say exactly why.

Perhaps it was because Astoria was slightly taller and looked older than eleven. Maybe it was because she was clever and had a way of disarming adults, tricking them into forgetting her age and allowing her more authority then she deserved. Either way, it had always suited the sisters just fine. Astoria was content to be cunning and stubborn and Daphne was content to follow. This year however, they would both be going away to school and every patten they had formed as children was likely to change.

It was not lost on Astoria either that, for the first time, their close proximity in age might be questioned. _It doesn't matter,_ Astoria told herself as she swung her feet out of bed and approached the window. _Ignore them. Lie._

The glass was cool as she leaned her face against it, her own lovely reflection shrinking to nothing.

She had been dreaming about the inside of a box, Astoria suddenly remembered hazily. She had been trapped in that dream box for hours until she had finally managed to thrash her way back to wakefulness.

The sun was rising now and the dew on the velvety lawn began to glimmer fickly. Astoria closed her eyes again and thought about the inside of the box. The light of day seemed to make her nightmare seem much less frightening, but the mood of a claustrophobic space still lingered on.

0o0

They were underway by nine o'clock after a hasty breakfast of oatmeal and berries. Beatrice, Astoria's vaguely negligent and and occasionally trashy stepmother must have forced their part-time house-elf to go out pick those berries from the bushes that bordered the woods before the sun was even properly risen.

This house elf named Wobbles attended to the Greengrass's on Mondays, Wednesdays and Sundays but Wobbles was really on loan from Astoria's Aunt Belladonna. It was from Belladonna that Wobbles took her true orders and Belladonna that Wobbles considered to be her true, if waspish, owner.

Astoria had long privately suspected that having a borrowed house-elf was somehow a wound to her Beatrice's vanity. The way that Beatrice treated Wobbles only seemed to prove her theory. Astoria ate the berries in guilty silence, trying not to think of the scratches that the elf had most likely sustained from the bushes outside.

Beatrice often loudly complained about the fact that their family didn't have their _own_ house elf, and this morning was no exception. But whether out of cheapness or laziness, (Astoria could never tell which) George had adamantly refused to hire a full time elf for years.

As far as George was concerned, as long as his shirts were ironed and the piles of paperwork in his office beaten back into submission every other day, there was no _need_ for more help. Aunt Belladonna was more than willing to share her elf, as it provided her with a spy in the Greengrass household. The arrangement worked out for everyone but Beatrice. In Beatrice's opinion, everything always did.

"Make sure they pin Daphne's robes long!" Beatrice insisted as she reached for the snuff box containing floo powder on the mantelpiece. "She's due for a growth spurt any day now."

Daphne was short and a little stocky, with all the appearance, even at the age of eleven, of staying that way forever but Astoria nodded obediently. It was much too early for a fight and Beatrice was wearing a bathrobe of such a shocking acid-green hue that it very nearly mesmerized Astoria into submission.

"Mum, what if I don't grow and I wind up tripping all over my robes for a year?" Daphne whined sullenly.

Beatrice reached up to touch the pins in her bottle-died blonde hair distractedly. "Then we will have them tailored at Christmas! You worry too much!"

Astoria tried hard not to look down Beatrice's bathrobe as she cast the powder from her hand into what was left of last night's flame. Instead Astoria shook her head at Daphne who was beginning to look panicked.

" _We will get you the right size robes,"_ Astoria assured her sister with her eyes. _"Beatrice will never even notice."_

"You have the purse, Astoria?" Beatrice asked, stepping back from the hearth.

Astoria made a slight motion of assent.

"Good. Remember, I took out the money myself and I know how much is in there. No treat spending."

This was what Beatrice called fun money; 'treat spending'. As if it was such a treat to buy an ice cream cone.

Astoria stepped toward the hearth, wishing bitterly that she had applied to their father directly for the money. He would have given Astoria whatever was on hand, (much more than what was in the purse she was holding, judging by its weight) and he would never have cared about what they spent it on as long as they came back with everything on their book list and wands that worked.

The flames licked up, magically warm. Astoria reached her hand out for Daphne, who stepped in beside her and took it. It was on the tip of her tongue to dictate a destination when Daphne surprised her by doing it first. Anything to get away from the threat of overlong robes, it seemed.

"Olivander's!"

They landed in the darkened front sitting room of Olivander's wand shop. Astoria had never actually been inside of it before but she had passed its dusty, curtained exterior often enough to know that they had arrived in the right place. Daphne dropped her hand. All along the walls stood rows of boxes, no doubt containing wands. Daphne's expression quickly turned to one of pure awe.

"Welcome!" a feeble voice called out to them from behind one of the creaky looking shelves. An aged wizard with milky eyes and an unfixed expression—presumably Olivander himself—ambled into a shaft of early morning light. "Ah, first timers!" he declared with unsettling relish. "My favorite."

Daphne blushed but Astoria stared back at him unabashedly. She had waited years for a wand and the unswerving gaze of a creepy old wizard was not enough to take the edge off of her anticipation.

"Yes, we're starting at Hogwarts this year. I'm Astoria and this is— " Astoria paused mid-sentence because Olivander had darted toward them with a startling, disconcerting speed.

"Yes," he whispered to himself. "I know who you are. I see it now. Lestrange is it?"

"Greengrass," Astoria corrected instinctually, feeling the color rise in her cheeks.

"I remember your mother, Lucrezia. Blackthorn and Dragon Heartstring. Eleven inches. The ideal wand for a warrior; powerful and loyal. A pity, such a pity when a wand goes to waste. They snapped it, I presume?"

Astoria had not expected this and the ill timing of her mother's name being said on the day that she was supposed to get her own first wand stopped her cold. She nodded mutely, feeling Daphne's eyes trained on her pityingly.

"Perceptive!" Olivander boomed. Astoria jumped and then realized that he had been talking to her sister. "Cedar for _you_ , I think."

He beckoned them both forward. With only the slightest hesitation, they both followed. Daphne went first, trying out three wands before brandishing a fourth that emitted a multitude of pastel bubbles.

"Cedar, containing a unicorn hair core," Olivander muttered to himself happily as he tied up the box. "Twelve inches. Very balanced."

Astoria's choice took longer. At Olivander's insistence, she first went through a row of blackthorn wands of different sizes and cores. When that failed, he switched to apple and then, with a rather leering grin, proceeded to dogwood. When these too had disappointed, he stood for a long moment without moving, inspecting her in the same way that he might contemplate a particularly complicated puzzle.

With a snap of his fingers he disappeared into the labyrinth of shelves, reappearing moments later with a blue box. Olivander opened the package in his hands and offered the wand to Astoria, careful not to touch it himself as he did so.

Astoria bristled but reached into the swathing of tissue paper and took hold of the thin rod of wood it contained. The moment her hand met the polished surface of the handle, she knew that he had picked the right one at last.

Astoria lifted the wand up gently and imitated the motion her father sometimes made when he wished to return book to its proper place on a shelf. A soft rainbow of gradient light arced where the wand had passed through the air. Daphne clapped and Olivander clutched the box happily.

"Hawthorn, with a Phoenix feather core. Eleven inches. Durable. The wand of an illusionist my dear," he chatted away as he punched their purchases into his ledger and drew up a receipt. "Rather rare, Phoenix feathers. Very individual. Hawthorn owners too, in fact. Outwardly, they appear to meet a certain persona, but on the _inside_..."

He did not stop talking even as Astoria was paying him and it was with a sense of relief that they heard the bell tinkle when the door closed behind them.

"Wow," breathed Daphne tensely, searching for a political way of describing what they had just been through, "that was really—"

"Disturbing?" Astoria suggested, relishing the distance between the girls and their parents as an excuse to talk freely.

Daphne, who normally shied away from anything rebellious, nodded in agreement. "Everyone talks about Olivander because he is so talented, but they never mention—"

"—that he's probably a pedophile?" Astoria finished with a wicked smile. This time Daphne did blush so Astoria dropped the line and picked it up somewhere more neutral. "Lucky you. He picked a wand that matched you fast enough."

Daphne nodded, smiling a little. "True. Yours took a long time. I feel like he kept trying to make you pick out a wand like your mum's."

"Well, he was wrong about that, wasn't he?" returned Astoria a little stubbornly, still uncomfortable with her long-absent mother's sudden reemergence in the wand shop. The two girls picked their way down the street, careful not to lose sight of each other in the mass of pre-fall shoppers.

"It's not so bad, though, really. He didn't recognize me at all," Daphne chided without thinking, stepping aside to give what Astoria could only assume was a real giant room to sneak past them. A small brown haired boy trailed in the giant's wake slurping an ice cream cone and Astoria suffered a brief resurgence of annoyance for her stepmother's thrifty budget.

"Yes, well," Astoria murmured quietly as she opened the door of Madam Malkin's robe shop, hoping that there was no one around to overhear them, "your Mum's not in prison, is she?"

The shop enveloped them with the warm smells of upholstery and soft leather. Astoria immediately felt the tenseness in her shoulders soften a little. She reached out a hand to finger a bolt of luxurious red velvet.

The sound of the door closing seemed to have alerted Madam Malkin to their presence, for she looked up and made a sign of vague impatience in their direction. There was already a pale, blonde haired boy on one of the stools in the front. He was watching as Madam Malkin pinned his robes up with an expression of studied distaste.

"You go first," Astoria urged, pushing her sister forward.

The blonde, pointy faced boy looked vaguely unpleasant and Astoria wanted a moment to peruse the fabric in peace. A moment to undo whatever Olivander's mention of her mother had done to her previously upbeat mood. Maybe it was because her mother was almost never mentioned at home? Perhaps that was why the name had unsettled her?

"I don't want to, you go," Daphne insisted, eyeing the boy _and_ the shop keeper nervously. It was a combination of Daphne two least comfortable subjects; boys and professional opinions.

"I want to look at the fabric, go on!" Astoria insisted, literally giving Daphne a small shove. When Daphne continued to resist, Astoria snapped, "Go on then! Beatrice hasn't owled ahead to make sure your robes run long!"

"Don't call her Beatrice," Daphne huffed offhandedly, stumbling toward the stools, "but fine."

Astoria made a quick circuit of the store, her eye occasionally drifting away from the cloth toward her sister protectively.

"Hogwarts as well, is it?" the pale boy drawled disinterestedly while Daphne's hem was pinned roughly into place.

"Mhmm," Daphne's voice responded, muffled by the collar Astoria knew she was probably hiding her face in. Astoria sighed, determined not to feel guilty about browsing fabric before purchasing.

After a moment the boy spoke again, perhaps as much to hear himself talk as to keep up the pretension of any kind of conversation. "There was another boy in here a moment ago—an _orphan._ And he was being chaperoned around by the school groundskeeper. Can you even imagine?"

 _A least the boy had a chaperone_ , Astoria thought snidely.

"Huh," intoned Daphne uncomfortably. "Crazy."

"Well, not crazy so much as pathetic, if you ask me," the boy sneered correctively.

Astoria stopped inspecting a wheel of silk and turned back to look at this rude stranger, feeling vaguely insulted despite herself.

"He said his parents were magical, but I don't know if I believe a word of it." The boy dropped his voice. "I mean, what sort of _decent_ , old family can't even offer up a proper relative to shop with? Isn't that the sort of thing old dowager aunts are supposed to be good for?"

 _The kind with imprisoned mothers and negligent fathers_ , Astoria answered the boy tensely in her head, having heard enough to want to put her sister out of her misery.

"What's your surname anyway?" the boy went on, inspecting the pins in his sleeve.

"Greengrass," Daphne answered cautiously, twitching her bangs.

"I'm not sure I've ever heard that before," the boy remarked suspiciously.

"That's because they're mostly French," interrupted Astoria wryly, slipping between the racks of pre-made robes that had been blocking her from view. She leaned against one of the tall windows that looked into the alley, determined to appear at ease.

Madam Malkin jumped and dropped her pin cushion. The blonde boy must have shared a touch of this surprise because Astoria thought she detected a faint pink flush in his cheeks as his pale eyes took her in.

"I suppose you only know the English names, then?" Astoria prodded antagonistically, crossing her arms.

" _No_ ," the boy sneered defensively, but it was obvious that Astoria had caught him off-guard and he seemed to be struggling to remain aloof. "What's your full name then?"

"I'm Astoria Greengrass," said Astoria civilly, "and this is my sister Daphne. I don't think I caught _your_ name."

"Draco Malfoy," said the boy lazily, clearly expecting this name to land with an impact.

Draco might not have heard _her_ name before, but Astoria had certainly heard his. His last name at least. The Malfoys were well known for their wealth and connections, but it was their decided, yet unproven, crookedness that won over most conversations.

"Oh," said Astoria, determined to be unimpressed. "I think I've heard that before."

Draco flushed for real this time. "Your parents live in France then, do they?" he demanded. "What are _you_ going to Hogwarts?"

"We live in Tidenham, actually," Astoria smirked, "That's in England, so you know. Only I'm afraid you've never heard of that either. Dad's a lawyer, he emigrated years ago."

Daphne was staring at her with growing horror but Astoria had a teasing, sarcastic streak that always outstripped her better senses.

"Actually, come to think of it," Astoria went on, "I'm pretty sure my dad represented a company your father was invested in a few years ago—the one selling Pepperup potions with trace amounts of poisonous Hemlock?" Astoria tossed herself into a window-seat with a smirk. "Whoops!"

Malfoy stared at her, unsure if Astoria was an inappropriate joker or if he had never been more insulted in his life. Astoria grinned at him. At the last second, sensing she would embarrass him, she bit her lip teasingly. Draco went straight past flushed to a rather hormonal shade of red.

"Astoria!" Daphne pleaded in alarm. "Don't be taunting!"

Astoria chuckled, thoroughly enjoying the thought that she could make almost anyone, including Lucius Malfoy's son, uncomfortable.

"That's you done, my dear," declared Madam Malkin, attempting to usher Malfoy off the stool. But Malfoy was still staring at Astoria as though he had never seen anything quite like her in his life. With a final shrug, he sneered and striped off the now-tailored school robe, forcing Madam Malkin to bend over and fold it for him.

"Off with you," she prompted. "Your mother has been waiting for you at Florish and Blotts for nearly an hour."

Astoria gave Draco's receding form a final sarcastic wave (albeit only once she knew he could not see her do it) and then stepped up onto the stool he had just vacated. Beside her, Daphne sighed and flicked her bangs again.

0o0

The morning of September the first dawned clear and bright. Astoria roused herself early and spent an hour or more checking and rechecking her luggage while sipping coffee.

The fact that Astoria knew her stepmother would not approve of her choice of beverage only contributed to the sense of great satisfaction it gave her. She was more than certain that she had everything she would need in her trunk: books and parchment, a set of quills that her aunt had sent over the night before as a present and a few pairs of very good earrings that she would now finally have a proper chance of showing off.

Astoria continued in the same state of orderly excitement until after breakfast when, staring into the front sitting room, she had the sudden realization that it would be months before she saw it again.

Foisted out the front door by Beatrice with George calling his luck and love behind them, Daphne and Astoria got into the car that the Greengrass family occasionally drove and bumped their way down the lane. Astoria's slim breakfast threatened to come up with every patch of uneven road they drove over in a bubbling mixture or terror and ecstasy. Beside her in the backseat, Daphne had gone the alarming shade of a chalky vanilla milkshake.

They reached the train station by ten thirty. This left them with a comfortable stretch of time in which to reach the platform. They crossed through the barrier without incident, at which point Astoria finally noticed the vivid magenta dress that Beatrice was wearing.

Cringing and hiding from any face she might recognize from a childhood educational course or camp, Astoria managed to board the train with all of her luggage and banish any threat of homesickness in one motion. Daphne trailed behind her, her face remarkably unmarred by embarrassment even when Beatrice hugged her.

When they first felt the train begin to rattle, the engine pushing them slowly out of Kings Cross Station, they smiled together like happy children and the nerves of the morning vanished along with the crowd of waving parents.

They worked their way down the aisles in search of seats, but many of the compartments seemed to have already been filled by older students, wiser in the ways of the Hogwarts express.

"Where are the first years supposed to sit?" Daphne wondered out loud, ever the worrier. "Do you think they have some kind of special compartment?"

"Just keep walking," Astoria assured her dryly. "Wait until we either see someone we know or find people who look especially cool."

A compartment door slid open with a thwack and a gale of muffled laughter trickled out like parlor music. A boy's freckled head popped out at a nearly impossible angle and grinned at them mischievously.

"Excuse me, but could you possibly be looking for us?" The muted laughter in the compartment elevated to a higher octave.

"Sorry?" Astoria asked, somewhat startled but not altogether unwilling to turn down a place to sit.

The boy's grin slipped from mischievous to slightly sheepish and he ran his broad hand though his red hair. He was older then a first year by look and a born deviant if Astoria had ever spotted one. "That's us—" the boy insisted, pointing to his wooly, sweater clad chest, "—the coolest people at Hogwarts."

The laughter raised another pitch at the redheaded boy's daring. Daphne took a step back, clearly put out by the entire scenario.

"Really, is that right?" Astoria raised one eyebrow and tilted her chin up. "Well then, I guess I've been searching the whole train over just for you, haven't I?"

"Bloody hell!" called another voice from inside the compartment, shaking with mirth. "Stop heckling the poor girl, Fred, she's got your number!"

There was a sound of unsteady footsteps and then another boy's head wriggled in next to Fred's. This boy had a round, caramel colored face. His expression changed from embarrassed to vaguely delighted when he spotted Astoria. "On second thought, never mind. Come on in! My name is Lee by the way. Lee Jordan. I'm the brains of this little party."

Daphne pulled on Astoria's robe, urging her away from the compartment and its raucous inhabitants.

"It's a good thing I met you, Lee," continued Astoria, faking a look of mock crossness. "Because, frankly, I prefer a brain over a troublemaker any day."

The compartment exploded with laughter and and low whooping sounds.

"Astoria, I am _not_ sitting in there," hissed Daphne firmly.

Astoria shrugged, never truly having intended to stay in the first place. "See you at Hogwarts, Lee the brain!"

They continued to push their luggage along and the last thing they heard before the compartment snapped closed was a low whistle. "I hope that one's a Gryffindor!"

"You shouldn't encourage people like that," scolded Daphne, sounding half amused and half like a mommy.

"Well, why not?" asked Astoria, grinning a little despite herself. "We are going to have to find friends here eventually."

"Yes, but we don't need a pack of leering lunatics who heckle young girls walking down hallways."

Astoria laughed out loud at the thought when they were hailed again, this time by name.

"Daphne! Astoria!"

Astoria's head jerked upward. Ahead of them was a broad, open compartment. Several of the seats closest to them had been piled up with luggage in various shades of black, brown and red although most of it, Astoria noticed, seemed to be in fairly good condition.

Astoria's gaze reached further, over two massive young boys who were leaning against a tabletop, to find the false and rather squashed face of Pansy Parkinson beaming back at her from behind it.

Astoria and Pansy had met a few times, almost entirely through the influence of Astoria's Aunt Belladonna. They had once stayed together along with a group of several other girls during a week long finishing school course that Astoria's aunt had also insisted on and paid for out of pocket, leaving Daphne, the lucky daughter of Beatrice and not Lucrezia Lestrange, at home.

If prompted, Astoria would have described Pansy as shallow and simple at best. At worst, she was mean without the wit or gift of observation needed to make her even a little amusing. They had never gotten on well, had never had anything out of the way to do with each other and, for a moment, Astoria was utterly perplexed as to why Pansy would have shed any attention toward them at all.

Then, slowly, Astoria began to take in the group of people Pansy was hovering awkwardly over and she understood. It didn't matter if Pansy liked them or not because Astoria and her sister were pure-blooded and new to the rest of the compartment. Therefore, it was worth Pansy's while to prove that she knew them.

"Pans," said Astoria somewhat stiffly.

The two massive boys leaning on the table turned to look in their direction oafishly. Between them, the pale face of Draco Malfoy, dwarfed in size but still recognizable, turned to cast them half of a haughty, disinterested look before his gaze snapped back again in recognition.

"I can't believe it, we are finally going!" squealed Pansy breathlessly. "Hogwarts! Aren't you excited? I hear even Harry Potter is coming this year!"

She was looking at Astoria but it was Daphne who responded, shoving her trunk sideways against the already teetering stack.

"Absolutely!"

Daphne's relief to have a found a compartment that was not inhabited by hooligans was nearly palpable and Astoria experienced a brief and unusual rush of scorn for her sister's easy acceptance of such false company.

"Well, it's not over yet," joined Astoria somewhat contrarily, stowing her trunk as Daphne sunk onto an open bench. "There is still the sorting ceremony."

"It's no mystery where I'll be going," declared Pansy, attempting to share a knowing look with Draco. But Draco was so busy frowning distractedly in the Greengrass sister's direction that he did not notice.

"Haven't you already been sorted?" he asked accusingly, looking first at Astoria and then back to Daphne rudely. "I _thought_ you said you were sisters."

It was Pansy's turn to frown. Clearly it took some of the wind out of her sails to know that she and Daphne had already met such a prized friend. This tracked with Astoria's opinion of Pansy— she _would_ worship anybody more important then herself, even if that person happened to be a total jerk.

"So what if they're sisters?" snapped Pansy with an air of unexplained aggression. "What difference does it make?"

Draco scoffed incredulously and turned back to Astoria. "You're not exactly _twins_."

Astoria had known that this was coming, the inevitable need to explain herself and her family with its confused double wartime marriages. She had a delicate speech already worked out, explaining who exactly her mother was, but the look of haughty amusement on Malfoy's face wiped the slate clean. Identifying her mother now would only serve to make Draco think that they had something in common and Astoria suddenly and firmly felt that she would infinitely prefer the shame of a runaway parent to having to admit to any Death Eater ancestry.

"No, we aren't. We obviously have different mothers. Marrying twice is still legal isn't it?"

"In the same _year_?" needled Malfoy, his eyes narrowing somewhat. One of the large trollish boys grunted in amusement.

"Well, that's the French for you," said Astoria dismissively, sitting down next to her sister, who was eyeing her somewhat accusingly. "Half the time they're arguing and the other half they're in bed with each other."

At the mention of anybody in bed, Pansy, who had been watching the animosity of the conversation with obvious happiness, interrupted tensely. "So, where do you think you'll be sorted? Daphne, you must be so nervous! What if they put you in Hufflepuff?"

By the look on Daphne's face, this frightening idea had clearly never even occurred to her.

"Daph will be a Ravenclaw, no doubt about it," said Astoria firmly. "That's where they send the smart ones."

"It's usually a question of where your parents were sorted," said a tall, stringy boy, who up until this point had been sitting quietly with a book without drawing any notice. "They say it often runs in the family."

Malfoy smirked and leaned back in his seat, his eyes flicking back in their direction slightly. "I'll be in Slytherin, of course. It's honestly the _only_ house worth being sorted into, don't you think?"

The stringy boy shrugged noncommittally. "Ravenclaw's not a terrible second option."

"Well, dad went to Beauxbatons so no help there," said Astoria, looking directly at Daphne as she spoke.

The tall boy put down his book. "Do they sort there?"

"Yes, but they do it with a cloak instead of a hat and there are only three houses, I think," answered Astoria conversationally, taking in the sallow color of the boy's skin, which was already pocked by acne. "I think he was in the house with the moon as a symbol but I'll be damned if I can remember the name of it."

"House of lunes?" the boy suggested, smiling somewhat slyly.

Astoria decided to overlook the fact that the joke was either a bad French pun or a potential insult and laughed. "Well, I'll probably be in Slytherin as well," the boy admitted. "Most of my family has been."

"Astoria," interrupted Pansy, "that's Theodore Nott. Maybe you've already met as _well_ but if not, Theo, that's Astoria Greengrass and her sister Daphne."

"Greengrass..." repeated Theodore slowly. "Is your dad George Greengrass, then?"

"Yeah," said Astoria with a smirk, resisting the urge to glance in Draco's direction.

"I met your stepmother at a ministry thing—a Magical Creatures benefit, once," said Theodore. A touch of a goading grin transformed his face, as though the vision of Beatrice was still memorable to him.

"Let me guess, she was pink from head to toe and trying to wear niffler as a hat?"

"Astoria!" Daphne complained, blushing slightly but Nott laughed appreciatively and Astoria decided on the spot that she liked him, even if he was ugly and slightly over-prone prone to cynicism.

"Why is that funny?" Malfoy demanded, left out and annoyed by it.

"Because she dresses like a trollop," said Theodore.

Astoria laughed again and Daphne buried her face in mortification.

"She really does, doesn't she?" Astoria went on, amused. "Like a magpie for anything shiny or bright. I don't think she ever met a theme she didn't just _love_."

Malfoy scoffed somewhat appreciatively but it was clear that he was not used to abusing his own relatives and the idea of wanting to do so was slightly foreign to him.

"What house was she in?" Theodore asked Daphne, perhaps because she was beginning to look distressed.

"Slytherin," Daphne answered promptly, "both of our mothers were in Slytherin."

Draco raised an appreciative eyebrow, as though two Slytherin mothers partially made up for the inconvenience of a French father, even if he was a pureblood. "Well that bodes well for you, I suppose."

"Draco, has your father told you any secrets about the common room yet?" asked Pansy brightly, pulling the conversation away from the Greengrass's again.

"It's under the lake obviously," Malfoy drawled, sounding very nearly bored, "but listen to this— he says there is a portal under there somewhere. Apparently there is a lot of unexplained traffic in the water."

"Ohh!" whispered Pansy, her flat, simple face going round with fear. "Spooky!"

"It's too bad I won't get to see it," interrupted Astoria a little snidely. "That does almost sound interesting."

"Going for Ravenclaw then?" Nott prompted, looking almost disappointed.

"Oh, no," Astoria shook her head, "I'm gunning for Gryffindor."

She had meant this as a joke, but the second the idea left her lips as a formed thought, she was surprised to find that the idea excited her. Wouldn't _that_ be the ultimate joke? The daughter of Lucrezia Lestrange in Gryffindor? Her aunt would go ballistic...

Pansy made a choking sound of disgust. "As if, Astoria! You just called your stepmother a trollop, what, like five minutes ago? They'd _never_ have you."

"Why would you _want_ them to?" remarked Draco in sneering surprise.

Astoria was spared the effort of having to disguise her ill motive when the compartment door slid open again and two new girls entered. One was willowy with pale skin, freckles and a severe hair cut. The other was as wide as she was tall and reminded Astoria of pictures she had occasionally seen of baby mountain trolls.

"Tracey! Millicent!" squealed Pansy, leaping up to meet them. Astoria had to avert her eyes to avoid smirking.

Draco sprawled into the space Pansy had been filling and cocked his head back; a smarmy little gesture, Astoria decided.

"Do you suppose it's true then?" he asked. "Do you think Harry Potter really is coming to Hogwarts?"

Astoria listened with interest now.

"He's our age, isn't he?" reasoned Theodore. "I suppose he's probably on the train right now."

"Father will want to hear about him, of course," murmured Draco pompously. "Someone really ought to go find him."

" _You_ do it, I'm not hunting him down," scoffed Theodore. "What do I care about Harry Potter? Old news, if you ask me."

Behind them, Pansy shrieked with what Astoria could only assume was laughter and bent closer to Millicent and Tracy eagerly.

"I'll look around for him with you," Astoria offered, driven by her desire to be out of Pansy's compartment. Malfoy's eyes flicked back to her, and though he looked somewhat surprised, he did not seem to be unwilling. "We should bring one of those two with us, though," added Astoria thoughtfully, motioning toward the two thick-set boys. "In case Potter tries to vanquish one of us in the hallway."

Malfoy laughed appraisingly and then seemed to remember himself. "That's Crabbe by the way," he made a quick and uninterested motion toward the boy with gorilla arms, "and the other one's Goyle."

Death Eater families all, thought Astoria morosely. Leave it to Daphne to find the worst crew imaginable. Remembering her sister, Astoria looked over at her just in time to catch her staring longingly after Pansy's defected crew of future Slytherin girls. _Merlin_ , thought Astoria in disgust.

Astoria stood up and brushed her skirt back down past her thighs, feeling Draco's gaze following her hand as she did so. "Well, are we going or not? Theo's chicken."

"I'm not chicken," Theodore explained defensively. "I literally just don't care."

Astoria grinned and switched her attention back to her sister. "Daphne, are you coming?"

Draco, who was halfway to the door and had forgotten about Daphne entirely, looked back with a touch of impatience. Daphne stared at Malfoy's resentful face and then glanced back at Theo, who had propped his feet up on the vacated table and begun to pick his nails, looking rather like a villain in a muggle western movie.

"No, I want to stay here. Wait, where are _you_ going?" Daphne panicked slightly. "Don't leave me!"

"In or out?" called Malfoy irritably, clearly resenting the hang up.

"The food trolley is coming soon," insisted Daphne hopefully. "Stay and eat with me."

Astoria sighed and waved Malfoy on. Malfoy gave up with an annoyed shrug and pushed thick-armed Crabbe out of the door and into the hall.

0o0

By the time the the train began to slow down and they had all shrugged into their new school robes by the fading sunlight, Astoria had spent nearly three hours staring out of the windows. She watched as the forests turned into highlands and the highlands occasionally hiccuped and became lochs. Pansy had commandeered the table when the boys left and when, hours later they still had not returned, Pansy had not stopped her constant stream of conversation for a single breath.

The Hogsmeade platform was a bustling swirl of excited students as they stepped off the train, bodies jostling up the hill toward a fleet of carriages. It was on Astoria's mind to follow them when Daphne pulled hard on the arm of her robes and pointed toward a giant man wearing a moleskin overcoat. "He says first years are supposed to go that way!" Daphne whispered in open mouthed terror.

They were conveyed down a short lane, fumbling and bumping against each other in an attempt to see where they were going in the gathering dusk.

The dirt road beneath their feet gently gave way to granite and then, abruptly, they were standing on an ancient, water-worn dock against which two dozen small wooden boats were bobbing innocently. It was clear that they were meant to climb into them, so climb Astoria did, the strange liquid movement of the water beneath the boat tugging and pulling at them dishearteningly. The giant bearded man tapped the bow of his own vessel with his wand.

"Fucking hell!" hissed Theodore Nott as he flailed, having literally just slipped in next to Astoria and Daphne when the boats lurched forward.

As they made their way across the surface of the lake, the wind began to pick up. Near the center of the body of water they were crossing, the waves ceased to lap soothingly at the hull of their boats. Choppy sprays kicked up into their hair and misted the seats but Astoria only had eyes for the castle that now loomed over them like a crouching beast. All of the windows in the spindly turrets and round towers were lit up like a string of christmas lights. A black lawn sprawled as far away as Astoria's eyes could manage and a great forest rose its many limbs in the distance.

The entrance hall hit Astoria like a southerly wind when at last they had made their way up the front steps. Gleaming torches filled the room with a warm, amber colored light and Astoria had to resist the urge to wipe her cold nose on her sleeve.

"The firs' years, Professor McGonagall!" announced the giant man who had led them across the lake.

Swiveling, Astoria spotted the woman he was clearly addressing; a tall, rather mince faced witch with a pointed hat and an expression that left no doubt as to how she felt about nonsense.

"Thank you, Hagrid. I will take them from here," Professor McGonagall responded curtly before rounding on the students and leveling them all with a look of vague suspicion.

"Welcome to Hogwarts. The start of term banquet will begin shortly, but before you take your seats in the Great Hall, you will be sorted into your houses. I suggest you all smarten yourselves up as much as you can while you are waiting and I will return when we are ready for you."

Her eyes lingered on a round-faced, sad looking boy with an incorrectly fastened cloak before she swept out of the room through a set of impressively tall, wooden double doors.

Whispers broke out all over the hall.

"How do they sort?" muttered a boy with a mop of dark, untidy hair several feet away. "What happens if you don't fit in any of the houses? Do they just send you home?"

Someone behind Astoria scoffed disdainfully. "Wish they _would_."

It was Malfoy, standing with his friends Crabbe and Goyle, who looked, if anything, even more immense now that they were standing among so many people of average size. Astoria followed Malfoy's eyes, narrowed with dramatic distaste, to the dark haired boy who had just spoken.

"The great Harry Potter," Draco sneered. "Can you even believe it? At least he has the sense to know that he doesn't belong here."

Astoria looked back with interest. Harry Potter, clad in his new school robes was wearing a pair of rather unstylish, round glasses and an expression of near nausea but his face had a kind and unpretentious look to it even as he eyed the double doors with dread.

"Found him, did you?" Astoria asked lightly, not wishing to sound over eager or interested.

"Yeah," Malfoy replied eagerly, his voice dripping scorn. "I found him in a rat infested compartment eating a dirty sandwich. Of course, he was with Ron _Weasley_ —" Draco pronounced the name 'Weasley' the same way a person might normally say 'garbage bin', "— so really, what else can you expect?"

"Who is Ron Weasley?" Astoria wondered aloud, feeling as though she had missed more than one crucial detail somewhere.

"Another one of Arthur Weasley's sons. You must know about _him_ —that lunatic muggle supporter who draws up those odd trinket laws at the ministry?" Astoria did _not_ know, but Draco had barely paused for breath and it did not seem to really matter. "He's got to have about eight children by now. Father says you can spot them by their red hair and hand-me-down robes, but it turns out that he forgot to mention that they've all got identical starving expressions. Of course, maybe that's just in the summer— they're poorer than house elves on strike."

Astoria stared at Draco, hardly able to believe that a person could be so rude and manage not to look at least slightly ashamed about it. Perhaps Draco could read some of her thoughts in the look on her face because when he scoffed again, it was almost halfhearted.

"Move along now," came the sharp voice of Professor McGonagall, reentering the hall by stealth. "The sorting ceremony is about to begin."

Professor McGonagall swiftly ordered them all into a line alphabetically and when she was satisfied, the doors to the Great Hall opened to admit Hogwarts newest students.

There were the four long house tables Astoria had heard so much about, the four house colors all winking down at her decoratively.

Astoria found the Slytherin table and studied it as the rest of the students filed into the hall behind her. Silver and green did nothing to disguise the ugliness of many of the students sitting there, from the lanky teenage form of Marcus Flint, (who Astoria only barely recognize from a childhood archery team they had both been members of), to a girl who looked as though her face had been shut in a heavy door repeatedly. They literally _looked_ like thugs _,_ Astoria thought to herself in surprise, trying to picture herself sitting amongst them and rejecting the idea almost immediately. She was starting to sweat.

"When I call your name, you will put on the hat and sit on the stool to be sorted," called Professor McGonagall over the noise of the watching students. She began calling names. "Brocklehurst, Mandy," quickly became a Ravenclaw before their very eyes.

Astoria was starting panic, something she had not expected, suddenly powerfully aware of all of the watching eyes that were trained on them.

"Brown, Lavender!"

Astoria had started the morning with the calm feeling that whatever would be, would be. Now that she was standing in front of the sorting hat however, she was less sure of herself.

Astoria had always suspected that she probably _would_ become a Slytherin when the time came, a fate that she had accepted from far away in the same way that she accepted all eventualities, like future change and death.

"Crabbe, Vincent!"

Now that she could actually see the Slytherin table however, filled with unkind, somber faces, a true fear began to settle in her chest and her future rapidly began to unfurl in front of her as a direct parallel of her mothers. A life where blood-pride and violence, greed and cruelty were all just stepping stones in the pursuit of greatness.

"Greengrass, Astoria!"

Astoria blinked stupidly and then realized, with an electrical jolt that shot through her limbs, that it was finally her turn to step up to the stool. Putting one foot in front of the other, Astoria slowly crossed the hall. With a sense of great resignation, she allowed the hat to be lowered over her eyes.

" _Interesting,_ " purred a niggling little voice in her ear, " _I sense resistance... and fear. I don't bite, you know._ "

" _Anything but Slytherin_ ," thought Astoria desperately. " _Even Hufflepuff will do. I'll change_ — _I'll act the part. I'm adaptable like that, just please don't put me in Slytherin._ "

" _Not Slytherin?_ " the hat chuckled. " _How disappointing! Clever, ambitious and a little bit manipulative? Not to mention a powerfully guarded desire for dominance over others and you ask me to go against instinct? Why not go where you might naturally thrive?_ "

" _I can't go to Slytherin,_ " thought Astoria by way of an answer, trying make her thoughts sound final, even in her head. " _I'll hate it. Don't I have any say? You said yourself that I'm clever. Put me in Ravenclaw._ "

" _A bit bossy too,_ " murmured the hat, obviously amused, " _but you've no love of knowledge purely for knowledge's sake. You do not invent to learn, you invent for progress. You do not solve a riddle for the joy of pondering, but for the love of winning a game. Ravenclaw would not suit you any better than Hufflepuff._ "

A hard ball of self-disgust was beginning to form in her stomach. Unbidden, angry tears sprang up in the corners of her eyes. _Those cunning folk use any means to achieve their ends..._

" _I'm brave,_ " Astoria thought back, almost surprised to realize there was some truth in this. " _I'm daring and I've got nerve._ "

" _That you do_ ," the hat conceded slowly. " _Gryffindor would be a fair match for you... but I'd prefer to stand by my first choice._ "

" _Please_ ," Astoria begged at last, unsure why she felt so desperate, unable to put the idea into exact words, " _not Slytherin_."

The hat tisked in her ear.

" _Very well_ ," the sorting hat murmured, " _we make of ourselves what we eventually become."_

"Gryffindor!"

The sonorous bellow was enough to jump her back to her senses. Professor McGonagall removed the hat from her head to a roar of sound.

0o0


	2. Monsters

Chapter Two

Monsters

0o0

* * *

Astoria awoke the next morning to a thick band of golden sunlight streaming in from a high window to rest across her crimson blankets. Everything was deliciously quiet and for a long second Astoria had almost no idea where she was. Then, after a moment of desperate reflection, everything slowly came back to her.

She was at Hogwarts. She was a Gryffindor and so was Harry Potter, which meant that there was a slight chance the boys dormitory was now infested with rats? No, that couldn't be right...

Astoria turned her head and nudged her bed curtains further aside so that she could look at the five other identical, crimson four posters. Her sister Daphne was not sleeping in one of them, Astoria's mind prompted helpfully, because last night Daphne had been sorted into Slytherin.

Astoria got out of bed, eager to dress and meet the day. She began by searching her trunk for a skirt and a pair of stockings, becoming acquainted with the new bands of color around the cuffs of her robes and the Gryffindor crest that had appeared on the chest of her school garments overnight. Struck afresh by the magic of her new surroundings, Astoria stood very still, holding her school sweater and staring down at the lion that was now emblazoned on it. Astoria's family was going to react badly to this news. Her father would be politely surprised, of course, but her Aunt Belladonna would be furious. The only foreseeable upside of this turn of events was that Pansy would probably never talk to Astoria ever again. Fighting a bizarre urge to cackle out loud, Astoria dropped the sweater and continued rummaging.

"What's so funny?" asked a girl that Astoria recognized from the Sorting Ceremony. Lavender Brown was the name that Professor McGonagall had called. Lavender wriggled out of bed. She had a round face and a long nose that was perhaps purposefully downplayed by her mane of curly brown hair. Lavender's expression, as far as Astoria could tell, seemed to be one of almost permanent shock because that was the only look Astoria had seen on her face yet. Then again, perhaps Lavender's eyes were merely set that way.

"Nothing," said Astoria, stripping to her underwear and proceeding to button up her white school shirt. "I just didn't think I would end up in Gryffindor, is all."

"Oh," said Lavender, yawning. "Did you want something else?"

"Not really," Astoria smirked, zipping up her skirt, "but I think my family might have had other ideas about what would be best for me."

Lavender continued to watch as Astoria pulled on a pair of black tights and for a moment Astoria wondered, perhaps unfairly, if Lavender was something of a lesbian.

"My parents thought I would be in Hufflepuff," said Lavender at last, "but I think they will be really pleased with this. I'm Lavender by the way."

"Astoria."

For a moment, Astoria thought they might be expected to shake hands but Lavender showed no signs of moving.

"You're really pretty, you know," said Lavender finally, opening her own trunk. Something about Lavender's eyes were cold but her smile did not slip an inch. "I expect plenty of the boys in our year will prefer you."

Astoria put a pair of pearls into her ears. She had known enough girls at camps and programs to be able to recognize the ones that were prone to being boy crazy and Lavender fit the bill to a tee. Those girls had often made for cruel friends, in Astoria's experience.

"Thanks," said Astoria, trying not to let the moment grow awkward.

"We should swap shoes sometime," said Lavender pertly, "since we are going to be roommates and all. It looks like we're the same size and everything."

They smiled at each other tensely and there was something vaguely predatory in Lavender's look that warned Astoria against ever thinking that she was stupid.

It was a challenge to find the Great Hall for breakfast in her on and Astoria only managed the task by following several third years from the portrait hole down so as not to get lost. The castle, which had appeared so large from the outside, was in truth, absolutely immense and Astoria was very relieved when she reached the entrance hall, as this was where she began to recognize her location without help.

It was too early for the hall to be packed but there were some early risers filling the benches at the house tables. Astoria made her way to the Gryffindor table and poured herself coffee openly (there was no one around to tell her that she couldn't drink it anymore) and studied her fellow housemates.

Another of the girls Astoria had been sorted with the night before—Hermione Granger?—was sitting several seats away with a book propped open against a jug of pumpkin juice. Her eyes pinged from one side of the page to the other like a typewriter with such speed that Astoria looked away, feeling faintly dizzy.

At the bottom of the table was the redheaded boy Fred, who had catcalled Astoria on the train. Next to him was what appeared to be his identical reflection made flesh. Twins, Astoria realized with a smirk. Their friend Lee Jordan was there as well, and all three of them appeared to be in deep conversation, leaning in just close enough to mark their behavior as suspicious. Astoria wished they would look up, so she might have a reason to move and sit with them. It would certainly be nice to have somebody to eat breakfast with. Astoria was just considering invading the boys huddle anyway when another person caught her eye and won her attention entirely.

Her sister was sitting by herself at the Slytherin table, at the very end closest to the doors. She was sipping a juice miserably and staring about the hall in the same fashion as Astoria. Their eyes met and Astoria hesitated; she had been sorted into Gryffindor, surely she was supposed to eat at the appropriate table? Daphne bit her lip and made an unsure motion, a request for Astoria to join her.

There was no rule that said she couldn't sit with her sister, even if they were in different houses, was there? Astoria spotted several Ravenclaws congregating near the Hufflepuff table doing something similar, although the same search confirmed that there were no Gryffindors sitting at the Slytherin table. Astoria got up and made her way over to Daphne anyway, taking her coffee with her as she did so.

"Hey," said Astoria breathlessly, sitting down and moving aside a goblet to make room for her coffee mug. "How's it going?"

"How did this happen?" asked Daphne desperately.

"What are you talking about?" Astoria asked, reaching for a piece of toast.

"You! This!" Daphne's face was suddenly beseeching. "You're in Gryffindor! We were supposed to do this together!"

The toast turned to gravel in Astoria's mouth. It had never occurred to her that being sorted into another house would seem like a betrayal to Daphne. She had been thinking only of herself.

"I'm sorry," said Astoria, in what she hoped was a soothing voice. "It just worked out that way."

"I know, it's just—I mean, _Gryffindor,_ of all houses?"

Astoria smirked at her. "You've always known I was a bit of revolutionary."

Daphne grinned slightly, perhaps relived to see that Astoria herself wasn't upset.

"Come on," said Astoria, knocking shoulders with her, "this isn't the worst. We don't have all of our classes together, but I'm sure some of them will work out that way and there's plenty of places to see each other other than our common rooms."

Daphne breathed out through her nose and relaxed slightly.

"What's this, an invasion?" asked a scathing voice. Astoria looked past Daphne into the rude face of Draco Malfoy, who had just arrived, flanked by the boulder boys, Crabbe and Goyle.

Astoria took a pointed bite of toast and chewed it slowly, trying not to smirk.

"You got your wish, didn't you?" continued Malfoy almost snidely. "What's stopping you from sitting at your own table?"

"Common decency, obviously," sang Pansy Parkinson as she walked by with the pair of Slytherin girls that Astoria had sat with on the train. The pack tittered and Pansy looked back around to see see if she would get a rise out of her.

"Not such good friends now, are we?" said Astoria tersely, taking another bite of toast.

"You always hated Pansy anyway," said Daphne reassuringly. "She's a two faced, simpering moron."

"That's high talk from the other Greengrass," said Draco Malfoy.

Astoria jumped. She had assumed that Draco had moved down the table to sit but a quick look confirmed that he was still behind them, his face fixed into a sneer. His gaze switched from Astoria, where it had been lingering, to Daphne. "I didn't even know _you_ could speak."

Daphne flushed and looked away. She had spoken to make Astoria feel better but there was no doubt in Astoria's mind that Daphne had meant for her comment to be private. Daphne had to share a dorm with Pansy after all, and she wasn't nearly as instinctively put off by Pansy as Astoria was.

"Of course she can speak, she's not mute," snapped Astoria, "and what are you doing back there anyway? Stalking us?"

Malfoy went slightly pink. "You should probably watch the tongue Greengrass. Wouldn't want your Gryffindor pals to have to come save you on the first day."

Astoria stared at him blankly. She didn't have any Gryffindor pals. Was that the joke? Then she realized that Fred and his twin were waving at her enthusiastically from across the hall.

"Is that the boy who hit on you when we were on the train?" asked Daphne in surprise. "Did you become friends last night?"

Draco shot Astoria a look of such swift disgust that she very nearly burned under it.

"No," said Astoria quickly. "I mean yes, I think those are the boys from the train but I haven't seen them since. I don't even know who they are."

"I think one of the boys with red hair said his name was Fred," said Daphne, attempting to recall.

"It is," said Draco coldly. "Thats Fred and George Weasley. They're supposed to be jokers or something but everyone is Slytherin says they aren't very funny." He shifted his attention back to Astoria intently. "So it's you and Potter together then? Everybody's sponsoring a Weasley?"

Astoria made a face, "What's wrong with that? At least _they're_ funny."

"Funny?" spat Draco, looking oddly flustered. "Funny looking, maybe."

They were interrupted at that instant by the morning mail. Astoria was well accustomed to owl post, but never before had she seen such a mighty ruckus of feathers and packaging. Hundreds and hundred of owls swooped in overhead en-masse, disrupting tureens of oatmeal and pitchers of milk. For a moment Astoria was dazzled and then an owl landed squarely on the table in front of them, splashing hot chocolate all over Daphne's shirt.

"What the—" gasped Daphne, but Astoria was already reaching forward to untie the letters that were attached the owl's leg. There was one each for Astoria and Daphne from their father. Astoria could tell which these were because both had been written on his stationary. There was a third letter however, this one on bright red parchment which Astoria knew before she even read the address was from her Aunt Belladonna Lestrange.

"Really?" wondered Astoria, taking in the red parchment in half disbelief.

"Is that a howler?" drawled Malfoy gleefully.

"It's not," said Daphne, although she still sounded fearful of her own logic. "Howlers rattle."

"Why's it on red parchment, then?" Malfoy argued, clearly hoping that the envelope would explode in front of them and pitch Astoria into a vat of shame.

"My Aunt has a very creative way of expressing her feelings," Astoria informed him with a half smirk, slitting open the envelope with her butter knife.

Crabbe grunted as though only just remembering where he was and sat down next to Daphne, where he proceeded to stack six eggs and half a loaf of bread onto his plate hungrily. Goyle hurriedly followed suit. Draco continued to watch Astoria read her letter passively, taking an apple out of the fruit bowl. He polished it on his robe and held it up to the light for inspection.

"Congratulatory letters for the Greengrass's new little Gryffindor hero?" Draco guessed lazily. "My father sent his last night, but then there was never any question about what house I would be in."

"That's not a congratulations," said Daphne quietly, looking as though, even now that the letter had already been opened, she was still not entirely positive it would not combust.

Astoria unfolded the letter briskly and began to read out-loud in her aunt's high, cold voice, determined to be amused instead of embarrassed.

" _Astoria" s_ he began dramatically,holding the letter out in front of her so that she might read it easily. _"Where to begin? I cannot express, I cannot fathom what you were thinking last evening! Must everything be a rebellion to you? Why must you be so trifling? You were born of superior blood and with a face that will one day make men weak! Yet why is it that when I think of you amounting to anything or of marrying one day, I am forced to conclude that it would be a kindness for me to first cut out your willful tongue so that you won't spoil it all for yourself by speaking!?"_

Astoria looked up, grinning wickedly. It was even more wretched then she had feared and somehow this only served to make the letter funnier than it would have been if her aunt had really been worried or disappointed.

Whether because of the content of the letter or because Astoria's impression of Belladonna Lestrange was rather excellent, Daphne's mouth had dropped open in horror and Draco had stopped polishing his apple in a state of astonishment.

Astoria gave the parchment a little flourish and went on: _"For you do not fool me, girl. A child with as many charms and wits as yourself does nothing without a motive. So you have shunned Slytherin? Fine. Let us be frank, there are more important things. What is so reprehensible, so unforgivable to me it the fact that I know in my heart this was no accident. You chose this! You chose it as you always choose your whims, calculating them to cause me as much displeasure as possible. You are always thinking of yourself and yet you do yourself no favors! Do not think I shall take this on the cheek, you wicked, wicked girl. I shall not rest for weeks thinking of it! Yours sincerely,"_ Astoria finished, leaving off her aunt's somewhat recognizable name as she did so as a precaution against questioning.

Daphne continued to gape so Astoria refolded the letter and packed it back into its murderous red envelope.

"Well, this whole Gryffindor thing just keeps looking up, doesn't it?" Astoria needled sarcastically. "Merlin, what do you think she would do if I married a Muggle and moved to Ecuador? Sort of puts things in perspective."

"Who wrote that?" demanded Draco nosily, clearly having recovered from so much verbal vitriol easily enough.

"My aunt," said Astoria briskly, "who is probably pacing her drawing room right now, drinking before noon and throwing all of my pictures into the fire."

"Your mother's sister, then?" Draco pried, guessing correctly that no Greengrass had penned such a deliberate and harrowing note. He narrowed his eyes suspiciously. "What was your mothers name?"

"I don't have one," said Astoria evasively. "I'm like Athena that way."

"Miss Greengrass," said a cold, silken voice, "If you are _quite_ finished, might I suggest that you move back to your own assigned seating so that your head of house may have the pleasure of handing you your schedule in person without first having to hunt you down?"

The speaker was a tall man in his middle thirties with a curtain of dark, lank hair. He was staring down his crooked nose at her with such a mirthless, black intolerance that Astoria stood up immediately and planted a kiss on top of her sisters head.

"I'll see you at lunch," Astoria muttered.

"You can sit down now, Mr. Malfoy," the teacher went on somewhat sardonically, producing a stack of parchment from the folds of his long, dark robes, "surely you don't wish to eat your entire breakfast standing up?"

0o0

A brisk wind stirred the long grass at the edge of the lawn and the burnt copper and orange leaves on the limbs above Astoria's head danced like liquid metal. Astoria extended her legs past the shade of the branches overhead and laughed. "So you're telling me that her dad was a priest?"

George Weasley, who was leaning against the trunk of the tree and paying no mind to the chill, looked up as he continued to roll a suspicious looking plant that Astoria had never seen before into a smoking paper. "Yup. Mcgonagall's dad was a Presbyterian priest and a muggle, if Nearly Headless Nick knows what he's talking about." George paused to lick the poorly rendered cigarette in his hands closed. "Her mum tricked the priest. Didn't come out the closet as a witch until the professor got her letter. Must have been a bit of a highland surprise."

Astoria shook her head back and forth, positively fascinated. "And the ghosts will just tell you these things?"

"Not until you get to know them," said Fred, who was sprawled in the grass beside her, leveling Astoria with a stern finger. "You don't want to go insulting the Hogwarts ghosts."

"Thing is," George carried on, producing a lighter, "if you do manage to make friends with them, most of them have been roaming the halls for hundreds of years and they've actually got a lot to say."

Astoria thought about this as she watched flickers of the bright blue sky peep through the golden fall foliage. She had been at Hogwarts for less than a month and although at first she had been a little leery of the twins, they had proven themselves to be more than just a laugh but a veritable font of information as well. It seemed at least, that they knew every shortcut in and out of the school: knew the personal history of the teachers and what to say in order to cajole almost every professor without provoking outright aggression. They were more than just mischief makers, they were wise sages with the spirits of entrepreneurs.

"What is that, anyway?" Astoria asked, motioning toward the dodgy looking cigarette.

"No idea," said Fred with an honest chuckle. "Lee sold it to us. Said it was a real mood enhancer."

"Does it get you high?" Astoria wondered out loud, hoping her surprise didn't come across as disapproving or prudish.

"What? You mean if I smoke this, will I see leprechauns dancing in the shrubs?" asked Fred with a devilish smirk. "Dunno. Wanna find out with us?"

Astoria laughed, big and loud, turning her giggling face into the cold grass as she imagined herself wandering the castle with Fred and George, stoned. Her first month at school and already risking expulsion. There was enough that was new and surprising about Hogwarts and its grounds without substance abuse.

"Can't," she admitted at last, still smiling at the radiant image of herself chasing invisible imps across the lawn, thinking that as far as first years went, such an event would seal her reputation as nearly legendary overnight. "We have our first broomstick practice today. I'm nervous enough as it is. I had a bad go around on one when I was a kid."

"Just as well," said George, giving his laughing bother's leg a playful shove. "Lee says all it does is make you feel relaxed. He probably just imagined the whole thing. I bet this stuff doesn't even do anything— he said he got it off of his muggle cousin."

"Mhmm," said Astoria, laughing as she gathered up her bag. Just up the wide sloping lawn from the spot where she was sitting beneath the trees, Astoria could see her class beginning to gather for their flying lesson. "Well, it looks like my class is about to start. At least this way you two will be feeling nice and calm when you watch me plummet to my death."

"You won't die," said Fred seriously. "The castle is right there, they'll get you to the hospital wing in time."

"How reassuring!" Astoria yelled as she began to climb the grassy slope.

In truth, Astoria was far from feeling so merry. Astoria hadn't lied; an early drop off of a broomstick with some older family friends when she had been about eight had cured her of the desire to ever ride on a broomstick again. She didn't like heights or unnecessary lack of control and quidditch seemed like both to her. At least she would be with Daphne, Astoria reflected as she neared the group of students, who were all wearing a mixture of scarves, knotted tightly against the wind. Gryffindor had their flying lessons with the Slytherins.

Astoria found Daphne hanging back a few feet from Pansy's reliable trio of Slytherin unpleasantness.

"Hey," Astoria breathed in her sisters ear, grinning despite her mounting fear. "Brilliant day to die, isn't it?" she muttered, giving the brooms laying at their feet a dark look.

Daphne giggled.

"You too, then?" said a sulky voice. Astoria turned and found the pallid, somewhat sallow face of Theodore Nott looking back at her. He was wearing the same expression of fear Astoria assumed was all over her own face, although probably in a less feminine way.

In the healthy fall sun, Theo looked more ungainly and even less fit for exercise than ever. There was something almost sarcastic about his face however, which served to make him look intelligent even if it didn't make him seem capable of much physical prowess. Astoria was reminded faintly of some of her father's more intellectual friends.

"I hate flying," Astoria confessed.

"I don't know why it's even mandatory," Theo griped, clearly thankful for a responsive audience to his displeasure. "It's not like it's something any fully trained wizard _has_ to be able to do, after all. Adults can Apparate. Flying should just be for fun."

Astoria shrugged and privately wondered if Theodore had ever had any fun outside of a book.

"—of course, I've been flying for _ages_ , you know," came the bored, drawling voice of Draco Malfoy. "I asked Professor Snape if I even had to bother with the lesson but he seemed to think I would make a good example."

Theodore scoffed openly and Astoria shot him a conspiratorial grin. At first Theodore blinked in surprise but then he returned the smirk awkwardly.

"Do you know, half of the first years have probably never even touched a broomstick, much less owned one? My God, _my_ father bought me my first one when I was _nine_."

Astoria resisted the urge to laugh at the outright pompousness of it all and instead turned back to Theodore. "Have you ever flown before?"

Theo wrinkled his nose, "Once or twice."

"Ever fallen off of one?" Astoria asked mischievously.

"Yes," said Theo, this time with more firmness and a shadow of a grin.

"Why doesn't that surprise me, Nott? asked Draco loudly, catching on to their conversation and forcing himself into it gracelessly. "I bet if you managed to run a mile without stopping, your poor mother would die of shock."

Theodore's face darkened but his voice did not change its monosyllabic pitch. "Maybe. Except my mother is already dead, so I guess we will never know."

Something about the way Draco raised his eyebrows carelessly made Astoria think that he had probably already known this and had brought up Nott's mother just to point out the fact that he _didn't_ have one.

"Theo used to play with Montague and I in the summer," Draco went on, turning to Astoria, unchecked by the look on Theodore's face. "You spent nearly as much time off your broom as you did on it, didn't you Nott?"

"Yeah, I guess," said Theodore coolly, "but I didn't spend half of every match arguing that the wind blew the quaffle out of my hand either."

Draco blushed and his eyes narrowed slightly, but before he could retort Madame Hooch arrived and blew a sharp blast from her whistle.

"What are you all waiting for?" Madam Hooch bellowed, her eyes flashing in a birdlike fashion over the assembled group. "Everyone stand by a broomstick, hurry up."

They hastened forward into a line. Astoria followed Theodore. Malfoy, who had been insulted and seemed unwilling to give up the opportunity to watch Theo make a fool of himself, managed to gain on spot on Astoria's other side, cutting Daphne loose toward Pansy's gang of fools.

"Stick your right hand over your broom," Madam Hooch called out, "and say 'Up!'"

"Up!" said Malfoy. The broom at his feet snapped sharply into his hands. He leaned against it, smiling at Theodore cruelly, waiting.

"Up!" said Theodore, having no choice but the follow the rules. The broom at his feet rolled limply, levitated for a second, and fell back to the ground.

Draco's smile deepened into an unkind smirk.

"Up!" said Theo again, this time with more feeling. The broom bounced twice and gave up. Scowling, Theodore picked it up off the sloping lawn and held it defiantly.

"Who needs rules, anyway?" Astoria scoffed sarcastically. Both Draco and Theo attempted to catch her grin and then realized at nearly the same moment that they did not know precisely who she was making fun of.

Astoria held her hand out. "Up!" A breeze stirred the tail bristles but the rest of the broom remained immobile on the grass. Astoria shrugged.

"Hold your hand out further," said Draco bossily.

"Why bother?" said Astoria honestly. "I hate flying. I'll never join the team anyway."

This pronouncement seemed to make Theodore look rather smug.

"You hate flying?" sneered Draco incredulously. "Well, I suppose you are a _girl_ ," he said slowly, attempting to make sense of this in the most reasonable way possible.

"More grit now, Miss. Greengrass!" said Madam Hooch to Daphne as she passed down the line of students. "It has to be a command! You must mean it. Right hand over the left Malfoy, there's a fellow."

Malfoy sneered. "I've always flown this way."

"Then you have always flown wrong, boy. Right hand over left, now."

Across the lawn, Ron Weasley and Harry Potter were celebrating Madam Hooch's comment with evident delight. Draco seemed to have noticed this too, but even from twenty feet away, Astoria could not help but notice that Harry's broom was one of the few that had behaved.

"On my whistle," commanded Madame Hooch, "kick off from the ground hard, rise a few feet and then straight back down."

"How do you make the broom go back down?" asked Astoria stupidly, staring at the broomstick with a sense of vague horror.

"Lean forward," said Draco pompously.

Astoria was just taking this in and focusing on making sure she did not tilt the wrong way when, before the blast of the whistle, poor Neville Longbottom shot off the turf like a bottle rocket.

Hooch sprung into action immediately. "Come back, boy!"

Neville continued to rise, his outline slipping slowly away until it had shrunk by half when suddenly, he lurched sideways—

WHAM!

Astoria winced and turned away, her hand over her mouth. She had just witnessed exactly the thing about flying that put the fear in her. Astoria's stomach churned at the thought of how many feet had been between Neville and the hard ground he had just slammed back into. She glanced upwards just in time to watch Neville's broom continue its ascent over the treetops of the far-off forest and almost gagged again.

Hooch jostled Neville to his feet and turned on the rest of the class with a grave threat but Astoria heard hardly a word of it. She was looking at the broomstick in her own hands. Thinking of Neville's fall, she dropped it immediately.

Draco began to laugh and while some of the other Slytherins seemed to find this funny, most of the Gryffindors responded with an uproar. Astoria just had time to begin to wonder if she ought to be standing up for Neville too— it seemed the right thing, after all— when Draco spotted something on the ground.

"Look!" he said gleefully, darting forward and snatching it up. It was a Rememberall, the foolish sort of thing that a person might get in a Diagon Alley gift shop for a friend that could never remember their appointments.

"Give it here, Malfoy," said Harry quietly, joining the ruckus. The rest of the crowd stopped speaking to watch and Astoria was silently relived. She had nearly lost track of what was happening the moment she heard Neville's wrist snap.

"Those two are about to lose us both about a hundred house points," Theodore muttered, clearly annoyed.

This proved likely when, next moment, Malfoy had uttered a threat and pushed off the ground on his broomstick. Much to Astoria's quiet chagrin, it appeared he hadn't been lying—he could fly well, and the difference between his and Neville's take-offs was extreme.

"Told you," Theo sneered, looking over his shoulder to check for any apparent teachers out and about on the grounds who might be observing. "Uppity little show off."

There was a second commotion as Hermione Granger stepped back in order to give Harry Potter room as he too soared up on his practice broom to join Malfoy thirty feet above in the air.

"Well, who needs to win the house cup when you can win a contest instead?" Theo continued sarcastically, not in the least bothered that he seemed to be talking to no one but himself.

Draco and Harry were saying something to each other in the air but from where Astoria was standing, the nature of their conversation was exceedingly hard to make out. Suddenly, Harry charged at Draco, who dodged. Then, what was more miraculous, Harry managed to correct himself. Some of the Gryffindors began to applaud.

Draco was clearly unnerved. He said something that sounded a bit like, "Catch it then, if you can!"

Suddenly the Remeberall was nothing but a shinning arc shooting through the air. Both boys dipped. Malfoy landed firmly on the ground next to Crabbe, who seemed to have no idea what was happening. Crabbe grunted, very unsure of himself.

Harry dove. Astoria watched with mounting fascination despite herself. At the last possible second, Harry pulled up a foot from the ground with the tiny glass ball safely in his fist. He tumbled onto the lawn and Astoria was half tempted to applaud, herself.

"HARRY POTTER!"

Professor McGonagall was stomping across the lawn and she appeared to be in rare form. Even from a distance she appeared winded from running toward them, and a lock of her hair had sprung loose from its tightly wound prison to trail behind her. Most frightening were her eyes, which were blazing with a light that made even Astoria, who was blameless, freeze.

Parvati and Ron stepped forward, trying to calm the Professor down but there was nothing to be said that could possibly sooth her. McGonagall yanked Harry forward by his ear and they began to walk off together toward the castle; her stride long and purposeful, his awkward and hurried.

Malfoy looked triumphant. Crabbe and Goyle, who only just now seemed to have realized that there had been a victory, began to snicker and congratulate themselves.

"Well, I suppose that's the last we'll see of the _great_ Harry Potter," Draco leered, looking more pleased with himself then should have been legal.

"Shut up, Malfoy," said Ron, nearly lunging toward him.

Draco took a sharp step back and Crabbe and Goyle immediately moved in beside him. "Good riddance," Malfoy continued audaciously, "it's back to the muggles where he belongs!"

0o0

"I swear, Draco makes a bunch of sound just to confirm to the rest of the world exactly what he is— or what he _wants_ to be, at any rate," Theodore griped bitterly. "You would think at some point his father might have pointed out that competence and skill are more impressive when you're not distracting everyone with a whole lot of endless bragging!"

Astoria was sitting in the library with Daphne and Theodore, attempting to tackle her Transfiguration homework. The theatrics of the that morning's flying lesson seemed to be a much more interesting topic for Theodore, however. Daphne, who was prone to gossip when she was bored, seemed to be enjoying herself immensely so Astoria could not bring herself to ask Theodore to stop.

"He's possessive, jealous and easily offended. He's everything that makes a bully without any of the _actual_ swagger," Theo went on.

Daphne's eyes were wide. Malfoy had already cast himself as an intimidating figure in her first few weeks at Hogwarts and Astoria could tell that hearing him be so easily belittled was more shocking to her than Neville Longbottom's fall could ever be.

"Why do you hang around with him, then?" Astoria asked, distracted from her reading and trying her best not to be annoyed for Daphne's sake.

"I don't really, do I?" said Theo defensively. "Well, I mean, I can't help but _know_ him—not with our families they way they are. Sometimes you can't escape acquaintances. But you know what they say, don't you?" Theo clicked his tongue and his voice rose slightly in pomposity: "A bore is someone who deprives you of solitude without providing you with company."

"Good God!" Astoria gasped, smirking happily. "Did you crib that directly from Oscar Wilde?"

Theo snorted but went back to his studies looking a little rosier in the cheeks. "At least I've _read_ Oscar Wilde," he muttered darkly into the pages of his text.

Astoria laughed. Theo struck her as antisocial and perhaps unused to the company of others, but the fact that he had chosen her as a type of intellectual companion pleased her greatly and she felt that he was truly genuine in his interest. Already, she was beginning to feel the signs of comfort that only existed around actual friends.

Daphne seemed a little less sure. Theo was perhaps a shade too bitter, a deal too ironic to really match her tastes but she seemed to trust Astoria's judgement on the matter well enough to remain sitting with them both.

"Well, I don't care what you say," Daphne admonished. "I wouldn't go out of my way to pick a fight with Draco."

"That's because you are a sheep," said Theo with such unrestrained honesty that Astoria couldn't even work up the energy it took to be offended for her sister.

Daphne watched them both laugh and shut her book rather primly. "Oh, very mature."

"Oh, Daph, he doesn't mean anything by it," said Astoria.

After a moment, Daphne re-opened her book but by the time she had finished her essay, she was more than ready to return to the common room for bed. Astoria watched her go, sad to see her leave but still enjoying Theodore's company nonetheless.

"The library must be closing soon," said Theo at last, looking out the window that framed the small nook where their table was situated against a back wall.

As if on cue, the lights behind the nearest bookshelf were snuffed out by an irate Madame Pince.

"Closing!" Pince barked at a couple of third years.

Astoria and Theodore waited, listening to the third years as they moved out of sight and left the library. Then, with excited glances at each other, they both watched as Madame Pince's lantern, which was illuminated through the bookshelf, too began to bob away.

"No way," hissed Astoria at last, letting out an excited breath. Because of the remoteness of their nearly hidden location and the relative dimness of their one candle, Madam Pince had somehow overlooked them. "Do you think we should go?"

Theo looked more excited then Astoria had ever seen him before. Excitement was an odd look on his face and it seemed to lend Theo the sort of manic glow reminiscent of the role of 'mad scientist'.

"Ever wondered what kind of books are in the restricted section?" Theodore asked, his interest plainly marked across his narrow, unlovely face.

Astoria gasped as a whole world of possibilities began to illuminate itself before them which each diminished torch light.

They waited until they heard the library door swing closed with a final bang before moving, but even then they tip-toed, fearing treachery around every shelf.

"I can't believe I didn't think of this!" Astoria whispered. "You can't get within ten feet of the restricted section without having Pince on you like a guard-dog during the day!"

"Have you ever noticed that she actually eats lunch at her desk?" Theo asked, burning with the secret shared admiration of their task. "I think she does it just so she can keep an eye on the off-limits books."

"Yes!" said Astoria, agreeing instantly. "The second the clock hits eleven, she gets up and literally starts taking everything off her desk—"

"—every book, every scroll!" Theodore egged her on excitedly.

"Then, she puts down that weird table cloth!" Astoria added.

"The kind old nannies put trinkets on in a parlor!"

"Yes!" Astoria slapped her leg happily and then regretted her choice instantly because directly in front of them, like an alluring but frightening mirage, was the restricted section.

"Where do we start?" Theodore wondered, clearly as awed by the relative size and easy access to so many ill-begotten secrets as Astoria was.

They both ducked past the rope that marked the edge of the section's boundary, each of them aware that they had passed the final limit of 'accidental' as they did so. There would be be no excuses if they were caught now. They would simply be punished, no doubt severely.

Above them were dozens upon dozens of books. Some of these were seemingly innocent enough, others were clearly marred, ripped, or in the case of one particularly alarming tome; bloodstained.

Theo reached out to brush the spine of an unnamed book. To both of their horror, at his touch the book began to wriggle and thrash out of his reach. Recovering, Astoria grinned sheepishly, resolved to keep her hands very firmly at her sides.

"Hey, look at this," said Theo moments later, crouching down low to the ground. He was no longer in the restricted section but near the shelves that housed old newspapers and magazine clippings. Whatever it was that he had found seemed to have piqued his interest, however.

"What?" asked Astoria, shrugging her way back past the rope, secretly grateful to be standing in the less illegal part of the library once more.

"It's McGonagall."

Astoria leaned closer so that she could see what Theo was looking at more closely. There, sure enough, was a young witch who _did_ bear a striking resemblance to the Gryffindor head of house, only in the aging black and white photo, Minerva was in the flush of her youth and grinning up at the camera from under the arms of her quidditch teammates. The red Gryffindor robes were unmistakeable.

"She played quidditch?" Astoria almost gasped, trying to reconcile the stern woman she knew with this youthful image.

"She was _good_ at quidditch," said Theo, looking vaguely revolted. "Look, she's captain! And this print here says that her team had just won the cup three years running."

"It can't be McGonagall. She _must_ have had a sister," Astoria insisted, scrutinizing the photograph. The idea of her prim transfiguration teacher even riding a broom, much less riding one masterfully, was too much for her imagination.

"It doesn't say," said Theodore squinting, "but come on, there is no way that this isn't her."

"I'll bet actual money," said Astoria firmly.

"You're on," Theo declared, folding up the precious newsprint and pocketing it for further proof. "Five galleons?"

"Make it ten," Astoria scoffed. "Come on, we're solving this mystery right now."

"What do you mean?" asked Theodore, puzzled.

"Trophy room," Astoria responded plaintively, but the look on Theodore's face was so doubtful that she pressed harder. "We're already out of bed way after hours and you just fully defaced library property," Astoria reminded him. "Come on, stay _bad_."

"Defacing library property when no one can see is 'Slytherin bad' but sneaking out to the trophy room past eleven o'clock for no real reason is just Gryffindor stupid. I'm starting to understand why you were sorted so unfortunately," hissed Theodore.

Astoria rolled her eyes. "You put ten whole galleons on our bet and the trophy room is _only_ two floors above us."

"It's only ten galleons," Theodore reminded her, but he soon gave up and followed Astoria at a stealthy trot out into the corridor. "Let's just get in and out," said Theo. "I mean it. We look at the quidditch plate and then we move."

"Fine," Astoria agreed. "It's pretty evenly between both of our common rooms, so neither of us is more at risk than the other."

Theodore seemed to like the idea of this, as though logical reasoning was able to calm him. "Your money is about to be mine, Greengrass."

The trophy room was located in between a section of two hallways. When they reached the divide they split up, each searching for the correct wall, as neither of them had ever bothered to look for the sports statistics boards before.

"Found it," Theo whispered at last, sounding victorious, "come here and read this."

There was a clatter at the opposite end of the room and then a voice that most certainly was not Theodore's cut into the moon-bright dimness, "He's late, maybe he's chickened out."

Astoria jumped so hard that a tingling shot down into her fingertips. Ron Weasley and Harry Potter were standing next to a shelf of gleaming cups. Bringing up the rear of their party was an irate looking Hermione Granger, followed by a cowering Neville Longbottom. For a moment, all was confusion.

"Oh," remarked Ron, taking in the sight of Theodore's frozen figure perplexedly before demanding almost violently, "has he swapped you for Crabbe?

Ron's eyes switched to Astoria and widened still further. "What are _you_ doing here?"

"Looking at the trophies to settle a bet," said Astoria, feeling more than a little confused. "What are _you_ doing here?"

"Midnight duel," said Ron, summoning as much bravado as he could muster. "We thought you were Malfoy."

"You thought you were meeting Malfoy here for a midnight duel?" asked Theodore sharply, sounding as alarmed as he did skeptical. "Astoria, we have to get out of here right now."

Even Ron did not think his coolness had stretched so far as to drive Theodore and Astoria away in terror. "Wait, why do you have to get out of here?"

"Because this is _obviously_ a trap," explained Theodore, his tone more than a little patronizing, "and you've clearly fallen for it."

The look on Ron's face as he considered this moved from one of brutish confidence to one of sheer terror as _another_ voice, one not belonging to any of them or indeed, to Draco Malfoy, filled the room.

"Sniff around, my sweet, they might be lurking in a corner."

It was Filch, crooning to Mrs. Norris. They all bounced into each other mutely as Harry waved madly for them to follow him. Neville had just managed to get past the doorway when Filch entered the trophy room.

"They're in here somewhere..."

Astoria crept down a long gallery filled with gruesome looking suits of armor, following Harry who was moving the fastest. Theodore shot Astoria a look that could have curdled milk as they edged as fast as they dared, clearly blaming her for their dilemma.

Then, Neville, as though in imitation of his earlier performance on a broomstick, let out a squeak and tried to make a dash for it. He tripped, taking Ron down with him as he went and together they smashed headlong into a suit of armor.

Theodore swore loudly and suddenly they were no longer inching but running, pell-mell, Gryffindors and the Slytherin together down the passage. They crashed through doors and thundered down staircases. There was nowhere to go but forward or else Astoria was certain that Theo would have peeled away into the darkness and left them to their fate. Finally, just ahead, was a tapestry containing a secret passageway.

Ron flew through it first and the rest of the group lodged themselves in behind him like matches stacked in a matchbox.

"I think we've lost him," Harry panted.

Hermione was all indigence and scorn. "I told you!" she yelled between breaths. "Malfoy tricked you!"

"Obviously!" Theodore added emphatically, interjecting himself into the mix as though he belonged there.

"Malfoy must have tipped him off!" Hermione continued, heedless as to where her support came from.

"I cannot believe you actually thought he would show up in the first place," Theo murmured wondrously. Now that they were safe, he seemed to find the shenanigans he was witnessing as closer to amusing then dangerous. "You must be the stupidest bunch of-"

"Oh, shut up," Ron snapped. "Enough about your Slytherin crony! We have to get back to the tower."

There was a squeal of delight behind Astoria that made every single one of them jolt.

"Ickle firsties!" cackled Peeves. The smile of fresh confidence slid off of Theodore's face for a second time.

"Shut up Peeves!" Harry begged.

"I'll tell the Bloody Barron!" Theo threatened impotently.

"Don't let us get caught Peeves!" begged Hermione.

"Get out of the way!" Ron snapped, taking a giant swipe at the poltergeist.

Astoria groaned.

"STUDENTS OUT OF BED!" Peeves roared, making direct eye contact with Ron, "STUDENTS DOWN THE CHARMS CORRIDOR!"

They ran until they slammed into a bolted door at the end of the next hallway. Astoria was just beginning to make peace with the fact that her race had been run when Hermione pushed them all out of the way and charmed the locked door open.

They all piled in and Astoria waited with her ear pressed against the planks of wood that separated her from Filch. Behind her, Neville began to whimper. What would Belladonna do if she was expelled, Astoria wondered?

Harry looked at Astoria and saw the terror on her face because he instantly took pity on her. "He thinks the door is locked, " Harry whispered reassuringly. "He won't come through."

Neville whimpered again.

Theodore half screamed, his voice as shrill as a little girl's, breaking the silence and slamming into Astoria and Harry's backs at the same time with the force of someone ten times larger than he really was.

"Wha—" said Ron thickly, but his voice died before he could finish whatever he was going to say.

Astoria turned slowly and found herself looking into the eyes of a monstrous dog. A dog with three heads. A dog with a set of teeth bigger than the length of her body. A dog that was drooling great, slimy stalactites of saliva thicker then Neville's arm but indeed, not thicker than the teeth from behind which they dripped.

They were in the forbidden corridor on the third floor, of course, thought Astoria numbly. The reason the door had been locked was now quite obvious, although why there had been so few enchantments upon it that a first year could easily penetrate past its locked barricade without trying overly hard was beyond her.

It was the forbidden corridor and they were all going to die wretched deaths. The look on Theodore Nott's face seemed to confirm this fact even as it crossed through her own mind. The dogs three noses all sniffed at the air hungrily in unison.

0o0

* * *

This chapter was a bit of a building chapter but it starts to show off Astoria's friendship with Theodore, which is a necessary stepping stone. I promise some more original plot in the next chapter. As always, I love to hear your thoughts (is everyone realistically in character, for instance?) so drop me a review and tell me what you think!


	3. Games

Chapter Three

Games

* * *

0o0

Astoria chose to sit at the Slytherin table for breakfast the next morning, partially because she was hoping to run into Theodore, but mostly because it was becoming something of a habit of hers. What had started on her first day at school as an act of desperation had now matured into a regular means of touching base with her sister. Breakfast was the most informal meal of the day, and it was therefore the most acceptable time for sitting at another house's table.

Today Astoria was craving her sister's audience even more than usual as she had a rather fantastic story to tell. A story involving a three headed dog and a narrow escape from the jaws of death itself. After much sleep and romanticized reflection, Astoria was quite firmly of the opinion that the whole ordeal had been a fantastic adventure and one that she was quite keen on sharing.

"Hello!" Astoria sang, taking the seat nearest her sister, who was already finished with her toast. Daphne was the only reliable morning person that Astoria had ever known and as such, she was regularly in the Great hall as early as seven o'clock.

"Hello," said Daphne curiously, so unused to Astoria's early morning zest the she seemed suspicious almost at once.

A few feet away, Theodore looked up from his queer pre-adolescent breakfast of nothing but coffee and un-vented sarcasm. Upon seeing that Astoria had come in, he immediately scooted down the table.

" _Morning_ ," said Theodore pointedly.

Astoria beamed at him.

"What's with you two?" asked Daphne, frowning nervously.

Astoria took a deep breath and prepared to unleash but Theo cut her off with a cough-like scoff.

"Last night—"

"—Last night, Theo and I had a fantastic adventure!" Astoria rushed.

"Fantastic?" Theodore repeated skeptically. "Root word 'fantasy'? Yes. Fantastic as in fun? No."

"Oh breathe," Astoria sighed. "It's morning and you're still alive, aren't you?"

"Why wouldn't he be alive?" wondered Daphne, a look of alarm beginning to flirt with her usually placid features. "Did something happen?"

"Last night, your sister and I were nearly eaten alive," said Theodore, sensible to the dramatic flair that such a story afforded even if he was not sensible to its wonder.

Astoria was about to chime in when Draco Malfoy entered the hall.

Both Astoria and Theodore paused awkwardly in their recounting of the night before to watch him, aware that he too had played a part in their story even if he did not know it. Unaware that he was being watched, Draco's gaze shot instantly to the Gryffindor table, where he spotted both Harry and Ron taking in a merry breakfast of muffins and juice. Draco's expression moved rapidly from one of surprise to one of bitter disappointment.

" _Really_!" Draco hissed in response to something that Goyle must have said, "and here I was thinking that Gryffindors were supposed to be brave!"

"Just reckless, I think," clarified Theo in a loud voice. Astoria was beginning to realize that Theodore did not particularly enjoy Draco's company, but this morning he seemed quite eager to see the story fully unfold nonetheless.

"Are you surprised to see Harry?" asked Astoria, feeling rather smug in the knowledge that she and Theodore knew something that Draco did not.

"He told you about the duel, did he?" snapped Draco after an unsure pause. "Showing off as usual, then. I suppose it was _you_ who warned him not to go?"

It was clear that Draco wished to sound nonchalant about this but he was failing spectacularly

"No, Harry didn't tell me anything," said Astoria, feeling chipper and rather keen to instigate. "Actually, I know for a fact that he _did_ go."

Draco sneered to cover up his confusion. "How would you know?"

"Because I was there."

" _You_ went?" said Draco, blinking in surprise. Then, all of a sudden, his look became aggressive. "What, as _moral_ support? Best pals with Potter now, are you?"

"No," said Astoria, savoring the bizarre mixture of stress and irritation that she seemed to be causing. "I didn't go with him, but I _was_ in the trophy room. Ask Theo, he was there too."

" _Theo_ was with you?" sneered Draco contemptuously, looking even less fond of this arrangement.

"Oh yeah," confirmed Theodore with a smirk. "You should have been there, Draco. Literally."

"What were you two doing together in the trophy room at midnight?" asked Draco, his voice more than just tinged with unexplained annoyance now.

"We had a bet on," said Astoria. "Theo, the evidence."

Theodore produced the photograph of McGonagall in her quidditch days from the pocket of his shirt. Astoria wondered if he had slept so poorly that he had not had time to change into a fresh one or if he had simply neglected to spruce himself up on purpose.

"Is that supposed to make me lose my breakfast?" asked Draco, a smirk creeping onto his face anyway as he took in the black and white photographic wonder.

"So _you_ think it looks like McGonagall, too?" asked Astoria, glancing at Draco, who appeared to be as repulsed as he was amused.

"It looks like her because it _is_ McGonagall!" Theodore insisted. "I read it on the trophy plate before Potter and his crew crashed in looking for a fight."

Draco laughed unpleasantly.

"I'll be confirming that myself," continued Astoria shortly. "We can stop by the trophy room again after class today. I want to see her name etched into something."

Draco's eyes flicked from Theodore to Astoria, betraying an involuntary flash of displeasure.

"Anyway," said Theo, taking the story back up again, "Potter showed up and then so did Filch, because Draco sent him there."

"Why did Draco send Filch?" wondered Daphne, startled by the very idea.

"He was trying to get Harry expelled, Daph," shot Astoria sternly. "Come on, keep up."

"There was only one way to run, so Astoria and I booked it down three floors with Potter, Granger, and Weasley. Granger was hopping up and down, mad with fear about expulsion. Then, Longbottom fell and took Weasley with him into a suit of armor. At that point _Peeves_ showed up..."

Draco leaned back in his chair lazily, evidently pleased with the idea that he had managed to induce such chaos from afar.

"I tried to reason with Peeves," continued Theodore in his most dignified voice, prompting Draco to scoff, "but then Weasley tried to punch him."

"At some point we lost track of where we were going and ended up down the third floor corridor," said Astoria.

"That happens to me all the time..." began Daphne, but she trailed off. Draco had shot her a silencing look of the sort that Astoria would have willingly paid to slap off of his face.

" _And_?" Draco prompted, plainly secretly interested in the end of their story.

"We ended up in the forbidden corridor," said Theodore, "and now we _know_ why it's forbidden."

"What's it forbidden for, then?" Draco demanded.

Astoria leaned in closer under the pretense of mysteriousness and Draco blinked, disarmed by her proximity. Astoria motioned toward Daphne and Theodore to do the same, not wishing to be overheard.

"Tell them, Theo," said Astoria, excited even though she knew the punch line.

"They've got a monster locked in there," said Theo.

" _What_?" sneered Draco in disbelief. "No they don't! The staff are probably just renovating the floors down that wing."

Astoria shook her head. "Theo's telling the truth. It's a giant three headed dog with fangs as long as my arm."

Draco stared at her, weighing the evidence of her word against his own reasoning. "That's impossible," he said at last. "The board of governors would lose their minds."

Astoria shrugged, "You would know better I suppose. Still, I _know_ what I saw."

"We'd show you, if you weren't such a little coward," added Theodore curtly.

Draco flushed pink. "What did you just say to me?" he sneered. Theo had hit a nerve and it showed

"You challenged Potter to a duel and never even showed up," Theodore scoffed.

"You think I wouldn't have actually dueled Potter, if I had wanted to?" spat Draco, his eyes darting toward Astoria. "The plan was to set Filch on him, I never meant to actually duel him! It's _not_ like I chickened out—"

Theo shrugged, seeming to know that there was more power in his silence than his words.

"Do you think Dumbledore's the reason for the three headed dog?" asked Astoria quickly, wishing to change the subject.

Malfoy fidgeted defensively for a moment but finally answered: "If he is, then he snuck it in somehow. If the board had approved of something like that, my Father would have told me."

0o0

Halloween was approaching. For three days the grounds had been soaked by a dense rain and the results were dazzling. The lawn, once a sprawling emerald carpet, now glistened, red-bright with fallen leaves. A chill wind had begun to make its presence known as well, skirting the edges of the corridors and rattling the window panes in the night.

On October the Thirty First, Astoria went in to the great hall for breakfast only to find that it had become inhabited by live bats overnight, acting as living streamers. These bats floated so softly between hanging jack-o-lanterns that they were virtually noiseless, but they certainly had the power of dropping Astoria's jaw. As though to add to the feeling of it being a holiday, first period Herbology was cancelled due to the gathering rain that was visible through the enchanted ceiling.

It was Astoria's first free period ever and the Weasley twins, who were older and normally had this block of time free for study anyway, were determined to show her a good time.

"Come on," said Fred, who was leading the way, "this is great, we promise!"

They were walking down a warm, well-lit, stone hallway on the first floor that Astoria had never had a reason to venture down before. Portraits lined the walls, some depicting various feasts of cheese and fruit while still others showed scenes of provincial-looking harvests. In one particularly memorable picture, a monk was fermenting a vat of wine and chanting rather tipsily.

Fred and George stopped when they had reached the end of the hallway, which finished in a nook that was stacked to the ceiling with a shipment of barrels.

"What's that?" Astoria asked, pointing toward the barrels.

Fred raised a finger to his lips to indicate that she should keep her voice down and whispered, "Entrance to the Hufflepuff common room, but that's not what we're here for."

Astoria looked back at the barrels again with renewed interest. "How do you know?"

"Got a few mates in Hufflepuff," answered George nonchalantly, apparently feeling that knowing where the entrance to a banned common room was did not count as impressive knowledge to be in possession of.

"You get in by tapping the barrels in a specific rhythm, but if you mess it up you get squirted with a whole lot of nasty vinegar, so try not to shake anything," added Fred.

They were standing in front of a portrait of a bowl of fruit that was as tall as Astoria was. Fred looked both ways and then, with a grin, reached out and ticked a painted pear. To Astoria's surprise, the pear giggled and became a green door handle before her eyes.

"Where are we going?" asked Astoria quietly, even though she was beginning to form her own suspicion.

"Kitchens," said George with a wicked smirk, giving the green door handle a firm push.

Astoria had never seen so many house elves in once place before in her life. Several of them rushed to greet Fred and George with such excitement that it could have been mistaken for panic.

"Misters Weasley," said an old house elf with a long face and bulbous nose gravely, "you is honoring us with your presence."

There were a fine tangle of hairs on the elf's upper lip that Astoria first took for a mustache but soon recognized were actually an impressive protrusion of overzealous nose hairs.

"Cheers, Bumbles and a happy Halloween to you," said Fred looking perfectly at ease despite the commotion and clamor of pots and pans all around them. Astoria guessed that this was far from the twins first visit.

"Thank you, sirs," said Bumbles, doing a very good job of retaining his dignity in spite of his voluminous nose hair. "We is very busy at work, sirs, preparing the evening feast."

"I see that Bumbles," said George, "in that case, we'll be of your hair as fast as we can."

Astoria was certain she would not have used the phrase 'out of your hair' had she been speaking, but the elf did not seem to take offense.

"Not at all. What can I be doing for you sirs?" inquired the butler-elf eagerly.

"We were hoping you might have a few extra bottles of butterbeer kicking around," said Fred, eyeing a passing tray of sweets as it hovered past. "Something you weren't planning on sending up to the staff table tonight, maybe?"

Bumble's face fell. "You know that is what I wish to be giving you whatever you like, but you is not _supposed_ to be drinking butterbeer..."

"Well, in that case," said George dramatically, "I guess we'll just give you our Halloween present and take our leave!"

Fred withdrew a tiny figurine from his pocket. It was the type of toy that could occasionally be found at the bottom of a box of Bertie Botts Every Flavor Beans. Astoria could not see anything special about it but the elf had frozen.

"This here is Artemisia Lufkin, first ever female Minister for Magic," said Fred, handing over the small action figure. "You can add her to your collection."

Bumbles the elf began to tremble with gratitude.

0o0

"Butterbeer isn't strong stuff, of course," said Fred a few minutes later as they ambled their way back out of the Hufflepuff basement, their pockets clinking under the weight of several glass bottles, "but they know we're not supposed to be drinking it. Bless their hearts."

"If we hadn't found Bumbles' collection of toys in second year, we might have had to do without," added George. "He's mad for those little statues. It's easier to just just nick drinks from Hogsmeade, of course, but sometimes there isn't enough time for that."

Astoria was not a person who was easily impressed, but she was struggling with her awe for the crooked network of petty crime that the twins seemed to have established for themselves in only three years.

You can sneak into Hogsmeade?" asked Astoria sharply.

"Oh yeah," said George as they made their way across the entrance hall. "It's a lot easier than you would think, but the secret tunnel is _miles_ long. It makes for a better night mission, really."

Astoria pulled her cloak around herself tightly and preparing herself for the cold as Fred pushed open the front doors. What would it take in order to convince the twins to let her tag along on a night mission to Hogsmeade with them, Astoria wondered?

They took the bottles of butterbeer to a vacated, rain slick courtyard. A small bench was situated up against the eaves of a nearby roof, so they sat on the thin top of the bench and braced their backs against the stone wall of the castle to keep out of the storm. Water still spat up at the soles of their shoes and the seat of Astoria's skirt was slightly damp, but they managed to evade most of the deluge from their makeshift perch.

George opened a bottle of butterbeer and passed it down to her before opening two more for himself and his brother. Astoria had never drank butterbeer before, but it smelled delicious, like spiced tea and caramel. She tried a sip on her tongue and found that it was pleasantly warming.

"So, how is it that you two seem to know all these Hogwarts secrets?" Astoria asked, taking a proper gulp from her bottle now.

"Oh, we certainly know how to manage some mischief, don't we Fred?" said George, letting out a knowing chuckle.

"Well put, brother, " smirked Fred conspiratorially,

"Seriously though," Astoria pressed, her cold fingers clenched tightly around her drink. "The kitchens I understand, but secrets paths into Hogsmeade?"

The twins exchanged a look of uniform amusement.

"Put it this way," said George, winking at her, "keep marauding with us and maybe we'll show you."

Two bottles of butterbeer apiece later and it was nearly the end of first period, which meant that Fred and George were obligated to go to charms class. This was a bit of a let down for Astoria however, because her first class was a double period and she suddenly found herself adrift with a whole hour and a half to fill by herself.

Astoria continued to sit on the bench for a while, watching as the rain fell onto the vibrant, leaf-strewn grass, her head swimming with the muted effects of the drinks she had just consumed. Fred and George had been pretty clear about saying that Butterbeer was not strong, but if Astoria was being perfectly honest with herself, she felt a little loopy.

Finally, when she could no longer feel her chilly feet, Astoria got up and ducked out into the downpour, yanking the flap of her hood up over her head to keep out the rain. She pounded across the slick cobblestones, kicking up spray from puddles until she reached the door. Blindingly feeling about for the door handle, Astoria tripped over the threshold and collided with something decidedly solid and human feeling. Her hand brushed across someones knuckles like the ghost of a fist bump.

"Watch it!" snapped a sharp, displeased voice.

Astoria dropped her cloak as Draco Malfoy managed to catch his balance. Behind Draco, Crabbe was already flexing his muscles.

" _Oh_ ," said Draco, his aggression fading when he recognized her, "it's you."

"Sorry," Astoria muttered, shaking out her wet hair.

"Why aren't you in class?" asked Draco, peering out the door behind her nosily.

"Herbology was cancelled," said Astoria stupidly. If she had been feeling the numbing effects of the butterbeer sitting on the cold bench outside, it was nothing to what she was suddenly experiencing in the warm hall. "Why are you lurking in the entrance way?"

"If you call standing, lurking," said Draco. "Quirrell's had another nervous breakdown or something. Avery says he was giving a lecture on vampires and fainted, the great stuttering moron, so we have the morning off."

Crabbe grunted to confirm this story.

"Oh," said Astoria, feeling very out of it. Draco stared at her, obviously waiting for her to say something. How long had she been standing in front of him?

"Just ran into your pal Potter a minute ago," Draco went on when it became evident that Astoria did not plan on speaking. "I caught him sneaking out of the hall. Someone's sent him a broomstick."

"He's not really my pal," Astoria argued, surprised by how thick her tongue felt. "Broomsticks are illegal for first years, aren't they?"

"Obviously," said Malfoy, pleased to find that they were of the same mind. "First years aren't even allowed to try out for the house team, which is criminal, really. Father agrees..."

He wasn't so bad, Malfoy. His presence seemed to be greatly improved by the consumption of two alcoholic beverages.

"Of course, I'll make the house team next year but what Potter thinks _he's_ doing with a secret broomstick is beyond me," sneered Draco. "I don't know what Flitwick thought he was talking about. Something about a 'special' circumstance..."

Astoria nodded, which seemed to be enough encouragement for Draco to go on.

Perhaps this was the secret of his friendship with Crabbe and Goyle? They weren't actually stupid, they were both just drunk and Malfoy was always so busy complaining that he had never noticed?

Astoria giggled.

"Right?" said Draco, obviously thinking she had laughed at something he had said and looking vaguely proud himself for it. "They'll probably dock him about fifty points."

"Mmm," said Astoria, feeling more like Crabbe than ever. Would Draco notice if she reduced to grunting?

"Of course, Potter would have been expelled if you and Nott hadn't helped him get away from Filch," continued Draco. "That's just like Nott though, he likes to contradict people so much that he always ends up ruining the _best_ ideas."

There were some details that had been rearranged poorly here...

"Oh, sorry," said Draco, not looking sorry at all. "I didn't mean to say something rude about your new _best friend._ "

"Best friend?" said Astoria, parroting the part of Draco's sentence that she found most interesting.

"Well, _he_ seems to think so," said Malfoy sarcastically, smirking at the idea as though it was ludicrous. "Did you know he actually saw his mother die? Right in front of him— I mean, can you _imagine_?"

Astoria couldn't and for a moment she felt freakishly close to crying.

"That's probably why he's so morbid all the time, you know," said Draco knowingly, "because he's deranged mentally. For all you know, he's secretly a dangerous lunatic."

Astoria could not see how witnessing the death of a parent should count as a mark against a person, but Draco had certainly made it sound that way with perverse ease. Why was Draco telling her this? Was this his idea of acceptable gossip?

"Of course, Theodore's father raised him but he's gone a bit daft with old age himself, which is a pity because I know my father used to be fond of him," said Draco. "Still, with two lunatics in the family, Theodore was always going to turn out a little bent."

The bell for lunch rang. Astoria shook her head in an attempt to clear it. Had she been standing with Draco for a whole hour?

"Astoria!" called Daphne, rushing up from the dungeons. One look at Malfoy, Crabbe and Goyle seemed to give her pause, however. Daphne's look of delight swiftly became strained. Draco shrugged off toward the great hall and Crabbe and Goyle followed suit.

"What was that?" asked Daphne, watching as Draco found a seat at the Slytherin table. "Was he being rude? Why aren't you in class?"

"What?" asked Astoria, rattled by the wealth of unwanted information she had just received. "No, Harry Potter got a new racing broom or something. They called off Herbology."

"Oh, because of the rain?" pressed Daphne comprehendingly. "That's nice. What did you do?"

"I _think_ I may have gotten drunk," said Astoria, still blinking stupidly.

0o0

Though the butterbeer had at first seemed like a novel if not slightly foolish experience, it soon began to wear off and feel like something closer to sickness by the late afternoon. The dull roar in her head that had made the world recede began to fade and suddenly everything came surging back in the form of a terrible headache.

By the end of last period, Astoria had made the decision to skip the feast all together. The idea of food was slightly unpleasant to her and the noise of the entire student body, doubly so. Instead she retreated to her dormitory and climbed under the top blanket on her bed. With her face resting against her pillow, she shut her eyes and listened to the soothing sounds of the continuing rain.

Inevitably though, her mind turned to Draco and what he had said about Theodore that afternoon. Was it possible that Theodore had really watched his mother die? It would be so easy to pass the idea off as an outrageous lie, if only Draco had not known Theodore's family for so long. Astoria's instinct, knowing Theodore only just little, told her that the story was probably true. _If_ it was fact however, Astoria could not shake the feeling that Draco had behaved very badly in telling her about it.

Astoria considered Theodore's own tirade about Draco several days before and realized that, while Theo had not spared Draco much mercy, he had also not told Astoria anything about Draco's dark family history. In fact, Astoria seriously doubted that Theodore had told her anything that he would not have told Draco to his face.

A thunderous commotion from the common room an hour later roused her from an early sleep.

Confused, having not expected anybody back from the feast so quickly, Astoria stumbled her way back down the staircase in alarm. The smell of food hit her the moment she reached the circular common room. Nearly the entirety of Gryffindor house was lingering about on armchairs by the fire and an unusual buffet table had been set up near the hearth.

"What happened to the feast?" asked Astoria when she had located Fred and George in line for dinner, holding plates.

"Cancelled on account of troll!" called George ecstatically.

"What?" scoffed Astoria.

"Yeah!" chirped Lee Jordan, joining them at the back of the queue. "Professor Quirrell passed out in the middle of the hall!"

"I can't _believe_ you missed it!" said Fred. A coy smile suddenly crossed his features. "Were you going to skip the feast?"

"Not feeling great?" prodded George, looking equally mischievous.

"Not really," Astoria admitted with less embarrassment then she might have felt in front of people who were less naturally pleasing.

"Yeah, well, George and I weren't feeling so great either," Fred went on, his grin widening.

"Usually doesn't happen with butterbeer," said George, "but then Fred and I checked the date on one of the bottles."

"We were thinking maybe ol' Bumbles gave us something a little older," said Fred, his grin barely contained. "A little _stronger_ , if you know what I mean."

"Turns out the whole batch was brewed in 1958," said George.

Astoria blanched so Fred laughed and elucidated in way that she could understand, "I think it's fair to say that you drank a little whiskey with us today, Greengrass!"

0o0

The news of the troll break-in was all anyone wanted to talk about the next day. After listening to speculation about the upcoming quidditch match and having to hear the same story about the troll being repeated by the same people a hundred times, Astoria eventually gave up on the common room and went to the library.

Astoria had no desire to share with Theodore her new awareness about the particulars of his childhood, but she _was_ very much hoping to run into him and the library seemed like the most likely place that Astoria would find him. Between Astoria's own lark in the kitchens and the ensuing mixup that had followed, Astoria had more than enough to share without ever having to bring up the fact that Draco had slipped and mentioned the particulars of his mother's death...

Sure enough, Astoria found Theodore near a set of long windows, sitting by himself with his nose in a particularly moldy looking book.

"Hey," said Astoria excitedly, dropping her bag onto the floor. "Did you see the troll last night?"

Theodore did not look up.

"Theo!" said Astoria, snapping her fingers to get his attention. "Hello?"

Theodore slowly lowered the book but his face remained cold and impassive. Astoria dithered, suddenly uncertain. There was a long, hostile pause.

"What's wrong?" asked Astoria, feeling suddenly chilly.

"Nothing," said Theo shortly, picking the book up again, "nothing at all."

"Ok," said Astoria slowly, "well then, vis-a-vis troll, I missed the whole thing so you need to fill me in! I was up in the dormitory when everything went mad."

"I noticed," said Theodore a touch unpleasantly. "You didn't miss much. It's not the first time Qurriell's fallen over from shock, plus the troll was never actually in the hall."

"Oh," said Astoria awkwardly, trying to understand what could have made Theodore become so distant with her overnight.

"Other highlights include about half of a meal and Potter's quidditch team scandal," Theodore went on tersely, still refusing to look in her direction.

"Yeah," said Astoria slowly, trying to recollect what she had heard about Harry's broom. "I think Malfoy said something about that."

"Oh, _Malfoy_ told you, did he?" asked Theo waspishly, his voice going up a pitch. "He's just a font of news!"

Astoria paused, unsure of herself, trying to guess if Draco had told Theodore about what he had said to her the day before.

"So I take it you two are friends now?" asked Theodore harshly, breaking the silence. "Why don't you just ask him about the troll? I'm sure he'd go on about it for ages for you."

"Why would I ask Malfoy about the troll?" demanded Astoria, perplexed and trying to backtrack. "I just happened to see him in the hall yesterday."

"I know," sneered Theo in an accusing tone, "I heard _all_ about it."

"Heard all about what?" asked Astoria fearfully.

Theodore cleared his throat and when he spoke it was in imitation Draco's high, drawling voice, " _You know, I don't know how Astoria Greengrass ever got sorted into Gryffindor. If you didn't know otherwise, you'd almost think the she was more our sort, wouldn't you_?" Theodore scoffed, "I mean, did you literally kiss up to him or was it more metaphorical than that?"

Astoria was, for a moment, genuinely shocked.

"Well," Astoria finally managed, "I don't know about any of that. I ran into Draco after hanging around with Fred and George, who accidentally tricked me into drinking two bottles of fifty year old beer. I'm not sure I actually managed to string more than two sentences together the whole time Malfoy was talking to me. Crabbe and I were practically grunting in unison."

 _"What_?" snapped Theo, looking as though he really wanted to continue on being angry but was thrown by this confession to the point of distraction.

"I broke into the kitchens yesterday and drank backwoods fire-whiskey," said Astoria. "Are you seriously going to sit here and give me a hard time about Draco?"

"Fine, I know. I'm sorry— it's not you," said Theo, finally closing his book. There was an uncomfortable, dogged look in his eye now, although he was doing his best to hide it. He began to fidget uncomfortably. "I suppose he talked about me?"

Astoria hesitated, feeling that they were finally getting to the heart of the problem.

"He did, didn't he?" Theodore pressed.

"You talked about _him_ ," Astoria pointed out.

"What did he say?" Theo demanded sharply. "I guess he probably told you to watch out because I'm a nutcase or something?"

"Well, yeah," said Astoria, trying to inject her voice with a teasing edge, "although frankly, I'd already worked that out for myself."

Theo said nothing and doodled uncomfortably on his text. There was a short, nervous pause. "What else?"

Astoria watched him doodle while dread gathered in her belly. Surely Theodore already knew, or at least suspected, what Draco had told her or else why would he bother interrogating her like this?

"Well, he said that your dad is— I don't know, kind of senile?" Theo's shoulder jerked but he did not look up. "And something about how you watched your mother die…"

Theodore's face had gone blank with wordless horror. Her guess had been wrong. Astoria knew immediately that Theodore had _not_ been expecting this bit of information to come out of her mouth.

"Malfoy _said_ that?" asked Theo, in a voice of such forced calm that his chin twitched.

"It doesn't matter," said Astoria more quickly than she meant to.

"To you maybe!" Theo barked, suddenly livid. "What did you say to him?"

"I don't know!" said Astoria desperately. "Nothing, what was I supposed to say?"

A wild, almost animal panic was creeping into Theodore's whole frame as though he had been cornered by a pack of predators.

"Please don't be mad at me," Astoria begged. "I wasn't asking him about you! I wasn't even going to tell you, except—"

"Oh, that's rich," barked Theo cruelly. "You think I don't know about _your_ parents?"

Astoria froze.

"Your mom is Lucrezia Lestrange, isn't she?" spat Theodore, who was so upset that his hands were shaking. "How else would your crook of a father have ended up with so many high paying clients? Your dad is a poser, and the reason that you don't talk to you mother isn't because she died or ran off, it's because she's in Azkaban! For life, I'd guess, since she murdered about a half a—"

He stopped because Astoria had thrown his own quill, freshly inked, directly into his face. Theodore sputtered and for a split second, she could see the horrible regret blossoming across his face.

Astoria picked up her books, leaving the quill on the ground where it had fallen.

"Astoria, don't—" said Theo remorsefully, trying to stand up in time to stop her, but Astoria was too fast for him. When she reached the hallway he stopped calling after her.

0o0

The next weekend marked both the first quidditch match of the season and the end of the most trying week Astoria had had yet at Hogwarts. She did not know which she felt more; intense anger at Theodore or crippling anxiety about the idea that he knew such secrets about her mother.

Astoria knew now that she should _not_ have concealed her mother's name when she had first arrived at school. The idea of having her mother's identity revealed by someone else was far worse. What Astoria should have done, was admitted the fact immediately and cut off any gossip at the source. It was the fact that she had kept her mother's identity a _secret_ that was giving Theodore such power. By hiding Lucrezia in the first place, Astoria had just as good as admitted what a bad person her mother had been. It would be a mark against Astoria if the fact were to be revealed now. She would not be a victim, she would be a sneak, a fraud.

Astoria had waited all week for the axe to fall, certain it would come from a Slytherin in the form of a sly comment. From Pansy perhaps, asking Astoria how she could live with herself for being such a Gryffindor hypocrite when everyone knew that her mother was really a Death Eater?

After a week of tense lessons and poorly rested evenings however, Astoria was forced to accept that Theodore had probably not said anything. Gradually, she began to realize that he probably _wouldn't_ either, and for some reason this just made her angry all over again. Why had Theodore bothered being so rude in the first place, if he hadn't even meant it? By the time the Astoria awoke on Saturday morning, her anger had made a full circuit and come back around to where it had begun and part of her wanted to throw another quill in Theodore's face for causing her such seemingly unnecessary angst.

Saturday was the day of the big match and November had brought with it a variety of frozen winds that were sure to make being a spectator as uncomfortable as possible. Astoria walked with Daphne down to the quidditch pitch after breakfast, both of them wrapped in scarves and sweaters for warmth. The sky was a clear blue and the winter sun shining overhead was bright even if it was doing very little to warm them. Fred and George had gone down to the pitch early, as they were both on the Gryffindor team.

"Where do you want to sit?" asked Daphne, rubbing her gloved hands together for warmth.

Astoria eyed the benches warily. Fred and George were her only reliable Gryffindor friends and as even Lee Jordan was commentating, she suspected that Daphne was going to want to sit with the Slytherins.

There was a nice row of mostly vacant seats straight ahead but just as she was on the verge of pointing them out, Astoria spotted Theodore's crooked nose poking out from behind a copy of the Sunday Prophet several seats down.

Annoyed, Astoria forced her sister to stagger up two entire rows in order to give Theodore a wide berth and she was already in her seat before she realized what she had done. In her attempt to avoid Theodore Nott, she had inadvertently put herself in a middle row, directly above Pansy Parkinson and her friend Tracey Davis and directly below Draco, Crabbe and Goyle.

"Look, there they are!" said Daphne, pointing to the field as the crowd around them began to cheer.

The Slytherin and Gryffindor teams were approaching each other from opposite ends of the pitch. Lee began to commentate. Out of the corner of her eye, Astoria saw Theodore put away his newspaper.

Astoria continued to stare at the pitch while a lick of irrational anger swooped her insides. If Theo wasn't being such a prat, she and Daphne might have be sitting with him, perhaps enjoying the game and picking fun of the players. Instead, she was crushed between a pack of people she disliked and her eyes were unnaturally focused into a tunnel-like vision that could only observe what was already straight ahead of her.

"This commentator is ridiculous," snapped Pansy, following one of Lee's jokes about an attractive Gryffindor chaser. "He's not even talking about the game!"

Astoria wondered how long a game of quidditch normally lasted and tried to relax. She allowed her eyes to sweep the part of the stands that did not have Theodore in it and accidentally caught Malfoy staring at her very slyly out out of the corner of his eye.

Draco jumped when she caught him, but covered for himself quickly. "Are you going for Slytherin because you figure Potter will probably fall off his broom mid-game?"

Astoria shrugged. She didn't care who won and she didn't feel like arguing with anybody within earshot of Theo. "How long does a quidditch match go on for?" she asked.

"Until the seeker catches the snitch," said Malfoy slowly. He narrowed his eyes, possibly wondering if she was being deliberately obtuse. "You've never seen a quidditch match before?"

"What's a seeker?" asked Astoria, playing dense on purpose in the hopes that he would give her up as an annoying, lost cause.

"The smallest player," answered Malfoy. "The seeker catches the snitch and ends the game."

"So the snitch isn't worth points?" asked Astoria, failing to see the logic in this.

"The snitch is worth the _most_ points," said Draco, employing a tone that most people generally reserved for small, slow children.

Several seats below them, Astoria heard Theodore Nott stir in his seat and cough with disapproval.

The small well of anger that Astoria had been digging in her own chest all week suddenly flooded over at the sound of Theodore's cough. A desperate need to throw something, or _anything_ , at Theo caused Astoria to clench her fists in her lap to stop herself from doing something stupid. Malfoy was still glancing at her. Astoria relaxed her fingers as another plan for revenge, a better one, instantly resolved itself before her.

"So, who's seeker then?" said Astoria, propping herself back on her arms so that she was closer and could more easily hear Malfoy speak over the noise of the audience.

Draco shrugged to prove his lack enthusiasm, but he answered her question almost immediately. "Terrence Higgs for Slytherin and _presumably_ Potter for Gryffindor."

"'Presumably Potter'?" parroted Astoria with a laugh, careful to keep her tone free of scorn lest she lose Malfoy, who was now an integral part of her scheme to annoy Theodore. "Is that what you're calling him now? It sounds like you don't think he's actually who he says he is."

Malfoy stared at her, trying to figure out if she was mocking him. Astoria smiled encouragingly in the most radiant way she knew how. Draco was forced to look away, blinking rapidly as though he had stared into a bright light for too long.

"Alright, I see Harry," Astoria went on, following the match at last, "but which one is Terrence— I assume the seekers are the ones to watch?"

"Most of the action happens with the chasers," Draco corrected. "The beaters are the ones who handle the bludger, so that's always a laugh but, of course, the seekers _do_ end the game. It's best not to lose sight of them, if you can manage it. Terrence is the one on the the Comet Two sixty." Astoria shot him a blank look so Draco clarified, growing slightly more smug. "That's a _broomstick_ model."

Several rows below, Theodore was sitting crookedly, no doubt following Astoria's betrayal as closely as he could manage. Even as she watched, Theodore let out a dry, unkind laugh.

"Point him out to me," said Astoria. Spurred on by Theo's laugh, Astoria leaned in close enough to follow Draco's line of vision. The side of her arm pressed lightly against his thigh and, after a second's deliberation, she left it there.

Draco's shoulders stiffened slightly. His gaze flicked down to the point of contact between their bodies evasively before he pointed into the air. "There, next to Potter—"

Suddenly both of the seekers began to dive toward the ground. Astoria craned her head, interested despite herself.

Both seekers were speeding against each other, neck and neck— no, Harry's broom was faster— he was going to win the game. Out of nowhere, Marcus Flint collided with Harry and pushed him off course. A collective groan went up from the Gryffindor side of the stadium.

"Hah!" jeered Malfoy, sounding very self-satisfied. He leaned back in his seat cockily. Astoria couldn't help but notice that this movement seemed to push his leg more firmly against her side.

"Is that a foul?" Astoria asked.

"Yeah," drawled Draco. "It's worth the penalty though, because Terrence blocked the snitch."

All around them, Slytherins were exchanging self-congratulatory looks. Pansy turned around in her seat with a knowing smirk plastered all over her flat, unkind face. Her eyes skipped from Draco to Astoria and her smirk flickered before tightening into a cold grimace.

Astoria sat up immediately. She leaned toward her sister, who also seemed to be watching Astoria from behind false features, perhaps wondering why she was intentionally asking for so much attention. Astoria had not factored Pansy into her plan, which was beginning to look like a lot more work than it was strictly worth.

"Disappointed, Astoria?" Pansy asked. "Had your fingers crossed for Potter?"

"I don't really care, honestly," Astoria confessed. "I don't follow quidditch."

"That's a little disloyal, don't you think?" sneered Pansy.

One of the Gryffindor chasers was now in possession of the quaffle and speeding toward the goal posts entirely unchecked. Draco leaned forward, continuing to commentate for Astoria over Lee's voice. "That's the penalty shot. The referee awards them for a foul."

"You've really _never_ seen a single quidditch game, Astoria?" asked Pansy skeptically, calling over Draco. If looks could kill, Astoria would have been obligated to fall over cold.

"No, we haven't actually," said Daphne spontaneously. "I've never seen one, either. Dad never followed a team."

Draco turned back to Astoria incredulously. "I thought you said you lived in Tidenham? That's right next to Tutshill, isn't it? So you have the Tutshill Tornados."

Astoria did not remember ever telling Draco where she lived.

"What's your team again, Draco?" asked Pansy, firmly putting a stop to any discussion about where the Greengrass sisters' father lived.

"The Wasps, I suppose," drawled Malfoy, "as they actually win, although the Falmouth Falcons are alright. You _do_ know how the Wimborne Wasps got their name, don't you?" he asked, looking at Astoria again. Astoria half-wished Draco wouldn't, because every time he spoke to her directly, Pansy shifted around a little more in her seat and her expression grew more lethal.

"No," said Astoria.

Tracey Davis squealed. Pansy accidentally fidgeted her weight onto Tracey's hand.

"Some beater back in the day—I forget his name—hit an actual hornet nest at another team's seeker during play."

"Speaking of retirement, Astoria," cut in Pansy with a forced laugh, "I remembered a crazy story from Tippy's today at breakfast!"

Tippy's. Pansy was talking about the finishing school course she and Astoria had both attended together the summer previously.

Tippy Tipman was an elderly, pure-blooded witch who was famous for offering etiquette classes to younger girls. Materialistic and unprecedentedly manipulative, Tippy had gone by her nickname since the death of her husband. Every summer she conducted a seminar with the help of her spinster friends at her palatial summer grounds in Kent. Astoria's time with Tippy had been one of the worst experiences of her life.

"It was during that special archery lesson? You know, the one when Mrs. Tippy's friend Dolly came to teach as a special treat?" insisted Pansy. As if Astoria needed any reminding about the incident she was referring to.

Draco raised a bored eyebrow. Clearly he did not find finishing school stories half as interesting as watching Harry Potter potentially lose at quidditch, but Astoria knew what story Pansy was referencing and she was certain that if Pansy finished telling it, she would have the attention of anyone within a ten yard radius.

"I remember that time at tea when Tippy smacked your hand because you were eating all the cakes," Astoria countered threateningly.

Pansy blushed furiously but plowed on. "Oh no, I'm taking about the time you shot our archery teacher! Speaking of hands, wasn't that where you hit Miss. Dolly with an arrow?"

"You _shot_ your teacher?" drawled Malfoy, incredulous delight replacing boredom. Pansy had succeed. His interest was properly regained.

"It was a practice shot," sniffed Astoria, dismissing the whole thing as best as she could.

"In the wrong direction _and_ it wasn't your turn," insisted Pansy.

"Something's wrong with Harry's broom," said Daphne, drawing their attention skyward again.

High in the air, Harry was struggling to stay atop of his broomstick, which was bucking and shaking beneath him. Far below, someone for Slytherin scored.

"Is that normal?" asked Astoria nervously, her own fear of flying infecting the spectacle that she was watching with a sense of personal danger.

Harry's broomstick began to roll over and over, Harry only just clinging to it by a single arm. Malfoy shook his head to indicate 'no' with a look of feverish excitement. Harry was rising higher by the second and the broom was growing even more restless. Harry began to zig zag and Astoria clapped a hand over her mouth to keep from squeaking. Then, all of a sudden, Harry had regained control and was diving down toward the ground. His hand went up to his mouth in direct imitation of Astoria and he heaved himself off his Nimbus.

"He's going to throw up!" said Malfoy, obviously delighted by this, his eyes narrowing with mirth.

Harry Potter coughed. Astoria cringed and then a wave of applause went up from the Gryffindors because Harry had spat out the snitch.

Astoria took her hands away from her mouth, relief that she had not had to watch Harry fall of his broom flooding her body. She turned to Daphne, "He really can fly well, can't he?"

0o0

* * *

A little bit of Pansy and Astoria backstory here which probably seemed like the most boring part of the chapter but it'll let you in on a wee little secret (it's one of my favorite details so far) Miss. Dolly will, in fact, be back much later in this story in a way that I get a huge kick out of.

Until then, there is some new Draco chemistry really starting to take off in this chapter. Add a dash of the dreaded 'friend fight' with Theo and things are really starting to get rolling. As always, reading comments is a joy so tell me what you think!


	4. Family

Chapter Four

Family

* * *

0o0

There was a small party in the common room that afternoon in honor of the triumphant Gryffindor quidditch team.

"Nice job on the megaphone," said Astoria, moving aside to make room for Lee Jordan at the sandwich tray. "Tell Harry that he was brilliant as well when you see him. George says he went down to Hagrid's for tea or I would do it myself!"

Astoria snatched a crab roll off the plate, eyeing Lee, whose commentary Pansy had hated so much, rather warmly.

"Thanks," Lee grinned, but the look was strained and he lowered his voice. "Look, I don't know if you know him or not but there's a Slytherin bloke outside the portrait hole right now and he's looking for you. The fat lady won't let him in, but he says he wants to talk to you."

Astoria blinked and slowly swallowed a mouthful of crab. Her first instinct was to think of Theodore but as they were no longer speaking, she did not see how this could be.

"I can tell him to go away if you want," Lee offered quickly, mistaking her lack of response for fear.

"No," said Astoria, "it's fine. Is he still outside?"

Lee nodded so Astoria finished the second half of her sandwich and made her way over to the portrait hole, trying not to become overly hopeful.

The hallway outside was chilly and very quiet compared to the celebratory turbulence within the common room. On the ground near the steps, bouncing a Gobbstone and chewing his lip, was Theodore Nott. He looked up hopefully when she came out.

"Oh, good," said Theo awkwardly, getting to his feet. "I wasn't sure if you would come. I've been waiting out here for a half hour."

"What were you waiting to say?" asked Astoria in an oddly formal voice, uncomfortable for the first time in Theodore's presence.

Theo cleared his throat and, for a moment, Astoria thought he might loose his nerve and leave again.

"Look, I'm sorry," he burst at last. "I shouldn't have said that thing about your mother. I _knew_ it would make you angry. I was just so…" Theo petered off, searching for a way to articulate his thoughts eloquently, all the while becoming more and more angry with himself as he struggled.

Astoria folded her arms, waiting.

Theodore took a deep breath, and rushed on. "I'm sorry I got so mad at you about what Malfoy said. I know you weren't asking for it. It's just—" He hesitated again. "Look, I was afraid that you would agree with him, alright?"

"Why would I _do_ that?" asked Astoria.

"I know you're a Gryffindor Astoria, but you have to be able to see this from my angle!" said Theodore angrily. "You're pretty and funny and socially clever. People will always immediately expect you to be special from the first second you walk into a room and I'm _none_ of those things. You're the only real friend I've made since I came to Hogwarts. I was scared that you were going to realize the difference between us and think I was a creep or stop studying with me."

Astoria was overwhelmed. She had been hoping that Theodore had come to apologize but she had been expecting him to bring a dose of blame for her own behavior with him as well.

"The entire fight was stupid, anyway!" said Theodore, scuffing his boot on the floor angrily. "If you _want_ to defect on me and become one of Malfoy's little sycophants just because he's rich and showy, then go ahead. You're better than that, though. And if admitting that I was wrong is what it takes to _stop_ that from happening, I'll do it. I'm _sorry_ , alright?"

Astoria moved forward and hugged him. Theodore froze and Astoria realized that the concept of hugging was probably naturally distasteful to him but she did not let go until his face had relaxed.

"I'm sorry too," said Astoria, stepping back. "I officially promise that I won't defect to Draco, if it means anything."

"You wouldn't live long if you did," said Theodore, smirking slyly. "Pansy would smother you."

Astoria laughed for the first time in almost a week, wiping her face with her hand.

"Was she telling the truth about you shooting your teacher?" asked Theodore, confirming Astoria's suspicions that he had been spying on her at the match.

"Old Dolly Umbridge?" asked Astoria. "Yeah, but in all fairness, the hag had it coming."

0o0

Christmas was coming, a fact that was brought home for Astoria mid-way through December when a letter from her aunt arrived at breakfast.

Now that they had made up again, Theodore had gone back to his usual habit of sitting with Astoria in the mornings. Something about the look on Astoria's face while she read the address on her aunt's envelope must have hinted at the fact that the letter she was holding did not contain Christmas tidings however, because Theo suddenly became nosy.

"Who's that from?" he asked, struggling to read Belladonna's thin, elegant script from across the table.

"My aunt," said Astoria, smiling wryly.

"Which one is that?" asked Theodore

"Belladonna," Astoria sighed carelessly, opening the letter.

Theodore's face cracked into a surprised grin are he absorbed this. "It never occurred to me that Belladonna Lestrange must be your aunt!" he said excitedly.

Belladonna's reputation as a motivated seductress was almost renowned and Astoria immediately began to wish that she had not mentioned her name. Theodore might have been clever enough to trace Astoria's maternal lineage back to Lucrezia, but if there was any chance that he could have forgotten about Belladonna, Astoria would have preferred it to stay that way.

"Who's related to Belladonna Lestrange?" drawled Draco Malfoy, who had just happened to be walking by at the exact moment that Theodore had spoken. Draco stopped to lean against the end of the table. "Trying to be impressive, Nott? Don't listen to a word of it, Astoria. His mother was a Rookwood."

Theodore stared at Astoria, at an apologetic loss, a trace of anxiety regarding their last fight evident on his face. Theodore turned to Draco immediatly and Astoria knew that he was going to lie for her

"He wasn't saying anything of the kind," said Astoria firmly, wanting to stop Theodore from shaming himself before he even began. "I was."

"How?" drawled Draco dubiously, narrowing his eyes slightly. "By marriage?"

This was a fair guess, as Belladonna had been married _four_ times but since all of Belladonna's marriages had ended—not by divorce, but by the early and suspicious deaths of all of her husbands—it was still a rather vulgar way of asking.

"Belladonna was my mother's sister, actually," said Astoria tensely, hoping Draco would drop it.

"So she _married_ your uncle?" pried Draco further.

"No," said Astoria, pulling the letter out of the envelope in order to have something to look at that was not Malfoy's face. "They were _born_ sisters."

" _Your_ mother was a Lestrange?" said Draco sharply, his eyes narrowing still further.

"Yes," said Astoria tersely, reading sentences on the page before her but taking in none of the words.

"No she _wasn't_ ," Draco decided at last, scoffing and looking unsure. "What was her name?" he demanded, perhaps thinking that by asking quickly, he might manage to throw Astoria off and expose her claim as a lie.

"Lucrezia," said Astoria wearily.

This name seemed to ring a bell for Draco however, because he was staring at her appraisingly. Astoria could tell that to Draco, who valued blood and birth connections much more than he ought to, this news was something a game changer.

"Rabastan and Rudolphus Lestrange are _your_ uncles?" he continued, his tone becoming almost insulting.

" _Yes_ ," said Astoria, this time almost angrily. "Do you _mind_ , I'm trying to read a letter?"

"Why would your father _remarry_ , then?" insisted Draco. "What happened to your mother?"

"She died," Astoria lied, becoming increasingly uncomfortable and more than a little aggressive.

" _When_ did she die?" asked Draco, his pale eyes brightening a little too knowingly.

"The year I was born," said Astoria curtly.

Malfoy glanced slowly over to the Gryffindor table, where Astoria ought to have been sitting, and a kind of awful recognition began to register on his features. "What killed her?" he asked carefully.

"Death," said Astoria smartly, glaring.

"Oy, Astoria," said Fred Weasley, approaching from being Draco. "Are you done eating yet?"

"What's going on?" asked George, picking up on the strange tension immediately.

"Malfoy's just been attempting to come to intimate terms with Astoria's blood status," said Theodore, willingly speaking to George for the first time ever.

Fred's face went dark. "Is that so? Well, if your mother was the muggle town mayor, it's nothing to us Astoria and we have pressing business that needs to be discussed."

Malfoy laughed cruelly at the irony of this statement.

Astoria stuffed her aunt's letter into her pocket and got up, grabbing her bag from under her seat, wanting to leave before Draco said anything to the twins about her family. She walked directly past Malfoy, who scoffed disbelievingly in response to words she had never said, and followed Fred and George toward the entrance hall.

"That kid seems like a real twerp," said George when they had reached the courtyard. "Who is he anyway?"

"That's Draco," said Astoria. "He's Lucius Malfoy's son."

Fred whistled. "Well that explains it. I thought he seemed a bit cheeky."

"He's more than cheeky," said Astoria with a grin.

"His dad was a Death Eater, you know," cautioned Fred with a frown. "One of the worst kind too, if Dad knows what he's talking about. Malfoy told all sorts of lies when You Know Who disappeared to stay out of jail. That's bad blood, there. You'd best steer clear of him."

Astoria's smile faded and her aunt's letter began to feel like stone in her pocket.

"What did you want to talk about?" asked Astoria, trying to look brightly interested instead of embarrassed and tense.

They had reached the seat upon which they had once drank old butterbeer together. A fresh snow had fallen the night before, leaving a soft down of ice on the bench. Astoria tucked her hand up into her robes and brushed off a place to lean against with the sleeve of her shirt.

"Straight to it then," said George excitedly. "Fred and I have been doing a lot of thinking about ourselves lately."

"Shocking, I know," said Fred, grinning from ear to ear, "but introspection is best done in pairs."

"We're coming to realize that our life calling falls a little bit out of the way of what you might call 'the academic path'," George admitted.

"Still," added Fred, "some might say that we have the fine, even visionary, spirit of entrepreneurs."

Astoria snorted.

"We're thinking marketable products," said George. "The kind of stuff that we find ourselves wishing _we_ could buy in our day to day lives."

"Sweets that make you puke colors, hats that explode like bombs, you get the idea," rattled Fred.

"Then, we realized that the only thing stopping us from being purveyors of such fine tangible mischief was funding," said George.

"Where do I come in to this?" asked Astoria dubiously.

"We want to open up a betting pool on the quidditch league," said George.

"We know it's against the rules, but we think the game could do with a bit of shaking up," said Fred. "Not to mention what _we_ could do with the profit."

"It's hard for us to push the idea, though, as we are both already on a house team." said Fred. "Might come off as a bit biased, you know?"

"I suppose," Astoria conceded.

"So we thought to ourselves, who else posses a fine business acumen? Who else has proven to have an errant disrespect for the rules, but is clever enough not to get caught?"

"Who has a dad that practices the law in case we all get caught?" added George pointedly.

"You want to start a basement gambling ring on the quidditch cup?" asked Astoria, getting the measure now. "You want me to help out as— what, a bookie? A treasurer?"

"Precisely!" said George.

Astoria considered this exciting prospect. Truthfully, she liked the idea of working with Fred and George nearly as much as she liked the idea of starting a black market movement.

"I don't really need the pocket change," admitted Astoria honestly.

"You're _still_ a Gryffindor, aren't you?" asked Fred solidly. "We live for the rush! Fortune favors the brave!"

"Alright," Astoria agreed, laughing. "We'll need to figure out some way to keep out bets private though. Otherwise people might be too afraid to put money down."

"Of course," said Fred.

"Oh, and we'll need start up funding to cover the odds on all the bets until after the next game," continued Astoria, undaunted.

"What for?" asked George, looking as though this threw a wrench into his plan.

"In case some freak coincidence happens and everybody somehow manages to win their bets at once," said Astoria firmly, actually sitting on the cold bench to think. "We'd need to be able to pay them."

"We haven't got any savings," Fred admitted.

"I do," Astoria shrugged. "It's not much, but it would probably be enough for something like this."

George beamed at her.

0o0

Astoria did not get a chance to read her aunt's letter in privacy until later that evening. When Astoria was finally in bed at last and under the covers, she opened the note and began to read quietly to herself, listening to the muffled sounds of Lavender's sleep talking.

 _Astoria,_

 _A merry Christmas to you darling! I hope that your first term has been an educational one and that you have spent some of your free time in reflection. It has been weeks since I have last written to you, a fact which I hope has not gone unnoticed. I will not lie, I have been very angry and it has been far too long since I have seen you._

 _I spoke to your father yesterday. I swear, I will never get over the sound and yet the senselessness of that man! Yet, after a much-winded conversation (one that might have been pruned to mere sentences in the hands of a more sensible listener) I was finally able to bring him to the conclusion that you, Astoria, are in a time of crisis. Your father and I have agreed that what you truly need this holiday season is guidance. A rebellious weed, after all, will never grow into a rose._

 _You will therefore be delivered directly to me at the beginning of your break and we will spend your vacation together rethinking our strategy, as tradition, it seems, has already been eschewed._

 _Much love,_

 _Aunt Belladonna._

0o0

The holidays officially started against the backdrop of a whirl of snow. The season had declared itself festive but Astoria could not help but feel her mood to be exactly the opposite.

Astoria was more accustomed to staying at her aunt's house—an old, three story stone affair—in the summer time. As such, Astoria had never before appreciated how much of the house's charm was owed to the very pretty gardens and forestation surrounding it. With the gathering snow clinging to the windowpanes and a cruel wind gusting outside, Astoria was left to stalk about the house's semi-darkened rooms without purpose.

There were three guest bedrooms on the second floor but, as always, Astoria preferred to sleep in the attic. Her bedroom was one of only two rooms on that floor, having been converted from a storage space that had once been used to hold her long dead relatives summer wardrobes. This made sense because the house itself, when the Lestrange family had known more prosperous days, had once been considered a summer retreat. After the fall of the Dark Lord and the subsequent imprisonment of all of Belladonna's siblings however, Astoria's aunt had made it her permanent residence.

There was nothing strictly rustic about Belladonna's home; it could still generously host a dinner party for eight, after all, but it was not the house in which Belladonna had grown up. The majority of _that_ part of the Lestrange estate had been entailed away in the male line centuries before. This meant that Astoria's uncles controlled the real family fortune, only they were imprisoned and unable to access it, while Aunt Belladonna (the youngest and a female) had been left with nothing but the family's old vacation home.

Astoria did not believe for a moment that this fact had ever far from her aunt's mind. After all, her aunt had gone on to marry and then widow herself four times.

Still, there was a feeling of once-greater grandeur in every nook of Aunt Belladonna's property. Several of the rooms on the first floor remained unaltered since the time before Astoria's grandparents had died and they had the stiff, uncomfortable feeling of a museum to them. In Belladonna's opinion, she (and by association, Astoria) had been deprived of a higher dignity. They had been held back, but Belladonna tended to view her status as wounded rather then fatally injured. She had been on the bench for several years, but she was not out of the game.

"Astoria, don't slouch!" said Belladonna bossily. "You're a young woman _not_ a willow tree."

Astoria and Belladonna were having breakfast over tea service in the sitting room. The sitting room, with its multitudinous windows overlooking the closest outcropping of forest, was the brightest room in the house.

Astoria straightened her back and gazed out one of the windows, looking as deeply into the woods as branches and snowfall would allow her eyes to reach.

"I sometimes wonder what I did to deserve your attitude," mused Belladonna out loud rather gracefully, stirring sugar into her tea.

"What do you mean?" asked Astoria moodily.

"I give you the best advice that I can, based on years of experience. I promote you. I do what I can to fix the mistakes you have made so that you do not suffer from them," Belladonna listed effortlessly. "What do you give me but your pubescent ire and your black moods? This tea really is lovely, don't you think?"

Astoria nodded and took another sip. There was something spiced and vaguely confectionery about the way that it lingered on her tongue.

"Have you been practicing your French?" asked Belladonna after a lengthy silence that was broken only by the howling of the wind in the eaves.

Astoria had not, as there was no need to. She had learned French as a very young girl and it was not a subject that she needed reinforcement in.

"Yes," Astoria lied. "Why?"

Belladonna raised her china cup to her lips and forced Astoria to wait in anxious anticipation.

"Because Aston seems intent on a book-tour this summer," Belladonna admitted at last. "You know that he wrote that silly historical volume on Turkish mythology? He's quite keen on having you join him for a spell in August."

This was the best news Astoria had heard since she had received her Hogwarts letter.

Aston Mendel was an old family friend of Astoria's mother— an old lover if one listened to gossip. When Lucrezia Lestrange had known Aston, he had still been a struggling, ambitious man, anxious to dip a toe into the world of business but much had changed since the war.

Aston came from a very old but nearly penniless family that had exhausted their fortune fortune before he had even been born. After the fall of Dark Lord however, Aston had gone from being a pretentious upstart to becoming as rich as any royal with an infamous reputation to match his wealth.

It was through Aston that Lucrezia had eventually met Astoria's father, a fact that Astoria secretly suspected was something of a thorn in Aston's remarkably good-natured side.

Even in light of all this potential bad blood, Aston was one of Astoria's most favorite people in the world. The fact that he chose to honor Astoria's existence despite the fact that Lucrezia had eventually left him for another man was just one of the many ways that Aston had always managed to make Astoria feel _worthy;_ something Belladonna had never done particularly well. Astoria had been to visit Aston Mendel's family many times in the summer as a child. Aston's son Maudlin was three years older than her and reminded Astoria a little of Draco, except that Maudlin was her senior and much more prone to ignoring Astoria than provoking her.

Belladonna had never been overly fond of Aston. He was too much of his own mind and too _neuveau riche_ for Belladonna's tastes. Aston played ridiculous lawn sports with the vigor of a man half his age or distinction, drove a muggle automobile for fun despite the ill fashion of such a hobby among the pureblood community and possibly owed the greater part of his current fortune to the disappearance of a camp of gypsies some fourteen years previously. Astoria adored him.

"Oh, that sounds like fun," said Astoria, afraid of revealing her true enthusiasm for this plan in case it made Belladonna want to deny her permission to go. "Just think, Auntie! if I embarrass you, it'll be on his hands and in another country."

"What a blessed prospect," said Belladonna flatly. "So, tell me about Hogwarts. You have hardly said a word about your classmates."

The topic of friends was not one that Astoria wished to expand upon, certain that the acquaintances she had made would not live up to Belladonna's high expectations. Astoria's thoughts flashed toward the Weasley twins and she felt herself withdraw.

"I'm quite fond of Theodore Nott," said Astoria, testing the water.

"Bah," said Belladonna dismissively. "That's a proud lineage to be sure, but if the son is anything like the father I would not put much stock in that friendship, darling."

Astoria thought of the note that she had written Theo the day after break had begun:

 _Theo,_

 _Arrived at Aunt Belladonna's. She is feeling seasonal this year. I think she hopes to curb my burgeoning blood traitorousness with an overwhelming supply of poinsettias. Must escape!_

 _-Astoria_

When Theo had still not written back by the next evening, Astoria had sent him a second, slightly more desperate note.

 _Theodore,_

 _I suppose you are very busy or else you did not receive my letter, because I can't think why else you haven't written me back. Aunt Belladonna is in something of a 'mood'. My lessons in self improvement do not seem to be going well. Last night she drank a bottle of wine with dinner and informed me that it is high time I took dance lessons because I walk like the kind of goat that Amos Diggory would like to sit on. I do not know what this means. Send the date of the next full afternoon you have free. I want to come visit you._

 _Please._

 _-Astoria_

It was the third day of vacation and Astoria still had not had word from him.

"You just don't like them because they aren't very _fashionable_ ," Astoria argued. "Theodore is wildly smart, even if he isn't attractive."

"Fashion is only armor, Astoria," said Belladonna sharply. "A social and observant mind is the sword. You would not believe the number of people who go around calling themselves intellectuals who are really insufficient in both brains and wit."

0o0

By the next morning, Astoria was through with waiting. For reasons that she could not fathom, Theodore was ignoring her. This seemed doubly odd to Astoria as it was Theodore who had first offered up his address so that they could continue to communicate over break.

Astoria spent the morning in her attic bedroom, pacing. Outside the warped glass of her window, the storm that had been raging for days had finally settled down. Thick flakes were falling softly toward the ground and building up on the windowsill.

The address that Theodore had given her was for Upper Flagley and Astoria had almost convinced herself to journey out and attempt to hunt him down when a pecking sound against the windowpane startled her. Astoria crossed to let the owl in at once, untying the letter attached to its leg.

 _Astoria,_

 _Not busy. Come today. You can only stay till mid afternoon, so come early. Dad is out._

 _Use floo to get to the inn on the outskirts of town. Take your first left on main street and follow the road up the hill. After a few minutes there will be a lane with two stone markers. I will meet you outside._

 _-Theo_

 _P.S. Millicent Bulstrode has also threatened to stop by, so wear something thick because she's been known to bite._

The main connection to the floo network in Astoria's aunt's house was in the kitchen, although it was possible to arrive and leave from the living room and third floor store-room as well. In this case however, the kitchen was better suited to Astoria's needs, because it was the place that her aunt was the least likely to be and there was no powder to be had in the attic.

Wobbles the house-elf was busy making a meat pie on the wooden counter when Astoria slipped in. Wobbles, spotting her, immediately made a motion to pat the flour off of her hands.

"If my aunt asks," said Astoria bravely, stopping the elf from wiping the flour off her hands, "tell her I've gone out for the afternoon."

The look on Wobbles face seemed to convey that she was not entirely comfortable with this but she nodded obediently anyway. Astoria took a pinch of floo powder from the engraved matchbox near the hearth and tossed a handful into the flames, hoping that Wobbles did not see Belladonna until evening.

Astoria exited the inn that Theodore had mentioned to find herself on a country road. Doing as she had been told, Astoria took her first left and began to climb the hill that had been described in Theo's letter. The track was steep and lined with oak trees, so Astoria kept a sharp lookout for the stone markers that were supposed to tell her when she had found Theodore's drive. She spotted them at last, near the top of the hill, and began to walk faster, her pale cheeks burning from the chill and the exercise.

The drive tapered off thinly and when Astoria reached the end she met a set of very old, wrought iron gates that a person of average body size could easily duck under. Framing this set of gates were two bushes in need of a good trim and marbleized by snow. Standing next to one of these bushes was Theodore Nott. Sitting on a rock beside him, wide as a doorway and looking sulky, was Millicent Bulstrode. Astoria broke into an ungainly run toward them, grinning broadly. Theo waved his hello.

"Good," Theo sighed when she had reached them. "You didn't get lost. Millicent was flat out against walking into the village to look for you."

Millicent blinked gloomily and climbed off the rock. Her shoulders were as thick as Astoria and Theo's put together and she seemed to have the kind of hunch that one normally only met with in old ladies. Astoria took in these details but noticed for the first time that Millicent's hair was brushed and that she had small earrings in both ears.

"Hello," said Astoria politely. "You're Millicent, aren't you? I'm Astoria."

Millicent blinked slowly, silently looking Astoria up and down. Without even saying a word, Millicent's opinion was clear; she found something about Astoria to be highly unpleasant.

"Let's walk into the garden," said Theo. "It's frozen, but the old well is a nice place to sit."

They skirted the edge of the lawn, keeping as wide a distance from the house as they could. Astoria wondered uncomfortably if this was on her account and she turned to stare at Theodore's home as they walked. The architecture itself was quite lovely but several of the shutters on the third floor had become loose and a lattice for climbing plants near one of the doorways appeared to be more than halfway rotten.

The garden that Theo had spoken of was in a similar state of disrepair. It was shaped like a large stone circle, sunken into the ground, at the center which was an old well. Three stone benches were built into the walls. One of these seats was nearly completely crumbled and the other two were showing signs of great distress. Between the benches stood several small statues of Greek heroes. Astoria examined a stone likeness of Hermes with interest. He was missing fingers and half of his face been been eroded, but what little remained was rounded and pretty.

"So," said Theo casually, "how are things at the punishment retreat?"

Theodore spoke as if he were perfectly at ease but there was something ungainly and twitchy about the way that he kept looking back toward his house that made Astoria feel tense at once.

"Heinous," said Astoria dramatically, scooping up a rock and dropping it down the well. The rock landed out of sight with a _plink!_ on solid ice. "One minute my aunt will be drunkly insisting that I learn how to dance and the next she's soberly banning the idea, afraid no men will want me because I'll be too buff from physical exercise."

Theo laughed deeply at this but Millicent rolled her eyes and ambled off to sit on a bench.

"What's with _her_?" Astoria whispered, looking down into the well and squinting into the darkness.

"You're a Gryffindor and your shoulders are symmetrical," said Theo in a low voice. "Cut her some slack."

"Is she upset that I'm here?" asked Astoria, surprised by how depressed this idea secretly made her feel.

"Confused, mostly," said Theo. "She doesn't quite understand why we're friends. She thinks that anybody who isn't physically ugly is usually stupid and that I'm being really shallow for hanging around with you."

Astoria looked at Millicent, who was still sitting on the bench, looking up at the sky and chewing the inside of her mouth in a slow, bovine way.

Suddenly there was a great deal of noise coming from the direction of the house. Astoria looked back toward it in surprise but Theodore jumped and his face went very pale.

A man with long, greying hair, wearing a dusty looking brown cloak was stomping toward them. He was swatting at the falling snow as though the flakes were mosquitoes and swearing loudly.

"WHAT IS THIS?" the man demanded as he drew level with them, panting hard. His nostrils flared with each breath he took as he looked from Astoria to Millicent suspiciously, trying to identify an enemy in disguise.

Theodore began to stutter but the man—presumably Theo's father—was not looking at him. He was looking at Astoria, who he did not recognize and becoming more worked up by the second.

"MUGGLES from the village, is it?" roared Mr. Nott, clenching his fists around an invisible object and looking frankly insane. "Filthy, snooping MUGGLES?"

"Father, _no_!" Theo begged.

"I'm Astoria Greengrass," said Astoria firmly, conscious of the fact that her legs had turned to jelly. "I'm not a muggle, I'm—"

"TRICKS!" Mr. Nott bellowed. "I'll show you a _real_ trick!" He produced his wand from inside of his cloak.

" _What_ tricks?" Astoria had backed up so far that her back was pressed into the stone wall, a furious fear spreading to her fingertips like fire. "I'm not tricking you!"

"Father!" yelled Theodore, looking perhaps more terrified than Astoria was.

"YOU WANT TO PLAY?" demanded Mr. Nott, making a violent swishing motion in Astoria's direction before reaching toward his pocket, in search of some other weapon.

"What, have you got a deck of cards in there, too?" Astoria bellowed irrationally, trying to move away from the wall because it was covered with stabbing vines.

"Astoria!" yelled Theodore in anguish.

Mr. Nott, instead of becoming angrier, seemed to pause instead.

Astoria could see Theodore's eyes darting wildly between her and Mr. Nott, perhaps trying to decide if he liked Astoria enough to risk being murdered by his own father.

Then, Mr. Nott tilted his head back and let out a roaring laugh that crackled like an old phonograph. He pointed at Astoria with a long, gnarled finger. "This one's got spunk. I'll give her that. _Not_ a muggle, eh?" He rubbed a hand across his unshaven chin. " _Not_ a muggle..."

glanced at Theodore warily, seeking assurance, as he did not seem to be able to tell the difference between house guests and foes.

"That's Astoria!" snapped Theodore. "She's not a muggle, so put your wand away! Her dad is George Greengrass!"

"A LAWYER?" Mr. Nott literally spat into the falling snow. "That's not _much_ better then a muggle in my book!"

"Her mom was Lucrezia Lestrange," Theo quickly went on, trying a different angle.

Mr. Nott raised his eyebrows and peered at Astoria inquisitively. Perhaps he saw some of Lucrezia's looks in Astoria because he finally seemed to relax. "I knew your mother, girl. An age or so ago. You've got some of her spirit."

Theodore was still shaking but the real danger seemed to have passed.

"I never met her," said Astoria, maintaining eye contact the way she had been taught to do if she ever ran afoul of large animals.

"Astoria is a Gryffindor," said Millicent, breaking her vow of silence. Millicent had gotten up off of the bench and her expression was bizarrely gleeful.

"Gryffindor, eh?" Mr. Nott grumbled. "Well, at least you've got nerve. That's more then I could say for most of the race." He turned around, and grumbled, "You can bring her in for tea, Theodore."

The three children followed Mr. Nott across the lawn in rigid silence. Millicent's energy had taken a turn for the cheerful but Theodore looked as though he had just been sentenced to hang. They scaled the front steps, stepping over bits of plaster that appeared to have fallen from the top of the doorway and entered Theodore's house. They followed Mr. Nott until they reached a library, which seemed to be doubling as his study.

The walls in this room were crowded with books, but not the formal leather kind that one usually found in a family library. These were well-worn books with cracked spines and stains on them. The air smelled faintly of pipe tobacco and dusty velvet which, the latter of which Astoria attributed to the musty curtains that hung from the windows, nearly obscuring the natural light completely.

A brass lamp on top of a desk served as the primary source of illumination but Mr. Nott stopped at a low, wooden table. He motioned that they should seat themselves as they liked in whatever velvet upholstered chairs they chose. Astoria sat down gingerly and peered about her in the warm gloom, thinking that she had never been in a space that seemed more like Theodore before than the one she was sitting in.

Mr. Nott rang a bell and a house elf appeared. He ordered tea in a strained and vaguely uncomfortable way, giving Astoria the impression that he was long out of the habit of entertaining. Then he sat down in the most comfortable looking chair across from Theodore. Nobody said a word until the tea arrived.

Somewhere a clock was ticking. Astoria reached forward and edged a book that had been left face down on the table out from underneath a stack of papers so that she could read the cover. It was entitled: ' _House_ _Elves & Self Hatred'_.

Inches away from Theodore's foot, which was nervously bobbing, a worn copy of a comic called ' _The Adventures of Martin Miggs, The Mad Muggle'_ had been abandoned half-way through. Astoria struggled to reconcile the idea of these two pieces of literature being read by the same man and quickly gave up.

"Hmph," said Mr. Nott, scoffing at nothing.

Astoria pointed at the book on house elves and broke the silence, "Are you reading that because of the new law?"

"I'm reading it for the _humor_ ," Mr. Nott barked, smiling rather nastily.

On an ottoman nearby was another stack of books with titles such as, " _Lupine Lawlessness: Why Lycanthropes Don't Deserve to Live'_ , ' _Flesh Eating Trees of the World'_ and, perhaps most disconcerting of all, a copy of ' _Enchantment in Baking'_.

"What are you reading now?" asked Astoria, striving the break the silence.

Mr. Nott produced a copy of ' _The Dark Arts: A Goblin's Companion'_ from behind an umbrella stand that was stuffed with knobby old sticks and what looked suspiciously like a femur, thrusting it roughly at Astoria.

Astoria flipped through the book but it was mostly written in Gobbledygook and she could not make heads or tails of it.

"You speak Gobbledygook?" she asked, noting that someone had written into the margins frequently and with a slashing, irate hand.

"Of course I do," barked Mr. Nott. "That's the only way to convince Goblins not to rob you, the greedy little _shits_!"

Theodore made a sound of unmistakable misery.

The tea had had cooled. Mr. Nott picked up the teapot to pour but his hands were shaking so badly that he spilled on the table top.

"Here, let me," said Astoria.

Mr. Nott jerked away but his hands continued to tremble so he slammed the teapot back down and motioned that she should do it if she wanted to.

"Everybody who isn't kidding themselves ought to be able to understand goblins when they speak," Mr. Nott went on, picking up where he had left off. "If they control the banking system, Goblins, they control the money, I say! You can't get a decent appraisal for a brass chamber pot without having to consult a Goblin these days! It's a system that's been ripe for a coup for centuries."

Astoria filled all four cups with tea and began dispensing them. Across the table, Theodore was watching her with a mixture of embarrassment and awe.

"But Goblins are subservient to wizards," said Millicent, clearly parroting a truth that had been reinforced in her home since she was a child.

"HAH!" Mr. Nott scoffed loudly. "It's precisely that sort of thinking that will lead to the pureblood demise!"

"How do you figure?" pressed Millicent, looking slightly offended.

"Creatures of sound mind are only subservient if we MAKE them be," said Mr. Nott furiously. "The second we start to forget that fact and think everything is in order is the second we will be attacked from behind!"

Astoria listened with interest, thinking that Mr. Nott might have a point even if his manner of expressing it was vaguely insane.

"Do they have a different alphabet, goblins?" Astoria asked, looking at the indiscernible pages of the book.

"Eh?" said Mr. Nott. His long grey hair was hanging loosely about his thin, ungainly face and Astoria was struck by how much Mr. Nott looked like his son when he was not raving. "A series of symbols. Some of them share roots with Mermish letters—which begs the question, who first translated Mermish, the wizards or the goblins? But that is a whole different matter."

"Can you show me some?" asked Astoria.

Mr. Nott spent the next hour writing down various symbols and letters on a piece of parchment and then demanding that Astoria repeat them out loud. If Astoria pronounced anything wrong, he became impatient and unfriendly. By the time she was ready to leave however, Astoria seemed to have impressed Mr. Nott enough that he made her take a copy of an encyclopedia of grammar written by a goblin named 'Ragnock the Pigeon Toed' with her.

Instead of returning to the inn, Astoria was allowed to use the house fire to leave. As she was stepping into the flames, Astoria distinctly heard Mr. Nott say in a low, grumbling voice to his son, "You can bring her again." He began to shuffle out of the room and then paused. "Don't skulk around the yard. Don't think I don't know what you were doing, hiding out there."

Astoria clutched the borrowed book a little tighter, feeling an immense pity for her friend as the fire spun her away.

0o0

Christmas morning dawned brightly, filtering in through Astoria's attic windows in clean slats of winter light. Astoria turned her attention toward the pile of presents on top of her thick comforter excitedly.

Her father had sent three quills, a new silver tie clip for her school uniform and a certificate for an tailor in London up to the amount of one formal dress.

Daphne had sent a package of Droobles Best Bubble gum and a felt sunhat that Astoria would not be able to wear for months. Astoria put the hat aside, thinking of her the trip to France she might be taking that summer, and opened the package from her stepmother Beatrice. This package contained a pair of stretched out gloves. Astoria inspected them, faintly let down, wondering if Beatrice had attempted to try them on for herself first only to find that they were too tiny for her own hands.

Last in the pile was a square parcel with a note attached, conspicuously wrapped in antique newspaper. Astoria read the note first.

 _Astoria,_

 _Another book for you. Father randomly suggested that you might like it this evening and I took that to mean that he was giving me permission to send it to you. He says that when you read it, you'll start to 'see what goblins are all about.'_

 _I'm sorry about tea._

 _Theo._

It was a very old and battered copy of an autobiography by Ug The Unreliable. This was perhaps the oddest and least attractive gift Astoria had received, but it was by far her favorite.

Aunt Belladonna saved her gift and did not give it to Astoria until after Christmas lunch.

Belladonna had invited her old friend Priscilla Orpington over to eat with them, which meant that Astoria was forced to dress nicely and behave attentively.

Priscilla was a relative of the famous Evangeline Orpington, who had created the concealed platform 9 3/4 at kings cross station, and she did not let Astoria or Belladonna forget it even for a second during the three hours that she dined with them. When Priscilla was finally gone, Astoria threw her napkin onto the sideboard and sighed with relief.

"That _was_ tedious, wasn't it?" remarked Belladonna, pushing back the Queen Anne dinning room chair that she had been sitting in and getting up to pour herself a drink.

"If you think so too, why do we have to see her at all?" Astoria wondered out loud, staring up at the ceiling.

"Because," said Belladonna with almost no patience, "her great grandmother was a Minister of Magic and she still commands a trifling amount of respect in certain circles."

"Well," said Astoria tartly, "you can count me out of those 'circles' for life."

"Nonsense," said Aunt Belladonna scathingly. "You say that now because you're a child and you don't know any better. Why else do you think I continue to court and simper to these people, if not for you? My time for forging alliances has largely passed, Astoria."

Belladonna had come to stand next to Astoria. Astoria looked back down from the ceiling and was surprised to find that her aunt had poured her a glass of wine as well. Astoria had never been allowed to drink before because Belladonna had always judged it unseemly. Astoria's eyes drifted to the small wine glass with a sense of foreboding.

"I have a gift for you,"said Belladonna, returning to the sideboard and producing a small package wrapped in silver paper from the cabinet. She put it down in front of Astoria and sat back down.

"What is it?" said Astoria, staring at the present doubtfully.

"It's a gift," her aunt snapped, "and for heavens sake, drink that! Its the birthright of the old order to be able to hold their liquor so you may as well start now."

Astoria sipped the wine she had been given gratefully. It was dry and pleasantly cold and gave her something to do with her fingers other than fidget nervously. She swallowed and turned her attention to removing the silver wrapping paper on her gift. Inside was a long, thin box. Astoria undid the latch on the front and flipped it open. On a cushion of luxurious looking velvet sat a diamond and ruby necklace so old and expensive looking that Astoria's jaw actually dropped.

"It was your grandmother's," said Belladonna. "She left it to me before she died. Traditionally, it would have been yours on your eighteenth birthday but with things the way they are, I thought it might be more prudent to go ahead and give it to you now."

Despite the blatant double motive, Astoria was touched. When anything from the family vault was passed down a generation it was always with formal pomp and Belladonna did not disappoint.

"Use it to remind yourself of where you come from, Astoria," said Belladonna, her moody, heart shaped face earnest in her manipulation. Belladonna's somber brown eyes seemed to smolder. "And thank the heavens that so many of the Lestrange jewels were done in ruby. They won't clash with your terrible house colors. "

Astoria took a hard, anxious gulp of wine.

0o0

* * *

So, what do you think?

This chapter leaves Hogwarts for a bit. I'm sorry if anyone was disappointed by the lack of school culture. On the bright side however, this chapter also introduces Mr. Nott and Belladonna Lestrange, who are two of my favorite characters to write in this tale. Both will be back in later sections of the story so I thought it was a good idea to introduce them early. Especially because they both serve a bit of a purpose in helping to show what life is life in the wizarding world when you aren't a muggle-born. The Harry Potter books show so little of what it would be like to grow up as a pureblood (I imagine the Weasleys are probable a little unusual even as far wizarding society goes) and the idea has always been interesting to me.

Anyway, drop a review if you're feeling kind! They always make my day.


	5. Detention

Chapter Five

Detention

0o0

* * *

Astoria returned to Hogwarts on the last evening before break ended.

The Gryffindor common room was already filling up with students who had just gotten back, and there was a general atmosphere of excitement in the air as friends reunited and exchanged stories from the holiday.

Astoria was sitting in an armchair and reading the book that Theodore's father had given her by Ug the Unreliable (a goblin con-artist of the highest order) when Fred and George found her.

"Sweet, darling, Astoria!" George cooed, wriggling a finger under her chin. "How was break at home?"

"Tense," said Astoria honestly, marking her place and closing her book. "A little boring, even."

"Well, we had a _lovely_ break, didn't we Fred?" said George, clapping his brother on the shoulder. "Us Weasleys and Harry had the whole tower to ourselves. Lots of time for proper relaxation."

"Also research," added Fred. "We found an interesting concealment spell and we think its a good one."

"For hiding what we write down about the betting pool?" asked Astoria, warming to the subject immediately.

"Yup," said George. "We found the spell in an old book, but we _think_ it works kind of like a Fidelius Charm."

"It's used for casting on records to make documents more secure," added Fred knowledgeably. "Only the people that have been included in the charm are allowed to read the papers the spell has been cast on.

"You can _give_ a person permission to read," George went on, "but nobody can magically force you to let them have a look."

"A real favorite of crooked politicians everywhere," Fred concluded, grinning impishly.

"That's perfect!" said Astoria, moving toward the edge of her seat intently. "That protects everyone's privacy plus it'll make it lot harder for anyone to prove that we set the whole thing up, if no one else can read the evidence!"

"Precisely," George agreed, touching a finger to his nose in order to indicate that she had nailed it.

"Have you done the spell yet?" Astoria asked. "You should put it on a whole notebook to save us time."

"Er, well," said Fred, "now that you come to it, we haven't exactly tried the spell out yet and it looks pretty tricky."

"Oh," said Astoria, a little less impressed.

"Practice makes perfect, however" Fred went on nobly.

"We'll figure it out before the next match, at any rate," said George. "You're going to have to be the one to keep track of things, mind, since the match is Gryffindor versus Hufflepuff and we'll be flying the whole time."

"If you can make the paperwork safe, then I'm down for anything," Astoria promised, beginning to feel relatively optimistic about their potential for success as rogue criminals.

0o0

This sense of burgeoning optimism was given its first test the next morning as Astoria lined up for potions class.

Draco Malfoy was standing among a knot of Slytherin fifth years, who had all just exited class ahead of them. They were gossiping in very low, pleased voices. Most of these fifth years, Astoria noticed, were members of the Slytherin quidditch team and she recognized Marcus Flint from the first match she had watched. Draco glanced over Adrian Pucey's shoulder and caught sight of Astoria, who met his gaze hesitantly, privately thinking anything that could make Draco Malfoy look so smug was likely to be very bad news indeed.

Theodore was leaning against a dungeon wall nearby with Daphne. As Astoria had not seen her sister since before break, she excitedly made her way toward them.

"I got your book," said Astoria to Theodore, wrapping her arms around Daphne for a brief hug.

"How was it?" asked Theodore, looking more than a little embarrassed.

"It's fabulous," Astoria trilled wickedly. "It's all about goblins committing hilarious crimes against half-wit wizards who don't know any better."

Theodore laughed but Astoria could tell that the events in his garden were still causing him a certain amount of distress.

"How was Christmas, Daphne?" asked Astoria eagerly, changing the subject so that Theodore wouldn't begin to wallow.

"Alright, I suppose," Daphne sighed. "Dad spent most of it at the office so it was mostly just me and mum. I wish you had been there."

"So do I," said Astoria meaningfully. "Trust me."

"I'm sure it wasn't as bad as that," said Daphne, ever polite.

"Well," mused Astoria lightly, "Aunt Belladonna _did_ gave me some heirloom jewels before I left, but I'm pretty sure she meant them as a bribe for good behavior."

"If you had gone _home_ , you never would have been bored enough to come visit me," snorted Theodore bitterly. "You could have avoided inducement jewelry _and_ the threat of assault _that_ way."

"You visited Theo?" asked Daphne sharply, completely overlooking the talk of assault. "Why didn't you come see me?"

"I had to sneak out to see Theo," explained Astoria quickly. "If I had come home to you, Aunt Belladonna would have known. Dad would have told her."

"Oh," said Daphne, slightly mollified.

"I wasn't assaulted either, Theo," Astoria added firmly. "Your dad's just a little prickly, that's all..."

"Prickly?" intoned Theodore hollowly, unable to meet her eyes. "I thought he was going to murder you."

The group of fifth years had broken up and Draco was shouldering his way in their direction. Astoria indicated his approach so Theo would know not to say more.

"Heard the news about the Gryffindor quidditch match this weekend yet?" drawled Draco, knowing that they hadn't and clearly secretly relishing the idea of being the one to tell them.

"No," said Astoria, feeling an uncomfortable stirring in her stomach at this mention of the quidditch match.

"Thanks to Potter's broom malfunction, Snape's going to be refereeing," said Draco, looking very pleased with himself. He leaned against the wall with one arm. Theodore promptly stood up to move away from him.

Astoria blinked. This _was_ news. Exactly the kind of news that she needed to know if she was going to be taking bets on the outcome of the match.

"You think that'll effect the game?" she asked, trying not to look overly interested.

"Of _course_ it will, Draco scoffed, as though he thought this fact should have been very obvious. "I suppose Snape will use every chance he can to take points off Gryffindor."

Astoria bit her lip, thinking.

"What I'm _really_ wondering," Draco went on smugly, perhaps mistaking Astoria's thoughtfulness for real interest, "is how long Potter is going to manage to stay on his broom this time around. Anyone want to bet?"

The door to the classroom swung open, Snape's trademark way of summoning them in to class. _Anyone want a bet?_ thought Astoria. _Me. I want to bet._

Was it possible that Snape refereeing was something of a gift in disguise? This fact was almost certain to give the Slytherins a sense of overconfidence. Astoria thought over the facts briefly: Harry was a great flier, he had managed to stay on a bucking broomstick and still catch the snitch. How much could Snape really do to sabotage a game that so many eyes were watching? What would a smart person do with this information? _Get all of the Slytherins to bet,_ thought Astoria, _and then wait for Gryffindor to win._

Astoria sat down at a table between Theodore and Daphne but her eyes were on the back of Malfoy's head. There was the usual scuttling and dragging sounds of chairs being pulled out and Astoria was slightly surprised when the fourth seat at their table was suddenly taken by Millicent Bulstrode.

Snape began his lecture but Astoria was only half listening, convinced that she had just discovered a niche in the gambling market and that the opportunity ought not to be wasted. What was the point of doing the thing at all if they weren't going to do it cleverly? Astoria carefully pulled out a piece of parchment and began to scribble out a note.

' _Are you serious about a bet? I say Potter stays on his broom and Gryffindor wins. What good will Snape be as referee if he can't fly?'_

Slowly, Astoria ripped the note loose and folded it. When Snape turned to write on the board, Astoria seized her opportunity and leaned forward just enough to drop the note directly into Malfoy's lap, where she knew Snape's eyes would not see it.

Malfoy straightened up, rippling with surprise. His eyes flicked toward her and then back to the front of the room again as Snape turned around to face the class. It suddenly occurred to Astoria that Draco might be just as likely to tell on her as was to read the note, and she silently began to pray that Malfoy wouldn't rat her out.

A long moment passed however, and it seemed that Draco's curiosity to read whatever was on the slip of parchment was greater than his urge to get Astoria into trouble for it. Theodore, who had watched this secretive transaction silently, was frowning at her.

Snape was teaching theory today, which meant that the class would not be brewing. This made it perfectly acceptable to read or write something else under the guise of taking notes but Snape had a bloodhound's nose for mischief. The second Snape had turned his back in favor of the chalkboard again, Malfoy snapped up the note and read it. Draco snorted softly, amused. Whatever he had been expecting, Astoria could tell that it had not been a covert invitation to gamble.

Malfoy ripped off a piece of parchment from the bottom of his Potions notes and at the next opportunity, he leaned backward and slipped it onto her desktop. Astoria edged the scrap of paper towards herself and read it behind her Potions textbook.

' _Alright. Forget betting about Potter's broom. Too specific. Hufflepuff wins. No contest.'_

To Theo's increasing annoyance, Astoria flipped the paper over and wrote on the back of it.

' _You're on. No gentleman's bets. How much?'_

Malfoy was ready for her this time and, at the first sign of Snape turning, he took the note directly from her hand.

"What are you _doing_?" muttered Theodore out of the side of his mouth.

Astoria kept her eyes locked on the blackboard, unwilling to explain such a lengthy plot in whispers. "I'll tell you later."

Theo made a sound of consternation and dropped it, although his eyes followed Draco's return note glumly.

' _Fifty galleons.'_

The bell rang. Astoria folded the note up and stuffed it in her bag. When she exited the dungeon, she found Malfoy waiting for her in the hall with Crabbe and Goyle.

"So we're on then?" he asked impatiently, falling into step with her as they made their way up to the great hall for lunch. "Or is that betting too high for you?"

"What's on?" asked Theodore, struggling to keep up with them.

"Draco asked if anyone wanted a bet, so I told him I did," said Astoria calmly. "Fifty is fine by me unless that's not enough for _you_. Theo, you want in on this?"

"I'm not betting money on whether Potter stays atop his broomstick," said Theo flatly.

"We're betting on who wins the match," Astoria clarified.

"Hufflepuff'll win, that's not even a fair bet," Theodore scoffed.

"Care to put money on that?" asked Astoria, raising a rather taunting eyebrow.

"You're mad if you think Snape's going to let Potter get anywhere near that snitch without calling a foul," Theodore argued. "Save yourself the money and just buy a giant foam hand with Potter's name on it."

"Theo's out, then," said Astoria, exasperated. "Draco you're on for fifty galleons."

"Stupid waste of good money," Theodore grumbled. "It's not as if _he_ needs it, you know."

"Do you want to bet something other than money then, Theo?" asked Astoria, laughing at Theodore's scorn.

"Something else?" Malfoy sneered, eyeing Astoria appraisingly. "What could Nott possibly have that you would _want_?"

"How about this," said Astoria, smirking wickedly, "if Gryffindor wins, Theo has to jump into the lake naked. That's frugal, yet I'm still willing to call it satisfying."

Malfoy made a sound that was half disgust and half glee

" _What_?" snapped Theo irritably. "No way. You and Malfoy can go for a hop in the lake—that water is freezing and I'm staying out of this."

"You were _so_ sure Hufflepuff would win just a second ago," said Astoria with a grin.

They had reached the great hall so Astoria broke away and headed toward the Gryffindor table where she found Fred and George sitting with Lee Jordan. Astoria ducked down onto the bench beside Fred.

"Any luck on that spell?" Astoria whispered, watching Parvati and Lavender, who were sitting close by, hoping they could not hear her.

"Funny you should ask," said George, his eyes gleaming in a way that gave Astoria a flicker of hope.

"We tried writing sentences on a couple of rolls of parchment and then enchanting them," said Fred. "We gave them to Lee this morning to see if he could read what we had written."

"They all looked blank to me," admitted Lee excitedly.

"Now all we need is a good notebook," said George. "What do you reckon Percy has a few ledgers hanging around, Fred? Something he keeps track of his perfect grades in that we could liberate, perhaps?"

"Brilliant," said Astoria excitedly, "because I've just had an excellent idea myself!""

Fred and George leaned in closer and Astoria rapidly began to explain.

0o0

Perhaps because of the excitement that Harry's broom had caused during the last game, nearly the entire school turned out for the match against Hufflepuff on Saturday.

Sitting arm to arm in one of the top tiers of the stands, Astoria and Daphne were two of the first students to make their way down to the pitch. Astoria glanced at the enchanted notebook in her lap, propped open to the correct page. A well inked pen lay across the indent of the spine, waiting to be used for ticking off failed bets.

Astoria's idea to recruit the Slytherins, which had been met with some resistance by Fred and George, had actually turned out to be a great success. One whole page out of the two pages of bets they had collected was filled with bets from Slytherin house alone. Astoria looked down at the writing on the paper, charmed so that only her eyes could read it.

 _Montague: Ten Galleons says Potter gets injured._

 _Adrian Pucey: Five Galleons says Hufflepuff wins by more than a hundred points._

 _Miles Bletchley: Fifteen Galleons that Wood cries when Hufflepuff wins._

Much to Astoria's shock, a Slytherin prefect had even gone out of her way to hunt Astoria down in order to place a wager:

 _Gemma Farley: Five Galleons says Alicia Spinnet takes a hair braid in the eye._

Although they held the majority, it was not just Slytherins who had put money down. Indeed, their Gryffindor counterparts had bet back fiercely.

The Hufflepuffs, who were playing the game as well, had been slightly more divided. Most had seemed inclined to bid on their own house but there were a few, perhaps due to Snape's as yet unknown influence, who had decided to play it safe. Like Ernie.

 _Ernie Macmillian: Five Galleons says Hufflepuff wins, but Harry still catches the snitch._

"I've never seen Snape look so mean," whispered Hermione Granger from the seats in front of them.

Astoria scanned the field and thought Hermione made a fair point. Snape looked sallow and peevish. He also looked awkward and out of practice on a broom, which was a good sign as far as Astoria was concerned.

"Look, they'e off!" said Ron Weasley, pointing upward as the players took flight. "Ouch!"

Draco Malfoy, who had been in the process of shimmying down the aisle, had just poked him in the back of the head. Why Draco had felt any need to provoke Ron was a mystery to Astoria because Crabbe and Goyle, with their impressive bulk, had nearly managed to shake Ron out of his seat just passing by.

"Oh, sorry Weasley, we didn't see you there," said Draco, grinning maliciously. Crabbe and Goyle both laughed oafishly.

Daphne made a small, strangled sound as Draco looked about at his seating options in the packed stadium and chose to sit down next to _them_ instead of Neville Longbottom.

"Are you doing _homework_?" asked Malfoy in snide disbelief, pointing to the book on Astoria's lap.

"No," said Astoria, slicing her pen across a line of text as Katie Bell put the quaffle through a hoop. _Warrington: A Galleon says Hufflepuff scores first._

One galleon in earnings so far from Warrington, the cheap bastard.

Draco was staring at her book, compelled by suspicion and Astoria suddenly realized that the line she had just drawn must have disappeared in front of his eyes.

"What _is_ that?" Malfoy demanded, forgetting all about Ron, who was cheering for Katie.

"I'm using it to keep track of bets," said Astoria. "I started with you and the demand exploded."

"I never said you could write my name down in a ledger," said Draco sharply, clearly unnerved.

"What difference does it make?" asked Astoria. "Nobody can _read_ it. It's charmed."

Malfoy sneered haughtily to express his distaste anyway. "If I'd known you needed cash so badly Greengrass, I'm sure we could have come to some kind of arrangement."

Astoria did not know what this meant but it sounded vaguely sexual. Malfoy seemed to have realized this at the last moment as well because he blushed and turned his eyes back toward the field immediately.

"It's not _for_ me," said Astoria. "I'm turning the proceeds over to an interested party."

"Why bother doing it, then?" sneered Draco. Clearly the idea of rule breaking without even the slightest possibility of gain was a foreign concept to him.

"For the fun of it," said Astoria slashing another bet off the list. "Ha! Flint just lost ten galleons."

"Flint bet?" snapped Malfoy in almost insulting astonishment.

"Mhmm," said Astoria. "I've got half of Slytherin house in here. You all are the most crooked students around."

"You're taking bets?" inquired Ron, who had been listening over his shoulder eagerly. "I want in."

"In with _what_ , Weasley?" asked Malfoy scathingly. "Three sickles and a homemade sweater?"

Astoria ignored him. "I can't, Ron. I'm maxed out, sorry."

"What d'you mean?" asked Ron suspiciously, looking from Draco to Astoria, searching for the insult.

"I've bet against my savings," said Astoria calmly, not wanting a fight. "I'm maxed out."

"You're betting against your savings?" demanded Daphne, looking scandalized.

"I know, right?" said Astoria, deliberately misunderstanding her. "I didn't expect so many people to bet either."

"You let Flint bet, but you wont let me?" Ron pushed, looking peevish. "How much is Flint in for?"

Astoria looked back at her record book. "He bet ten galleons that the first bludger would hit Harry."

"You _let_ him bet that?" demanded Ron, outraged.

Astoria shrugged. "He was wrong, wasn't he?"

"You're in luck Weasley," said Malfoy with a laugh, pointing toward Harry, who was diving toward the grass. "Potter's obviously spotted some money on the ground."

Ron thrashed over the back of his chair and grabbed Draco by the front of his shirt. Malfoy made a sound of discomfort, trying to push back against his seat but Ron had a firm grip. Neville Longbottom attempted to seize Draco's fist, which he had drawn back violently, but this only seemed to trigger Crabbe and Goyle.

Astoria only had eyes for Harry.

"Harry's got it!" Hermione yelled, hopping up and down. "Ron, he's got the snitch!"

Crabbe and Goyle still had Neville pinned but Ron and Draco had separated.

"Whatever," Draco snapped, flattening down the front of his robes, his face a livid pink. "Fifty galleons is _nothing_ ," he continued, his eyes lingering on Ron cruelly. "Good luck getting _Flint_ to pay."

Astoria located Draco's name on the list of bets and crossed it off, smirking to herself as the crowds went wild.

0o0

This bit of skepticism about Marcus Flint proved very sound. Several members of the Slytherin quidditch team tried to renege on their bets and it was only after Fred and George shoved Terrence Higgs into a cupboard and then 'forgot' to release him overnight that money started to steadily trickle in. Astoria's savings had nearly doubled and what was more, sixth year Slytherins suddenly seemed to know her name and suspect that she meant serious business.

Theodore deplored Astoria's new, and likely brief, celebrity status bitterly.

"Derrick and Bole were asking questions about you in the common room last night," he complained. "The stupid gits thought you were my Third Year cousin."

"What did you say?" Astoria laughed, taking the alarming news that she had been discussed in the Slytherin common room in stride.

"I told them to piss off, so they started laughing and asked if you were my girlfriend instead," said Theodore, looking even more annoyed.

"Did you tell them I was your cousin AND your girlfriend?" asked Astoria, grinning deviously.

"Ha," said Theodore dryly. "No, actually by that point Malfoy had suffered in silence for long enough and _he_ butted in and told them off."

"What did he say?" asked Astoria, becoming more and more alarmed by the growing list of students that this conversation seemed to have involved.

"That you aren't a third year, of course, and that it's _obvious_ that you and I could never be dating," said Theodore, eyeing Astoria carefully. "He was particularly firm about that _._ "

Astoria scoffed.

"Seriously, though," inquired Theodore. "They wouldn't have been asking about you if you hadn't stirred up trouble. Why are you bothering with any of this? What's in it for you?"

Astoria did not know how to answer this question. Strictly speaking, there wasn't much in it for her at all but now that she had committed one crime, it was as though a flood gate of badly behaved urges had been opened. Astoria secretly liked the amount of creativity that good rule breaking required; the inherent need to outsmart opponents. Petty crime was like a game of chess and as long as Astoria didn't get caught, the result of her efforts might be that Fred and George would have a way to live up to their true, inventive calling.

Unable to put this into sane sounding words, however, Astoria merely shrugged.

The afterglow of a plot well executed stuck with her and by the end of the week, Astoria had projected so much of her new-found love for rule breaking into the universe that universe decided to send some back at her.

On her way up to her dormitory to collect her books before third period, Astoria ran into a cluster of first year Slytherin boys blocking the corridor. They were not at lunch and they all had their heads together, whispering in low voices. Astoria could easily recognize Draco, Crabbe and Goyle but it wasn't until the fourth boy shifted and she saw some of his face that she recognized Blaise Zabini.

Blaise Zabini saw her as well and he nudged Malfoy warningly. All four of them turned to stare at her.

"Looking for something, Greengrass?" asked Blaise in a relaxed voice that was far too elegant for a boy his age.

"Just the corridor you're blocking," said Astoria, throwing his own confidence back him.

Blaise moved aside smoothly to give her room, "That's a good Gryffindor."

Astoria continued to walk but Malfoy, seemingly unable to stop himself, burst out after her, "Your friend Potter just doesn't know what's good for him, does he?"

Blaise glanced at Draco, betraying some mild surprise.

"What's Harry done?" asked Astoria.

"It's not what he's _done_ so much as it is what he's _about_ to do," drawled Malfoy cryptically, dangling the carrot.

"What's he _about_ to do, then?" asked Astoria, hating herself a little for taking the bait.

"Get himself expelled," concluded Malfoy gleefully.

Blaise scoffed. His young features were already capable of expressing scorn beautifully.

"You're not the only rule breaker in your house," agreed Blaise, emboldened by the fact that Malfoy had called her back to them, "although in Potter's case it looks like smuggling is more his—"

Draco cut him off by pushing in front of him, scowling. Apparently it was Draco's story and he was going to be the one to tell it.

"Potter and those idiot friends of his are going to smuggle a dragon to the top of the astronomy tower at midnight."

"What?" Astoria snorted skeptically. "How could you know that?"

"I saw it in writing myself," bragged Draco, looking tremendously smarmy. "That huge oaf Hagrid has been keeping it as a pet."

"That's such an unnatural friendship, isn't it?" leered Blaise. "What could Hagrid _possibly_ be doing with Potter down there in his cabin?"

"How do you know they are bringing it to the astronomy tower at midnight?" asked Astoria, struck by the exactness of these details.

"I read it in a letter Weasley got from his brother," continued Draco. "They're afraid of poor Hagrid losing his job."

"It's like you have them _watched_ ," frowned Astoria, certain that Draco's obsession with having Harry expelled was far more unnatural than Harry's friendship with Hagrid would ever be.

"I'm going to make _sure_ they get caught this time," said Malfoy, overlooking Astoria's jab. "Even Dumbledore will have to do something once he hears that his favorite student is smuggling a dragon out of the country."

"Unless Greengrass warns them first, of course," mused Zabini suggestively, his eyes drifting back to Draco.

This had not occurred to Draco in his haste to tell her what he knew, and Astoria could tell he was beginning to regret saying anything at all.

"Like I'm going to tell people that Harry's smuggling dragons," said Astoria flatly, sparing Malfoy his regret. "They'd think I was cracked."

The trouble was, Astoria _did_ believe him. As a result, she fought a silent war with herself over her new knowledge all night. Should she tell Harry that Draco was onto him? Was it her place to interfere? On the one hand, it seemed like a very stupid plot to become involved in for no real reason. On the other, Astoria did not like to think about how much trouble Harry would get in if he was caught. In the end, she decided to sit in the common room and wait. If she saw Harry trying to leave, then she would tell him, but she would not go out of her way to intervene. This seemed like a very good compromise of both morals and responsibility so Astoria busied herself with a textbook.

When the clock finally struck midnight—the hour that Harry was supposedly delivering his Dragon—Astoria got up, almost shamefully relived that she had not had to confront Harry about the rumor she had heard.

Astoria was halfway toward the staircase and safety when she spotted Neville Longbottom sneaking down the boy's side.

"What are you doing up so late, Neville?" asked Astoria, surprised to find that he was in his day clothes and wearing shoes. Why wasn't he in bed?

Neville jumped and looked at her with an expression that was so obviously guilty he might as well have just turned around and given up his quest. "N-nothing," he stuttered.

"Then why are you still dressed?" asked Astoria, pointing out the obvious.

Neville's lip trembled miserably. "Harry's got a dragon!" he cracked, panic seeping into all of his features. "I heard Malfoy talking about it, saying he was going to catch them. I've got to warn Harry!"

"Harry's not in bed?" asked Astoria gravely, feeling all the ill timing of this meeting. "Neville, if he's already gone, there's nothing you can do. You'll just get caught too!"

"I've got to try!" said Neville in such a stalwart and determined a way that it tugged on Astoria's maternal heartstrings. "I can't sleep knowing it! You've got to help me!"

Neville was walking purposefully across the common room. He had already opened the portrait hole when Astoria grabbed his arm to keep him from heading down the stairs.

"Neville, no!" said Astoria firmly. "That's a bad idea! Nothing would make Harry feel worse than knowing that he got you in trouble too!"

Neville pulled free, looking terrified by his own guts. The portrait hole swung closed behind both of them.

"I'm going," he muttered flatly, shaking from his head to his toes.

It was on Astoria's mind to argue when she noticed something far more concerning.

"Where's the Fat Lady?" asked Astoria shrilly, observing the vacant canvas that normally held the guardian of their common room.

"Oh no!" cried Neville, his face falling for her. "She does that sometimes after curfew. She goes off and drinks with those monks on the third floor."

Astoria would have been mad if only Neville had not looked so genuinely remorseful.

"I'm really, really sorry," said Neville again, blundering. "Maybe if I see her, I can send her back here for you? She usual comes back within an hour or so—"

" _What_ ," demanded a cold voice, "is the meaning of this?"

Neville squeaked and grabbed Astoria's robes. The voice belonged to Professor McGonagall, who was standing at the bottom of the flight of stairs that led to the portrait hole, looking more livid than Astoria had ever seen her.

"Never in my life!" spat Mcgonagall, choking with wrath. Behind Mcgonagall skulked Harry and Hermione, who were both looking at Neville and Astoria with a mixture of shock and dismay.

"Harry!" yelled Neville when he saw them, "I was trying to find you, to warn you! Malfoy said you had a—"

Harry was shaking his head fervently behind McGonagall's back but it was too late. McGonagall had caught on and she rounded on Harry. "I suppose you think it's funny that Longbottom heard your story as well? That you lured miss Greengrass out of bed?"

"No," said Astoria, attempting to protest but Mcgonagall shot her a look that would have stilled a venomous tentacula.

"Astoria was trying to stop me," squeaked Neville quietly.

"Nonsense!" McGonagall declared. "You two will join Malfoy, Potter and Granger in detention. Nobody is exempt. You have all brought down shame upon your House! Fifty points will be taken from each of you. Let this be a lesson to remember!"

Neville looked as though he might cry. Harry was trying to catch his eye. He looked so guilty Astoria couldn't even blame him for dragon smuggling.

"For Merlins sake, where has the Fat Lady run of to?" snapped McGonagall in exasperation.

0o0

The fallout the next morning was more terrible then Astoria could have anticipated.

Everybody, even the Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs, had been hoping to see Slytherin lose the house cup for the first time in years. But fifty points taken apiece from four Gryffindors dashed this tender hope to pieces.

"I still don't get it," said Theodore as they sat on the lawn under a hopeful spring sun. "Why did you follow Neville out of the portrait hole in the first place?"

"I was trying to stop him," said Astoria defensively. It was certainly not the first time Astoria had been asked to defend this choice and she was getting sick of clarifying. "He was going after Harry on his own. It was a suicide mission. I was trying to make him stay but we got locked out of the common room. _Apparently_ the Fat Lady likes to get hammered with the monks on the third floor."

Theo looked as though there were things he would like to say about this but he refrained. "So you're really going to have to do detention with them?"

"Yes," said Astoria, "and Malfoy." The only redeeming thing about the night the dragon escaped was the fact that Draco had not managed to get away with his own part in it. "Are people yelling at him for being such a idiot too?" she asked.

"Not really," Theo admitted. "He was the only Slytherin and there were four of you, so in the end, everybody thinks he was being really clever making Gryffindor lose so many points."

Astoria pulled up some of the new grass between her fingers. Exams were only weeks away and she had not been studying properly. Theodore had suggested once or twice that they spend a few nights a week in the library going over notes. Astoria was beginning to think that this was a good idea. She had pushed her aunt far enough in choosing Gryffindor for her house; Astoria would not be allowed to fail all of her classes on top of it. Her detention amounted to nothing more than another night spent without doing anything productive.

"I wonder what they'll make you do," Theo wondered, perhaps thinking that a Hogwarts detention was likely to be just as mysterious and potentially dangerous as the school itself.

0o0

Astoria received a note at breakfast on the morning of her detention, telling her to meet Filch at eleven o'clock in the entrance hall. At ten forty five that evening, Astoria set off to avoid being late, feeling sulky and resentful. Only Malfoy and Filch had arrived before her.

"What are _you_ here for?" asked Draco in surprise.

"Trying to stop Neville from leaving the common room to look for Harry because he heard _you_ talking about a dragon," snapped Astoria waspishly.

"Enough!" growled Filch. "You're here to be punished, girl, not to talk."

Astoria fell silent but shot Malfoy a filthy look that he didn't seem at all prepared for. She settle against the wall to wait. After several moments of enforced silence, Draco made a small scoffing sound and stopped looking at her.

Harry, Hermione and Neville were nearly ten minutes late by the time they turned up and this threw Filch into a dither of heretofore unseen crotchetiness.

"Disgraceful!" he grumbled, lighting a lamp. "In my day a detention meant the rack! I'd have you all hanging from your feet for an extra day just for being tardy!"

Neville was listening to Filch with round, horrified eyes. Draco looked faintly affronted.

They all followed Filch out into the darkened grounds. The moon was full, but hiding halfway behind a fat patch of clouds and the way ahead was very dark. They were most certainly moving in the direction of the forest. The moment Neville realized where they were going, he began to hyperventilate

Astoria was looking at her feet. She trudged along in silence until she slammed directly into Draco, who he had stopped dead at something Filch had just said.

"The forest?" asked Draco tightly, his eyes darting about shiftily. "We can't go in there at night! There's all sorts of things in there—werewolves, I heard!"

Filch brought the dangling lantern he was carrying so close to his emaciated head that the effect became truly chilling and snarled, "That's _your_ problem, isn't it?"

"Why would we go _into_ the forest?" demanded Astoria, catching on to the direction the conversation was taking. "It's out of bounds."

"Because you've done something wrong and now you're expected to pay for it," snapped Filch venomously. Astoria did not even begin to argue the validity of this claim.

Hagrid was waiting for them at the foot of the hill. There was a crossbow slung ominously over one shoulder and a giant, vicious looking dog at his heel.

"Yer late," said Hagrid loudly. "Bin scarin' em, eh?"

"I'll be back at dawn," said Filch coldly, "for whatever is left of them."

Malfoy froze stubbornly. The time had to come to flat out refuse to move any closer to the trees.

"I'm not going in that forest," said Draco coldly, and Astoria was pleased to hear a note of real panic in his voice. "This is servant stuff. It's not for students to do—"

"Y'ed rather go home, would yeh?" growled Hagrid.

For a long moment, Draco stared insolently back at Hagrid. Astoria had seen about enough, however. She gave Draco a hard, pointed nudge from behind. Draco's eyes flashed but the threat of having Astoria call him a coward was enough to make him start walking.

"Right then," said Hagrid, shooting Astoria a surprised but thankful look out of the corner of his eye, "what we are doin' tonight is dangerous stuff, so listen up good."

They had followed Hagrid to the very edge of the forest. The closer they came to it, the less Astoria felt any urge to penetrate its shadowy depths.

"See tha' stuff?" said Hagrid, holding up his lantern so that they could all have a look. There was a thick, silvery liquid on the ground nearby and something about the consistency of it reminded her horribly of—

"Blood," Hagrid confirmed "Unicorn blood, ter be more specific. There's a unicorn in there thas' bin hurt badly by summat. Second one this week. We're gonna try to find the poor thing and put it out of its misery if we have ter."

"And what if whatever hurt the unicorn finds us _first_?" demanded Malfoy tensely, his eyes darting toward Astoria, perhaps hoping to find some support there.

Astoria looked down at the shining blood, beginning to think that maybe Draco had a point.

"Nothin'll hurt yeh when yer with me or Fang as long as yeh keep to the path," said Hagrid confidently. "We'll be splittin' up into groups. One group'll come with me, the other will go with Fang. There's blood all over the place—poor thing's bin thrashin'—so there's more'n one trail ter follow."

Astoria balked at the idea of 'blood all over the place' but forced herself to breathe evenly.

"I want Fang," said Draco quickly, taking comfort in the sight of Fang's teeth. For her own part, something about the way Fang kept softly sniffing Harry's hand made Astoria seriously doubt the dog's brutality.

"Fine," agreed Hagrid. "Harry 'n Hermione, you come with me. Malfoy, Neville and Astoria, you take fang and go the other way. If anyone finds the unicorn, send up green sparks and we'll come get yeh. If yeh find trouble send up red ones."

Astoria would dearly have liked to ask what sort of trouble Hagrid thought they might find that would merit a distress signal, but she refrained, afraid of sounding as yellow as Malfoy.

Their footsteps sent up muffled noises against the dead leaves as they entered the forest. When they reached a fork in the trail, Hagrid's team went right and Astoria's went left. She watched as Harry's wand-light slowly vanished, swallowed whole by the terrible darkness.

"When my father _hears_ about this!" sneered Draco angrily.

"I'm so sorry, Astoria!" whimpered Neville. "This is all my fault."

"Just keep walking, Neville," sighed Astoria.

"You should blame Potter for having a dragon in the first place," spat Draco nastily. "None of us would be here if he hadn't!"

Astoria pulled out her wand. " _Lumos_."

The small ball of light she summoned brought everything nearby into slightly dim focus. Neville was sniffling and dabbing at his glistening nose; Draco looked drawn and tense. The dull light from Astoria's wand did nothing for Draco's fair coloring and there was something a little vampiric about the hard angles of his shadowy face. Still, for the moment at least, Astoria was forced to see him as more useful than Neville and she was determined not to provoke him.

"Alright," said Astoria, unconsciously taking control of the situation. "It's either we find the wounded unicorn or we hang out here until dawn, so I say we start walking."

No one could seem to find any objection to this plan so they started off down the trail, treading carefully over roots and large protruding rocks. In the first ten minutes of walking, Neville managed to fall twice. The moment they reached a clearing, Neville asked if he could sit down to check if he was bleeding.

Astoria didn't like the idea of this at all. Something about the openness of the grotto made her feel more exposed than she had on the path, but Neville was whimpering so they picked a patch of moss next to an old tree. Neville flopped down and pulled up his trouser leg. A nasty gash that was bleeding freely there; he began to dab at it.

"Why are you so _useless_ , Longbottom?" Draco sneered.

"What was that?" asked Astoria quickly. She had just heard something rustling in the trees.

Malfoy paused to listen but there was nothing but wind. "I don't hear anything."

"I heard something!" said Neville in a trembling voice.

Draco narrowed his eyes. "Shut up, Longbottom."

Neville rolled his pants back down and stood. Something about the look on his face made Astoria feel certain that he _had_ just heard the same sound she had. He edged toward the bushes that separated them from the darker, thicker woods, trying to listen.

Astoria was suddenly full of a violent desire to move. They had stayed here too long. Something was attacking other creatures in the forest—what made her, Neville and Draco any different? Draco stooped and picked up an acorn. He weighed it in his hands carefully before flicking it at Neville's prone back.

Neville screamed, drawing the attention of every living thing for a thirty mile radius and shot up a brilliant jet of red sparks.

"Draco!" Astoria yelled, her own nerves zinging as Malfoy broke down into shocked laughter at the violence of Neville's reaction.

"Longbottom, the Gryffindor lion!" he drawled scornfully, gasping for breath.

Neville was crestfallen, but as he had already shot up the sparks there was nothing they could do but wait. Moments later they heard a great crashing sound coming through the wall of trees.

"Who's that there?" called Hagrid in an angry voice that Astoria had never heard him use before. "DECLARE YER'SELVES!"

Hagrid was brandishing the crossbow and he looked capable of murder, so they all rushed to make themselves recognizable.

"It's us!" cried Astoria clearly, wishing that Hagrid would lower the crossbow. "We're all okay! It was a mistake"

"Why'd yeh shoot up them sparks, then?" asked Hagrid, coming forward and looking very put-upon.

"Neville got scared," said Astoria evasively, leaving out the part about Draco jumping him on purpose in case Hagrid decided to take out his anger on all of them with one of his steel tipped arrows.

"Just 'got scared', did he?" growled Hagrid accusingly, pointing a thumb at Malfoy. "An' I don't suppose that had anythin' ter do with him? Right, you two stay here. Longbottom follow me, we're makin' a trade. I'll be sendin' one o' the others back."

They listened as Hagrid crashed through the undergrowth again with Neville. The moment they were gone, Draco started laughing again.

"Why are you making this harder?" Astoria whispered. "Now we have to wait here!"

Hagrid and Neville seemed to have taken all of the air with them when they left. Everything was unnaturally still and Astoria could not help but feel more vulnerable for having one less person. Astoria met Draco's eye. He had stopped laughing, and in place of his sneer was a look of discomfort. It was so dark and silent that they might as well have been standing at the bottom of the sea.

"The second Hagrid sends someone back here, let's get out of this clearing," said Astoria tensely.

"Alright," muttered Draco, nodding.

There were no more occasional owl sounds; no whooshing of leaves. Astoria could hear every breath Draco took. She unconsciously moved closer to him. Never before had Astoria felt so certain she was being watched by invisible eyes as she did at that moment. Then, to the left of where they were standing, Astoria thought she heard something _slither_.

Astoria gasped and backed up into Malfoy, who had gone rigid. "Did you hear that?"

"Put out your wand," said Draco urgently, reaching for it himself.

" _Nox_!"

The darkness was now perfect. From somewhere deep within it, Astoria heard it again; the wet sound of something moving unnaturally close to the ground.

Astoria was choking back a scream and Malfoy's breathing had become feverish. The sound was moving. It had started on their left and seemed to be circling. There was a long pause and then, from directly in front of them and much closer than before, something hissed.

Astoria flailed wildly; her hand grabbed a fist full of Malfoy's shirt. Malfoy let out a deep, instinctual sound of terror and tried to push them both toward the ground, as though he hoped to duck whatever it was that threatened to attack them. From around a corner in the path, there was suddenly a light.

Hagrid had sent Harry, who must have allowed Neville to take his place an come plodding along after them. For a long second, Astoria and Draco both stared at him, expecting the worst.

"What's going on?" asked Harry, puzzled and perhaps a little startled.

Astoria took stock of her position, clutching Draco like a drowning woman in the pitch black. She released him immediately.

"We just heard something!" Astoria breathed. "Something weird—like a hissing sound.."

"It was just Potter," said Draco, absently touching his shirt where Astoria had wrinkled it with a look of private elation.

"Were you hissing?" Astoria asked Harry, relighting her wand.

"No," said Harry, glancing behind him. "I wasn't making any noise at all."

"Keep your wand out," said Astoria almost angrily, "and lets get out of this clearing."

Perhaps Astoria had just imagined the hissing sound but by the time they had rejoined the trail she couldn't help but notice that the edginess had not entirely left Draco's shoulders either, whatever he said about Harry making the sound.

None of them spoke now as they walked. The trail was growing rougher, more uneven and the blood stains seemed to be reoccurring more regularly and thickly. It looked as though the unicorn had been twisting about, perhaps in the throws of a violent death.

"Look—" said Harry quietly, throwing out an arm to stop Malfoy, whose eyes had been darting off into the trees again.

There was a something bright white and gleaming on the ground up ahead. Astoria blinked to adjust her eyes to its radiance. They had found the unicorn and it was most certainly dead; a mess of terrifying angles and crumpled hair.

Harry took a step forward and then stopped abruptly. The slithering noise they had heard earlier started again and the shadows furthest away from them began to quiver. A hooded figure came crawling into sight across the ground, shuddering as it passed over twigs and logs. Astoria watched it move as though through another person's eyes. Her own body was frozen in place. The hooded creature stopped, hovering over the unicorn. Then, like the figure of some nightmare, it brought its hooded head down toward the gash in the animals flesh and began to drink its blood.

Malfoy let out a bloodcurdling, heart stopping yell. Fang took off wildly. It was as though the sound of Malfoy's terror had released her from an uncertain spell and the next thing Astoria knew, she was running blindly along the path behind him with Harry, surely, bringing up the rear.

They tore through the low hanging branches that they had ducked under so carefully on their way in and leapt over fallen logs. A blast of sparks went up from the tip of Malfoy's wand as he struggled messily through a patch of brambles. Astoria ripped through them behind him and tripped, landing hard on her face. She tasted dead leaves. A hand grabbed her arm, trying desperately to drag her forward but then whoever was pulling on her seemed to slip and fall onto the soft ground as well.

Suddenly there were thunderous voices nearby and Hagrid came bursting through the bushes behind them. Astoria rolled over onto her hands and spit out bits of leaf and tree bark. Draco was on the ground next to her, trying to get up. He let out a yelp and flung himself backwards again at the sight of Hagrid.

"What in the name o'—?'" muttered Hagrid. His expression quickly changed from one of annoyance to one of fear.

Draco made an incomprehensible noise, unable to find words.

"Where's Harry?" said Hagrid, suddenly alert.

"—a demon or something!" spat Draco disconnectedly.

"What's tha?" asked Hagrid, clutching the crossbow tightly.

"We saw something," said Astoria, bringing her hand up to her cheek, which had hit the ground rather hard. "Something _dead_. It was drinking the unicorn's blood."

Nobody said anything. Hermione and Neville's mouths both dropped open in mute terror. Hagrid roared "STAY TOGETHER!" and was about to hurry back the way they had come when another patch of bushes rattled.

Draco was doing his best to scramble away from this new sound when a creature that Astoria had only ever seen in books appeared between the trees. It was a Centaur and clinging to the animal's naked waist, riding him like a horse, was Harry Potter.

"Harry!"

"I'm fine," said Harry, looking slightly dazed. "The unicorn's dead, Hagrid. It's in that clearing back there."

Hagrid hurried off as Harry slipped down off the Centaur's glossy flank.

0o0

* * *

I thought it might be fun to give Astoria detention and I ended up giving _myself_ the creeps. That scene in the woods might be one of the scariest from the whole series to me.

Anyway this wasn't much of a building chapter, although Astoria's decision to start taking bets on the quidditch matches will turn into something interesting. The next chapter will be the last from the first book, which is ok with me because I feel like all of the characters just get more fun to play with the older they get. In any case, I promise to touch in with Pansy, Daphne and all of the other people we haven't seen for a minute before heading into summer.

As always, I love to hear what you think!


	6. Finals

Chapter Six

Finals

* * *

0o0

"How was detention?"

It was late afternoon the next day. Astoria and Theodore had made plans to meet on the lawn after class if the weather held. Sure enough, a brilliant sun was still warming the back of Astoria's neck when Theodore cast himself down into the grass beside her.

Astoria looked out across the lake that they were facing. A couple of third years were throwing rocks in an attempt to agitate the Giant Squid into surfacing.

"Malfoy didn't tell you?" she asked, massaging her shoulders, still sore from falling the night before.

Astoria had slept badly, catching perhaps an hour of actual rest before Hermione's heavy metal alarm clock had startedd to ring that morning.

"No," said Theo sounding faintly intrigued. "He got back late covered in mud and went straight to bed. I figured you and the rest of the Gryffindors must have pushed him off rock or something."

Theo crossed his long legs at the ankle and Astoria thought about how much this gesture made him look like a crumpled spider.

"They sent us into the forbidden forest," said Astoria. "On a haunted quest to find a dead unicorn. I had to brush leaves out of my hair this morning."

Theodore raised an eyebrow. With the exception of his angular structure, many of Theodore's movements were oddly feminine. This expression was no exception; from the way Theodore softly touched the pages of books to the way he caressed his own fingertips when he was thinking, he was surprisingly elegant.

" _That_ is frankly ludicrous," said Theo, refining his opinion past the point of a look. "You're all a bunch of first years. You should write to your aunt and tell her they had you chasing dead creatures in the middle of the night."

"What are the properties of unicorn blood?" asked Astoria, overlooking this suggestion about writing to her aunt, unable to banish the image of the hooded figure from appearing her eyes.

"Well," squinted Theodore, slightly derailed, "the horn, tail hairs and blood _all_ have magical properties, I think."

"Yes, but the blood specifically," Astoria urged.

"It's supposed to be cursed, isn't it?" said Theo, his voice taking on the intellectual air of a scholar. "Unicorn blood can keep a person alive even if a person is seconds away from death. But because unicorns _themselves_ are so pure—they say it's an evil thing to kill a unicorn—the blood will only grant its drinker a cursed life."

Astoria's skin crawled. She suddenly began to wish that they were not sitting within sight of the forest, no matter how far away it was. She still wanted to crawl away from those cursed, shadowy trees.

"I saw something suck blood out of a dead unicorn's wound last night," admitted Astoria quietly.

"Astoria," began Theodore gravely, looking as though she had hit him over the head with a shovel. "It was late. It must have been dark... I mean, are you _sure_ you didn't just get a little worked up?"

"I didn't imagine it," said Astoria softly, pointedly looking toward the lake instead of the tree line. "Draco saw it too. So did Harry."

Theo's entire face was scrunched and Astoria could tell he was already going through his inner catalog of knowledge on the subject of unicorns, curses and the animals that were capable of catching them.

"Do you think," started Astoria, a little afraid of voicing the idea out loud, "that it's possible one of the teachers could be, I dunno, sick or something? Desperate or out of other options?"

Theo seemed to consider this but his face, if anything, grew even darker.

"In theory, I suppose that _is_ possible," said Theodore slowly, "but I don't think you're comprehending just how hard it is to catch a unicorn."

"What do you mean?" asked Astoria who had long suspected the Hogwarts teachers were a bit more competent then they sometimes looked.

"Well," said Theodore, "you're not just talking about wand makers who want to collect hairs at this point. You're talking about hunting a unicorn down to kill it. I doubt even Olivander would be able to fully snare a unicorn. Only a _really_ powerful and probably dark wizard could manage it…"

Astoria, who had suspected as much, still hate hearing this.

In a vaguely disconnected way, her thought directed themselves back to the last time she had thought something at Hogwarts might kill her. She thought about the giant three headed dog. For the first time, she found herself wondering whether it might have a purpose. It seemed to her that something awfully strange was going on at Hogwarts only she did not have enough of the pieces in her hands to fill in the puzzle.

0o0

On the very nicest day of the year, exams began.

Theodore grew sulky and ill tempered. It was the first time he had been asked to prove how much he knew in a formal setting and he seemed to be taking the idea of being testing oddly personally. He picked up the habit of making notes on the backs of things and then loosing them. For some reason, whenever he did this, he had a weird tendency to blame Daphne for his notes' disappearance. Daphne was as baffled by these accusations as she was innocent and she soon ceased studying with Astoria and Theodore entirely.

"Quiz me on the Goblin uprisings!" Theo snapped on the evening before the his last exams.

"Ok," grumbled Astoria irritably.

Astoria herself was feeling reasonably good about her own History of Magic exam. The book Theodore's dad had given her was chock full of goblin history _and_ laws. Theodore, however, seemed less prepared. He had his Herbology exam the next morning as well and it was clear that he was anxious for the whole week to be over.

Astoria started to read out loud to Theodore but they were both interrupted when a gaggle of Slytherin girls entered the library laughing so loudly that Theo actually left an indent in the surface of their table by slamming down his ink well.

"Some of us are studying!" said Theodore furiously, refusing to even look over his shoulder at the girls.

The girls all blinked in shock and then a few of them broke out laughing again, this time even more scornfully.

"Look! Is that Astoria?" whispered one of the girls, pointing at their table. "She's even sitting with a Slytherin! Maybe we should tell her?"

Astoria and Theo exchanged warning glances with one another. Astoria's look warned Theodore not to yell. Theodore's look warned Astoria that if she asked these girls what they were talking about, he certainly _would_ scream.

"What are you talking about?" asked Astoria at last, tired of being leered at. Theodore hissed.

"Shh, Flora!" said one of the girls but the whole pack was obviously so moved by mirth that it was a moment before any of them were able to speak properly again.

"Only that Miles told me last night that he thinks you're 'perfectly gorgeous'!" said the girl named Flora who had been shh-ed.

"Miles who?" asked Astoria, nonplussed. To Astoria's great surprise, Theodore was smirking over the inkwell that he had nearly just shattered.

"Miles Bletchley!" said another girl dully, perhaps thinking that this should have been obvious. "He's on the Slytherin quidditch team."

Astoria tried to remember which of the Slytherin team players Miles Bletchley was. She had a funny feeling he had gambled on Hufflepuff during the last quidditch match but, with the exception of Marcus Flint, Astoria had a hard time distinguishing the players from each other.

"He's above us," said Flora, "so he's a second year, which makes him older."

"He's going to be sooo mad at you Flora!" another of the girls whispered loudly. "He made you promise not to say!"

The girls continued tittering until they eventually shoved back through the doors again, yelping and stepping all over one another.

Theodore chuckled, clearly pleased.

"What's so funny?" asked Astoria, annoyed by the smarmy look on Theodore's face.

"Nothing," said Theodore, laughing irresistibly and then wiping his face with his hand. "Don't go out with Miles. He got points taken away a few months ago for trying to ping coins down a prefect's shirt. Oh, and I once saw him try to spell the word 'marshmallow' with an 'E'."

Astoria snorted.

0o0

Noontime the next day marked the end of Astoria's exams. It was a wonderfully sunny day. After turning in her essay and her answer sheet to Professor Binns, she wandered outside.

Fred, George and Lee were tickling the tentacles of the giant squid near the boathouse so Astoria picked her way across the rocky beach toward them.

"Alright, Astoria?" called Lee, paying for his lapse in concentration when a giant spray of water soaked his robes.

"Just finished my exams!" Astoria beamed, walking out onto the dock so that she could sit on the wooden floor near Fred.

"You too?" said George, brandishing a giant stick that he seemed to be using as an extended tickling device. "We just finished up, as well."

"Defense Against the Dark Arts," said Fred, looking at the stick in his brothers hands. "Never had an easier one, either."

George pulled the tickling stick back and then thrust forward. He seemed to have been aiming for one of the suction cups on the squid's tentacles but at the last moment, the squid rose up out of the water and the stick struck the squid where its face must be.

There was a sonar-like blast; they were all doused with water and knocked clean off the dock.

Astoria screamed as cold lake water flooded her nose and rushed into her eyes. She struggled to regain footing on the slimy lake bottom, thrusting upward, anxious for air; she broke the surface again with a splutter. A chorus of laughter and jeers responded from the direction of the lawn.

The Slytherin first years were just getting out of their Herbology final and the greenhouses had started to empty at the same moment Astoria and the twins had been pushed off of the dock.

Several feet in front of Astoria, George was struggling ashore. His soaking wet pants were clinging to his skinny legs like weights and his hair was sticking up at such an irregular angle that even Astoria giggled. The water was bracingly cold but now that the shock had passed, it was hard not to find the situation rather funny. She splashed at Lee, grinning.

Lee spluttered and shoved water back at her. Fred, seeing this, decided to outdo Lee and before Astoria even knew what was happening, Fred had lifted her up and lobbed her back out into the deep. Astoria screamed, trying to find purchase but it was too late. The water seemed even colder as she plunged back into it.

The Slytherins were still laughing, only now Astoria had a horrible feeling that they were laughing at the sounds of her screams. She splashed her way back out until she was standing knee-deep an kept dragging forward until she reached the grass. Every piece of clothing on her body was heavy and dripping. Astoria pulled her sweater over her head and let it drop with a splatter.

"Looking good, Weasleys!" jeered the pack of Slytherins.

Astoria glanced back at the twins and then looked away to hide her own grin. They both looked like poodles after a bath.

"Get bent!" Fred hollered unconcernedly, throwing his wallet up toward the lake bank, afraid of losing it to the squid

Astoria struggled to take off her sopping shoes, leaning against a nearby poplar tree so to avoid putting a hole in her tights.

"Need a hand," asked Theodore, who had approached the lake with Malfoy, Crabbe, Goyle and Zabini.

Astoria made a face but it was hard to stay angry with the warm sun beating down on her and the good clean feeling the water had left behind.

"Finished up with your tests?" Astoria shot back, wringing out her hair.

Fred, George and Lee were still ankle deep but when they noticed the invasion of Slytherin boys they began to slide and splash their way up toward Astoria. Malfoy eyed their approach beadily.

"What are you lot doing down here?" asked Fred, trying to project dignity but coming up short. His shirt was still plastered to his skin like sunscreen.

"What's this?" sneered Draco. "Are you her bodyguards now?"

Astoria said nothing but eyed Crabbe and Goyle meaningfully, hoping that perhaps Draco would realize how hypocritical this comment was.

"Yeah, maybe we are," insisted George threateningly.

"Will one of you dry me off?" asked Astoria, afraid the spat would escalate.

Lee dug around for his wand and cast a drying charm on her.

"Did you want something?" asked Astoria, studying the gaggle of boys warily. She could see no reason for them to have come down other than to poke fun and she wished to avoid the fight.

"We wanted to know if you were planning on taking bets for the quidditch final," said Blaise Zabini calmly, surprising her. "We also wanted to get a better look at Jordan over there," he added with a cool smile. "I'm not sure I've ever seen hair _do_ that before."

Lee's wet, curly hair truly was something of a spectacle.

"We don't know if we're taking bets or not," said George in clipped, stubborn tone. "Haven't decided yet. We'll have to hold a conference and get back to you."

"Well," said Blaise wryly, turning to go, "you'll keep in touch, I'm sure,"

The Slytherins were ten feet up the hill before Astoria called out after them. "Theo! Wait up!"

George raised an eyebrow as Astoria scooped up her sweater. "If he's done with his test, then so is my sister," Astoria explained. "See you at dinner!"

Theodore had stalled to wait for her, kicking at the lawn awkwardly. Behind her, Astoria heard the twins reclaim their stick from the lake.

"Think you passed?" Astoria asked, falling into stride with Theodore. It was as though she had been purged by the murky depths; she could not remember the last time she had felt so comfortable and carefree.

Theodore shrugged but it was obvious that his mood was greatly improved from the day before. "I'll find out in a week, I suppose. I can't imagine that I actually failed anything."

"Have you seen Daphne?" Astoria asked, putting her shoes back on because they had nearly reached the castle.

"She's probably down by the quidditch pitch with the rest of them," said Theodore, sounding annoyed. "That's where Draco and Blaise are headed."

"Can you blame them? Who wants to be inside on a day like today?" laughed Astoria. "Let's go find her. At least this way I don't have to make you fetch her from the Slytherin dungeons."

Astoria could tell that Theodore did not want to go join his housemates in their merry post-exam celebrations, but she also knew that he would not make her go alone. In the end, Theodore agreed to head toward the pitch as long as they didn't stay long.

"I want to read," he said, rejecting the idea of so many people gathered in healthy sunlight.

Daphne was sprawled out on the grass beneath the goal posts with Pansy Parkinson, Tracey Davis and the girl named Flora who had been so keen on telling Astoria to look up Miles Bletchley. They were reading a magazine together, pointing at photos and laughing shrilly.

A few members of the quidditch team were flying overhead, tossing a quaffle back and forth. Several of the boys _without_ brooms were lounging in the stands, talking loudly over one another.

"Astoria!" said Daphne, her eyes going wide with surprise and delight when she saw her. "Are you all done with your tests?"

Pansy and Flora both exchanged glances behind Daphne's back. Astoria watched as Pansy rolled her eyes and Flora smirked back in unspoken agreement. The message was clear; they both considered Astoria to be an unwelcome intruder.

"Yes," said Astoria, determined not to be concerned about Pansy's opinion. "I'm finished."

Theodore shifted his weight from one leg to the other uncomfortably, his eyes on the ball in the air, perhaps afraid that one of the players might drop it on him on purpose.

"What are you reading?" Astoria asked, posing the question to Pansy, hoping that it would force some pleasantness into the conversation.

"Witch Weekly," returned Pansy lazily, not offering up a single detail of the magazine's contents.

"Astoria!" called a loud male voice from somewhere near the stands.

Astoria squinted across the pitch but did not recognize the person waving at her.

"Who is that?" Astoria asked Theo.

"That's Miles!" said Flora quickly. "Miles Bletchley. I was telling you about him the other day, remember?"

Flora smiled slyly and Astoria couldn't help but feel that she was making a much bigger scene then she needed to.

"You should go see what he wants, Astoria," said Pansy, her voice suddenly becoming friendly and cajoling. She smirked in Flora's direction. "It would be rude to ignore him."

Astoria was rapidly losing even the option of ignoring Miles, however. He had jumped off of the lower bleachers and was trekking across the field towards them. One of Miles's friends dropped out of the stands to follow him and Theodore sighed witheringly, as if to suggest that this unfortunate encounter was of Astoria's own doing.

"Astoria," said Miles, smirking as he drew level. Miles's friend was more recognizable up close; Astoria recognized him as a foul-mouthed third year named Warrington.

"Miles," Astoria managed politely, turning back to toward her sister.

"So I hear you took us all for a fortune during the last quidditch game," Miles pressed on conversationally, trying his hardest to single Astoria out.

"Yeah," confirmed Astoria. "Gryffindor caught up with Slytherin just in time for the final and I pretty much forced you all to pay me because of it."

"So I suppose you'll try to do it again for the last match?" asked Miles, undeterred by the ice in her tone.

"They have to have a team summit before they decide anything," declared a drawling, scathing voice.

Malfoy, Crabbe, Goyle and Blaise had sidled up from somewhere across the field. Pansy's interest in the conversation turned from vaguely predatory to saccharine immediately.

"Draco!" Pansy squealed exuberantly. "How did you do on your exams?"

"You spent all morning in the lake together," continued Draco accusingly, ignoring Pansy. "You'd think there would have been time to make some kind of a plan between _dunks_."

"Must have slipped our minds," murmured Astoria sarcastically.

"I've never been swimming in the lake before," ventured Miles, seizing this detail at once.

Draco shot Miles a look of violent, unprecedented annoyance.

"I would't recommend it," admitted Astoria, thinking of the icy cold water she had been forced to wade out of.

Miles frowned. "Why not?"

"Because it's May in Great Britain, you _idiot_ ," sneered Draco.

There was a sudden, riotous swell of noise from the stands that Miles had abandoned. One of the boys, (mostly fifth years by the look of them) had fallen in between the seats.

"Urg," snorted Pansy, disgusted. "What are they _doing_ over there?"

"Flint's got a couple of bottles of fire-whiskey," supplied Miles at once. "His cousin mailed them to him."

"They have fire-whiskey?" asked Blaise, his interest very obviously sparked.

"Yeah, cheap stuff, I think. I doubt he'd give you any Blaise," said Miles honestly. "You're all first years."

"He might give it to _you_ , though," said Astoria, eyeing the stands, perking slightly at this new and exciting possibility.

"Are you really going to beg for cheap fire-whiskey?" sneered Draco.

"No, let her," said Blaise cutting in. "I've never had it before. I'll try it. Go get it, Bletchley."

"We do have the rest of the afternoon off," reasoned Astoria, smirking, keen to aggravate Pansy.

"Sure," Draco relented, his eyes flicking from Astoria to Blaise. He jerked his shoulders into strained shrug. "Why not?"

"Oh, Draco, don't!" said Pansy irately. "It'll stunt your growth."

"Nonsense," said Blaise smoothly. "Go on then, Bletchley."

Miles Bletchley dithered, unsure of himself. "I don't know if he'll give it to me," he admitted at last.

"I hope he doesn't!" Pansy snapped.

"You're on the team together, aren't you Miles?" Astoria pressed, feeling that she was probably the most likely to succeed in getting Miles to cross the field. "They already look drunk. I bet they'll head up to the great hall any minute for lunch."

"Yeah," grumbled Miles bitterly, "I guess I'll try."

They watched him go. Warrington chuckled under his breath. Perhaps he was not as stupid as he looked, thought Astoria, giving Warrington a second study.

They all watched from a distance as Miles haggled. At first it seemed as though he had been destined to fail from the start. Miles waved his hands at the group of boys dismissively and began to walk away. But then, one of the other boys whistled to call him back. Flint clapped his hand on Miles's shoulder with the solemnity of a father and after a brief, intense discussion, he handed Miles a bottle.

"This is a terrible idea," said Pansy, flicking a magazine page so hard that it ripped a little near the top.

"You can come too, Pansy," offered Astoria, knowing that Pansy would refuse on principal alone.

"I'l be staying here, thanks," Pansy snapped, her mouth puckering. "I don't feel like getting a detention with Snape just to try whiskey."

"Suit yourself," jeered Blaise, unworried by Pansy's lack of approval.

Miles was pointing at their group and motioning that they should join him near a nook in the stands that was much less visible.

"Are you two coming?" asked Blaise.

"What do you say, Theo?" said Astoria, turning back toward her silent friend.

"I don't see how whiskey could possibly make this day any worse," said Theodore, who looked genuinely curious despite himself. "Let's go."

"That a boy!" said Blaise, displaying all the pomp and conviction of a true schoolboy. Warrington trailed along after them uninvited.

"Those boys are pissed!" exclaimed Miles excitedly once they were all out of view of the field and, in theory, of teachers. "They gave me a whole bottle for free!"

Miles produced the bottle of liquor; it was the dark amber color of the drinks Astoria's father ordered at restaurants. In the bright sunshine, it gleamed like a forbidden object.

"Who want's to go first?" asked Blaise, casting around for a volunteer.

Miles, who said that he had already tried fire-whiskey at one of his grandparents dinner parties, suggested that the lady should go first. No one could think of a reason to disagree so Astoria carefully took the uncorked bottle and put it to her lips.

Her first thought was that whiskey tasted _nothing_ like butterbeer. Her second thought was fear for her throat, which felt like it was really burning. Astoria sputtered a little and squeezed her eyes shut. Theodore laughed.

"It tastes like fire," Astoria choked, passing the bottle to Malfoy who took it from her.

After a subtle but nervous glance at her face, which Astoria could already feel heat flowing into, Draco tipped the bottle to his own mouth. He swallowed and for a second it looked at though he would be fine. Then he choked and swore.

"God, what _is_ that?" Draco hissed through his teeth, turning his narrowed eyes on Miles.

"I told you it was probably cheep," returned Miles in a patronizing voice.

Miles took his sip and managed to hold it down without pulling face, although Astoria thought that his mouthful looked a lot smaller than Malfoy's had been.

Blaise went next, equally compelled and disturbed by the slightly pained looks on the faces of those who had gone before him. He reacted much as Malfoy had, with strained gasping and a smattering of swear words. On the bottle went: to Theo and then Warrington.

They all snuck glances at each other, waiting for some indication of what would happen next. Astoria had a vague notion that being drunk meant that she was supposed to be seeing two of everything.

"I don't think it worked," said Astoria, certain that her vision was not impaired.

Malfoy sneered because that seemed to be the only thing he knew how to do with his mouth, but Astoria could not help noticing his expression seemed slightly more indulgent than it usually did. Softer somehow.

"It tasted real enough," said Zabini reasonably. "Perhaps we just need another round?"

"Yeah, lets take another one," said Theo, who was stretching his long limbs with unusual vigor.

They passed the bottle around again and this time Astoria managed to swallow the whiskey without gasping for air or having tears creep into her eyes. Theodore was the only person who choked twice. They stood together, savoring the sudden, deep warmth in their chests and listened to the sound of the boys playing quidditch out on the green.

"You know what?" said Theo, with an addictive little chuckle. "I think I _do_ feel it."

A slow smile crept onto Astoria's face and she began to laugh as well. Soon they were all laughing foolishly for no particular reason at all. Then Blaise had a terrific idea.

"We should break into the storage shed where they keep the sports equipment," said Blaise, whose voice had lost none of its coolness with the consumption of liquor even if he did seem to be more liberal about speaking in general. "They've got all kinds of stuff in there."

Draco and Miles both thought this was a fantastic idea as well. They stashed the bottle of whiskey under the stands and they all walked around the back of the stadium until they came to the storage shed. It was locked, a fact that Miles discovered by running face first into the door in his attempt to open it. Draco in particular seemed to take immense satisfaction in watching Miles hop about angrily.

" _Alohamora_ ," said Theo, who was the first to remember his wand.

Inside was a veritable trove of forgotten sports. They took everything they could that looked as though it could be thrown, shot or caught and then retreated back to a section of seats high above the stadium. Somebody had remembered to bring the liquor, or else had gone back for it, because it appeared once more on one of the benches.

Down on the green grass below, Astoria spotted Daphne. She who was still sitting with Pansy's group of girls. Pansy kept occasionally lifting her head to spy on them in the stands. Even from a distance, Daphne looked slightly dejected. For a minute Astoria felt guilty for leaving her with a group of such catty females and she hoped that her sister was not suffering on her account.

"See, I think you throw it like this," said Warrington, who was holding a wooden object that was curved like a comma and gesturing with a flicking motion of his wrist, "and then… I dunno, maybe it goes really far."

They all looked at the wooden, 'L' shaped toy curiously. Astoria had never seen anything like it before. Warrington drew back and then snapped his hand forward to release it. The wooden toy _did_ go a fair distance but none of them were particularly impressed until it changed course in mid-air and came ricocheting back at them.

Zabini ducked just in time to avoid being hit and the toy crashed into the back wall of the stadium behind him.

Theo and Draco both hooted at the near miss. Zabini brushed off his knees and took another knock off of the bottle of whiskey, repeating Warrington's words, " _And then.. I dunno, maybe it goes really far,"_ to a chorus of scathing laughter.

Somehow Astoria found the bottle back in her hands again, unsure who had handed it to her. She began taking smaller sips, remembering how disassociated the ancient butterbeer had made her feel. Liquor seemed to have more of a zip to it however and disconcertingly, it began to seem as though the more she drank, the more she _wanted_ to drink.

For her new dainty sips, Malfoy and Zabini had switched to large ones, as though they had made a secret pact to make up for her moderation.

Draco found a snitch inside a box and it was now floating over their heads, darting back and forth evasively.

"Can you believe Potter managed to catch one of these twice?" drawled Draco snidely, watching the snitch from the seat next to Astoria. "Potter can barely _walk_ straight."

Astoria would have been willing to bet her savings that if she had forced Draco to stand, he wouldn't have been able to walk straight either but she did not say so.

"Look at this!" said Miles excitedly. He had found an old bow and arrow, a remnant of a long forgotten archery club.

Malfoy snagged it out of Miles's hands and tested it unskillfully. "I think this will shoot," he confirmed, looking around for arrows.

When Draco stood up, Theodore greedily stole his vacated seat, looking slightly dizzy.

"Do you think you can shoot that snitch?" asked Blaise, extending this challenge to everybody present. Astoria's eyes flicked toward the snitch, which had flown out over the field slightly. It was a clean fifty feet away now and it was darting back and forth evasively. Not an easy mark…

"Maybe," said Draco, holding the bow out, trying to line up the sight.

"Let me," said Blaise, who had found the arrows. Blaise took one and notched it. He drew back carelessly and released. The arrow missed by the snitch by several feet and dropped out of sight. Miles booed.

"Why don't you try, Nott?" called Draco snidely, finally noticing that Theodore had taken his seat. " _You're_ always keen to shoot things down."

This earned a laugh from Blaise.

Theodore stood up and took the bow dubiously. His shot missed its mark by more than Blaise's had and the force nearly caused him to tip all the way over.

Draco took the bow back with smirking and tried a shot himself. The arrow went high and then dove to the ground. A second later they heard a startled yell below them.

They all ducked, wide eyed with the exception of Astoria, who stuck her head out past the edge of the seats fearfully.

There was an arrow lodged in the grass. About five feet away from it, Montague was shouting himself horse and shaking his fist. Draco's sniggers quickly become hoots of derision when it became evident that they had not accidentally murdered a student.

"Here," said Astoria holding out her hand for the bow, "let me try."

"I don't think so," said Draco pulling the bow out of reach, smirking all over his pointed face. "I don't like what I hear about your aim."

"What's wrong with her aim?" asked Miles, who seemed determined to make a dirty joke if it killed him.

"She shot a teacher once," said Draco, not playing in to Miles' bid.

"You did, didn't you!" exclaimed Theodore, who seemed to have forgotten this fact.

"Once," said Astoria as Blaise roared with laughter, "during a practice."

"Did you shoot your teacher on purpose?" inquired Blaise, looking as though he very much hoped that Astoria had.

"Of course not," lied Astoria pointedly. "That would be sick."

"Still, can't have any more mistakes like that, can we?" said Draco, pulling the bow back still further, his smirk deepening.

"You're one to talk," said Astoria calmly, taking a hold of the bottom of the bow. "You just nearly shot Montague."

Draco didn't let go. Clearly he enjoyed having power over her and was not eager to relinquish it.

"Well, let's see it then," said Blaise at last, tired of watching Draco preen. "Worst case scenario, we lose the arrow."

Astoria took a firmer hold of the bow and tested the draw on the string. She had spent plenty of hours in her youth shooting archery practice and she knew that if she managed not to stumble, her shot would be better than all three of the boy's failed attempts. Astoria fitted an arrow and watched the snitch. She could feel Draco's eyes on the side of her face.

She breathed out, pulled the bow up to eye level, then breathed in at the release. The arrow sliced through the air and met the snitch with a metallic snapping sound. It severed the soft metal in half and both wings tumbled toward the ground like sparkling confetti. It was a better shot than Astoria had could have hoped for by far.

Blaise swore and stood up to peer out at the now vacated field they were shooting over, perhaps hoping to see what was left of the snitch that Astoria had just shot out of the air.

Theo let out a low whoop. "That had to have been sixty feet away!"

Astoria dipped into a bow the way the old professional witches in the league did and Miles whistled.

Malfoy blinked and said nothing until after Blaise had passed him the whiskey again. "I thought you said you shot your teacher by accident?" he reminded her sharply.

"She always was the best shot in the class," said Pansy nastily, announcing herself on the stairway. The Slytherin girls had climbed up to them an they were lingering on the stairs. "I've only seen Astoria miss her mark once," Pansy went on. "It was quite a coincidence!"

"Thats why they call it shooting practice, not shooting perfect, Pansy," returned Astoria in a slightly more challenging tone than she might have used sober.

This was a very bad joke but her audience was so loosened up by the fire-whiskey that they hooted appreciatively anyway.

"We're going to dinner," said Pansy witheringly. "You boys should come." The invitation was not extended to Astoria.

Blaise held up the whiskey bottle, which was still nearly half full, and put his feet up on the railing so that it looked like he was sitting on a lounge chair.

"I'll pass," he said with a self satisfied smirk.

This was very amusing to Draco and he too declared his intention of skipping dinner.

Theo, who was skinny and only ate once a day, was beginning to appear a little green and he volunteered to leave at once. Warrington ambled down the stairs to indicate his defection in silence.

Pansy looked as though she had bit into a lemon. She had wanted Draco, could maybe have settled for Blaise and was now stuck with Theodore. Perhaps it was the liquor or maybe it was because Pansy seemed to have claimed Daphne for her her own, but Astoria had to turn away to hide her look of satisfaction at Pansy's disappointment.

"Staying, Greengrass?" asked Malfoy, leaning against the railing near Blaise's feet.

Astoria raised her shoulders into a shrug. Anything seemed better than having to walk across the grounds with Pansy only to be ditched once she reached the great hall.

Pansy made a sound of annoyance but seemed to know better then to yell at Blaise or Draco. She settled for a mask of disapproval and took Flora's arm as they walked away.

"Aren't you going, too?" said Draco hopefully, looking at Miles with an expression of disdain.

"It's _my_ whiskey, isn't it?" said Miles, shooting a unwanted, sidelong look at Astoria. "I'm staying."

The sun was beginning to set. The western horizon glowed golden and then orange. They watched it, hypnotized. Blaise uncorked the bottle again. A bottle of liquor had seemed like too much when there had been six of them drinking. Now that there were four, it seemed like an almost dangerous supply.

Blaise did not agree. "I wish it were easier to get your hands on, this stuff. It goes quickly."

"You can always get butterbeers from the kitchens," said Astoria, thinking of the old house-elf that Fred and George had bribed. "The stuff the elves give you is old too, so it's got more of a kick."

"You've been to the kitchens?" asked Draco, sounding faintly impressed.

"Yeah," said Astoria. "Its behind that portrait of the bowl of fruit near the Hufflepuff dorms."

"How do you get in?" asked Blaise immediately.

"You tickle the pear and it becomes a doorknob," Astoria answered, reaching out for the bottle that was coming her way and accidentally putting her hand on Malfoy's fingers at the bottleneck.

"You have to look for this old house elf, though," Astoria went on, speaking quickly to hide whatever jolt Draco's skin had just given her. "I think his name is Bumbles. Anyway, he's sort of like the butler and he'll give you whatever you want but he doesn't like giving alcohol to the students so you have to bribe him with those little figurines that come in candy boxes."

"Why?" asked Miles, who was standing behind them and looking a little left out.

"He's got a collection, or something," said Astoria.

"How do you know?" asked Blaise.

"Because I bribed him once," said Astoria.

"I thought you'd never drank before," said Miles petulantly, trying to catch her in a lie.

"I said I'd never had fire-whiskey before," said Astoria. "I've had butterbeer. I went with Fred and George back in the fall."

"You drank with the Weasleys?" drawled Draco, his voice colored by unmistakable annoyance. "Well _this_ is certainly upward momentum for you."

Blaise laughed but Astoria gave them both a hard look.

"Say what you want about Fred and George, but they know where just about everything in the castle is and how to get it," Astoria insisted. "They know how to coax teachers and servants and they know secret passageways that will literally take you out of the school. That's more then I can say about either of you."

Draco seemed to consider this. He had never put much stock in the twins inherent utility before and they seemed to rise slightly in his esteem. "Sure that's useful, I mean, if you can stand looking at them long enough to get what you're looking for," he scoffed.

"I can't stand looking at _you,_ Draco," said Miles, which made no sense at all but did serve as a gauge for how drunk he was. Blaise snickered.

A lone figure came walking across the field below, strolling through the dusk. It was Filch and he was dressed in his Sunday best, humming to himself and headed in the direction of Hogsmeade.

They all dropped down off of their benches out of view, not wishing to be seen by the caretaker. Astoria found herself pressed between Draco and Miles, listening hard.

"Is he gone?" Astoria whispered, not quite liking the way Miles was leaning into her.

"What's he _doing_?" drawled Draco scathingly.

"Maybe he's got a date in the village?" suggested Blaise with a smirk. "That dress coat!"

Astoria peered over the railing and giggled. "He's wearing fancy suspenders _and_ a belt!" said Astoria, bouncing against Draco's shoulder, trying to stifle herself without getting any nearer to Miles.

"What's that got to do with anything?" asked Miles as the rest of them cackled.

"That's far too much support!" said Astoria in a passable imitation of her aunt.

" _That_ sounds like something my mother would say," said Blaise in a cool, amused voice.

Miles flexed and tried to slide his arm down the bench behind Astoria's shoulders. At the same moment, Draco put his head back against the bottom of the seats, his face red from laughing and liquor. Miles was forced to yank his hand away before they made contact.

"I'm not going to lie," said Astoria, really beginning to feel the heat in her face, "I might have heard my aunt Belladonna say that about Florean Fortesque once. I was terribly fond of him when I was little and my aunt never approved."

There was so much to wonder at in this sentence that Blaise did not know where to start and Draco actually pressed a hand over his eyes he was laughing so hard.

"Belladonna Lestrange is your aunt?" said Blaise, looking at Astoria as though seeing her for the first time.

"Fond of Florean Fortseque?" hissed Malfoy, looking as though Christmas had come early.

"Well, he had an ice cream shop, didn't he?" said Astoria indulgently. "I have some memory of her trying to make a life lesson out of avoiding men with double pant support out of my fascination."

"That's sound advice, though," drawled Malfoy, "as wizards who own sweets shops are generally pedophiles."

"I've met Belladonna," said Blaise. "My mother knows her."

Both Blaise's mother and Astoria's aunt had had about a dozen husbands between them and both were currently widowed. Neither had ever been divorced.

"Similar hobbies, I suppose? " drawled Draco but he had stopped laughing and was listening with an abiding interest.

"My mother was visiting Belladonna to deliver condolence flowers actually," Blaise allowed, smiling wryly. "Of course, _my_ mother's husband had just died as well."

Blaise took another shot of whiskey and made a face. Astoria reflected uncomfortably on just how much Blaise must have already drank to be talking so openly about familiar murder. This was the sort of thing that Astoria usually tried her hardest to conceal and having the topic discussed so casually made her feel very tense.

"Imagine that," said Astoria off-handedly.

"He drowned in the Italian lakes. We were on vacation," said Blaise. "Anyway, there we were, having tea with Belladonna when your aunt starts going on about how lucky my mother is to have our grounds, what with the lake and the distant view of the sea. So many bodies of _water_ on our land, us Zabinis…"

Draco made a sound of delighted disbelief, so Blaise continued: "My mother excused herself because she found the topic distressful. I was still very young and naive, so I said to Belladonna, very seriously, 'My mother's husband has just drowned and you may not have meant to, but I think you've upset her.' Belladonna looked right at me. Without missing a beat, she raised an eyebrow and said in that cool, insulting voice of hers, 'Boy, I've never insulted anyone by _accident_ in my life'."

" _What_?" drawled Malfoy, all gleeful astonishment.

"That's pretty," said Miles, reaching out to touch a ring Astoria was wearing on her pointer finger.

Malfoy, catching sight of this, forcefully handed Miles the bottle. "Drink this."

Miles titled dizzily and took his hand away from Astoria to reach for it.

"I think Filch is gone," said Astoria, wanting to change the topic, "maybe we should move?"

They all agreed but by the time Astoria had stood up and reached the stairs it was becoming apparent exactly what so much fire-whiskey could stealthily do while you were sitting down. She knew that she could to go anywhere near the castle.

The world had become fluid and stupid. The idea of falling down, rather than striking her as embarrassing, was almost a giddy thought. Astoria laughed for no reason at all.

"Astoria's drunk!" declared Blaise, still managing to look haughty despite his own buzzing head.

Miles reached out to help her down the steps but Astoria danced away from him, not wanting him to touch her. They all struck out across the grass toward the rocky outcroppings behind the owlery. Darkness was still at least an hour away and the crickets were starting to chirp loudly in the wilderness surrounding the woods. Astoria climbed up onto a boulder and balanced precariously. Miles, who had been growing progressively more pale, ran off toward the edge of the forest. Assuming he was off to throw up, Malfoy laughed derisively after him.

"If you two had children," said Blaise looking at Astoria and pointing after Miles, "they would have the lowest drinking tolerance in the country."

Astoria laughed and fell off her rock. Malfoy grabbed her before she could go tumbling down the hill so she rested her weight loosely against him and pointed at Zabini.

"If I had babies with you," returned Astoria, "they'd all turn out to be girls and there would be no men left alive in England."

Astoria had the notion that if Blaise had been sober, he would have been insulted. Then again, Astoria also felt rather certain that if sobriety ruled the day, Malfoy would have pushed her away into the grass long ago. Instead, however, Blaise started to chuckle and Astoria continued to sway, clinging onto Draco for support.

It had been a long time since Astoria had had a firm grasp on what she was doing, but she had a notion that she had not started out with any firm plans for being drunk in a field with Draco Malfoy and Blaise Zabini. At some point, however, the rest of the Slytherins had trickled away and now the stars were beginning to come out, radiant white spots against the icy blue sky.

Astoria sank down into the grass, accidentally dragging Draco, (who was still propping her up) down as well. Zabini took another swig of the dwindling fire-whiskey and passed it toward Astoria. Malfoy grabbed it before Astoria could react and drank it instead, which was just as well, because Astoria probably would have ended up joining Miles in the bushes if she had any more. Speaking of Miles, why hadn't he returned?

"I don't think he's coming back," said Malfoy. He let out an unkind laugh and slouched down, turning his eyes upward.

"Too bad," said Blaise. "Astoria will miss him."

Astoria tried looking up, but the effort while sitting made her feel slightly nauseous so she leaned back as Draco had done. Malfoy shifted and Astoria lifted her head, shamelessly using him as a pillow. Zabini slipped down beside her, his knees brushing her arm. They were like a giant puddle, thought Astoria.

On a normal day, Astoria wasn't entirely sure that she really liked either boy but for the moment, she felt oddly connected to them and faintly peaceful. Astoria sighed and resisted the urge to close her eyes. Malfoy had a nice, clean, well kept smell about him; like sheets or shirts that had been recent laundered, ironed and hung up by a third party.

The steady rhythm of his breathing was pleasant. Crumpled on the lawn, Zabini no longer seemed like a walking piece of distinguished art. He was still witty and stylish, but at the moment, he struck Astoria as more human then she had ever seen him.

They were some of the last students to go to dinner. Most of the main courses had already been cleared and replaced by dessert. Astoria was so relived to see that Miles Bletchley had returned to the hall, (and was not, therefore, sleeping in the tall grass near the owlery) that she lingered at the Slytherin table longer than she meant to. Blaise and Draco had emptied the last of a server of boiled potatoes and a plate of eclairs. She nibbled a few things off of their plates intermittently before departing for bed.

On the third floor, still treacherously dizzy, she passed Hermione Granger. For a split second, all Astoria could think of was how sloppily she must be walking. Then, a clear look at Hermione caused the fear slip out of her mind. Granger was covered in a chalky white dust and she looked close to crying. She had no interest in Astoria's antics.

Astoria fell asleep the moment her head touched her pillows, too tired to inquire after Hermione Granger's strange distress.

0o0

When Astoria woke up the next morning, she was certain that she had the flu. Her head throbbed dully and her throat cried out for water. Sitting up was a mistake; the moment she tried it, a wave of dizziness hit her like a plank.

Then, floating back like distant memory, Astoria remembered that she had drank nearly a quarter of a bottle of fire-whiskey and that her body was furious with her.

Thankfully, the dormitory was blissfully quiet. She tried to lay as still as possible; _sensation_ seemed to jangle in her limbs like a punishment. Patches of the night before called themselves to attention in flashes as she stared at the velvet top of her four poster bed.

Theo had gone to bed early. Blaise had said something about Belladonna that had made everybody laugh, but that had felt oddly boundary crossing. Miles Bletchley was the one who had stolen the whiskey for them.

Astoria squirmed a little as she dove deeper.

They had shot arrows over a field of people? She had said something about what her babies with Zabini would be like? Could that be right?

Astoria even had an odd memory of her face pressed into Draco Malfoy's shirt... but that had been later in the evening, when the world felt like an obstacle course. She could be forgiven for those transgressions, couldn't she? She had not, after all, confessed any secret loves nor had she let Miles kiss her.

Why had it seemed like a good idea to drink, anyway? Astoria pondered this fiercely. Her first experience with Butterbeer had not been much fun, and while last night had been a _better_ time, Astoria still felt as though she had been pushed down a flight of stairs. Perhaps it was because Pansy had been annoying her with that magazine? Perhaps that was what had set Astoria off?

Astoria struggled out of bed and peered at Hermione's clock. It was nearly noon. She had slept through breakfast.

She staggered to the washroom, stripped down and let water from the shower wash her back to life. She had not brought soap with her because she had not been sure what intent was upon entering the bath. But no matter, Lavender had left hers behind! Astoria covertly used the forgotten shampoo, chuckling stupidly. It was not something she would have normally done, as Lavender frequently smelled like adolescent body spray, but Astoria's lack of energy was compelling her to new heights of laziness.

Clean and showing no visible signs of her fatigue, Astoria dressed in something that had never been near a liquor bottle or any part of Miles Bletchley and set off for the great hall.

She met Fred and George at the portrait hole and was about to wish them a good morning when their twin, grim expressions stopped her in her tracks.

"What's up?" she mumbled, a trickle of fear somehow finding purchase on her muddled chain of thoughts.

"You haven't heard?" demanded George, taking in the freshly washed and newly arisen sight of her.

"Harry went into the forbidden corridor last night," said Fred. "Turns out there was a trap door in there and he, Ron and Hermione all went down it."

Astoria blinked, remembering the dog. She tried to imagine what could have possibly been important enough to make any of them enter that room again and failed.

"There was a sort of obstacle course down there or something, because Dumbledore's had the philosopher's stone hidden in the castle all year," said George. "They worked their way through the challenges and then at the end Harry fought You Know Who for the stone."

George had been speaking in a monotone, each outrageous detail disguised by calm detachment.

"How do you know?" gasped Astoria.

"Ron says it's true and we believe him," said Fred, leaving it at that.

"What happened to Harry? Why do you look so upset?" Astoria stuttered, words tumbling out like the broken fragments of better questions.

"You Know Who was in league with Quirrell," said George. "He's dead. Harry's in the hospital wing and he still hasn't woken up."

Astoria could not think of a single thing to say. Her brain was frustratingly slow and fuzzy. She knew that she should ask about Ron, but the question she could not hold in came pouring out instead. "How was Quirrell supposed to be in league with You Know Who, if You Know Who was vanquished?"

Fred's somber look seemed to sum the whole problem up for her.

"Is he in power again?" asked Astoria, panic blossoming. "Are his followers?"

"No!" said George. "Nothing like that. He was living in Quirrell's body like a ghost. Harry _stopped_ him from rising again."

These words had a strong transformative effect on Astoria. The world where Voldemort was in power was the world that her parents had belonged to. Astoria thought of her mother, locked away in Azkaban for war crimes and experienced such a mixed rush of emotions she thought she might cry.

Astoria had never had a mother and this was largely because of Voldemort. He had not killed Lucrezia, as he had Harry's mom, but he _had_ taken her away nonetheless. The idea of Voldemort rising again while Astoria slept, intoxicated and confused, was so strange and frightening that she thought her chest might explode. A world with Voldemort in it was a world where all of the dark corners of Astoria's life came rushing in to blot out the future.

Harry had always struck her as a genuine and rather nice person, but Astoria had occasionally (although privately) thought of him as a senseless celebrity. Famed for doing something that he could not remember, it was hard to take him seriously. Furthermore, as an orphan, it often seemed as though Harry was given special privileges while so many others, like Theo, struggled along with their own losses in silence.

Frozen in front the portrait hole and facing the twins however, Astoria began to see Harry as the hero that had saved her without even knowing she needed saving.

0o0

Exam results arrived on the day of the leaving feast. Astoria had passed everything and her Transfiguration and History of Magic scores were actually, genuinely impressive. She had scored over a hundred percent in History of Magic by writing in a bonus. These were both highly academic classes and she knew her aunt would be pleased.

Harry Potter had woken up, revived and returned just in time for Dumbledore's farewell speech during which the headmaster had awarded Gryffindor hundreds of points for courage and valor. They had won the house cup for the first time in nearly a decade. Gryffindors everywhere were rejoicing.

The Slytherins were not.

"Its a blatant disregard for basic honor and structure," said Theo, watching the hills and fields pass by outside the train windows.

They had boarded the train leaving Hogwarts an hour ago and they had just managed to find a compartment for themselves.

"I mean, why bother waiting until the feast at all?" continued Theodore. "Why decorate the entire hall in Slytherin colors just to clap your hands and undo them? It's like he was trying to prove just how much he favors Gryffindor as publicly as he could!"

Astoria smiled tightly and unwrapped a chocolate frog. "I think you're making more out of it then he intended. Dumbledore was just trying to reward bravery and cleverness."

" _Rule breaking_ , you mean?" insisted Theo firmly.

"I meant heroism, actually," breathed Astoria. "Look, you're right. Maybe Dumbledore shouldn't have switched the house cup winner in the end, but regardless of your politics or whether or not you believe the Dark Lord was under a trap door, Harry intentionally saved his friends before himself and faced down an enemy that grown wizards cower just thinking about. All because he thought it was the right thing to do. Sure, it lacks that certain self preserving instinct that Slytherins seem to savor, but you have to admit, the kid's got guts."

Theo blinked and turned to look out the window, mulling this over.

"Guts maybe," Theo admitted, "but not smarts. Potter survived because he was lucky. Whether it was the Dark Lord or just Quirrell down there, Potter didn't go to any teachers and he took two of his friends with him. I can appreciate the gumption," he raised a sardonic eyebrow, "but not the method."

"Analytical to the last!" exclaimed Astoria with a chuckle. "Where is your sense of emotion?"

"Buried under twenty generations of a surviving pureblood line," said Theo. "How do you think we've gone on so long? If I'm going to die on purpose, it's not going to be because I didn't think through all of my options first. I don't know what went wrong with _you_."

Astoria had to laugh at this, but she was still certain Theo has missing the most crucial point of her feelings on the matter.

"Chess?" asked Theo hopefully, clearly tired of the conversation already. Astoria suspected that it had already been quite a lot of talking in the Slytherin dormitory about the matter already so she relented and let him set up the board. "What are your plans for this summer, anyway?" Theodore asked.

"Dunno," said Astoria, feeling drained just thinking about so many months at home. "I'm taking a trip with some old family friends in July. Other then that, I'm sure my aunt would love to have me as much as she can and is probably arranging things right now to get what she wants."

Theo smirked and gestured to the board. "What team do you want?"

"White," said Astoria at once. "They go first, don't they?"

0o0

* * *

I _know_. I just got twelve year olds drunk. I'm sure I'll catch some flack for this, but I'd just like to say that while drinking at twelve is not perhaps _desirable_ , it's not _totally_ unheard of. Miles and Warrington are both older as well, making them count as something like bad influences in this case. I also think that Slytherins in general are probably good candidates for this kind of early rule breaking.

We don't see much of that sort of thing in the Harry Potter books, but (aside from the fact that they are YA novels) I think part of this probably has something to do with the fact that Harry is always busy carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders. Astoria, Blaise, Draco and Theo don't have such pressing issues in their lives and I think it's entirely possible that they have more time to kill and that the consequences of slacking off for a minute are much less grave for them. That being said, I hope I did not entirely glorify teen drinking.

This was the last chapter of the first book so I'm moving on to Chamber of Secrets in the next few installments. I feel as though this story is better played out by teenagers and the next few chapters are very exciting to me.

Let me know what you think! As always, reviews are a great pleasure to read!


	7. Summer

Chapter Seven

Summer

* * *

0o0

The August heat was sweltering in the attic bedroom of Astoria's aunt's house and no matter what she did, nothing seemed to be able to beat back the balmy temperature. All four windows had been thrust open to a nonexistent breeze for days. Astoria had even removed the screens in a pointless bid to allow the air to move more freely but it would not do. It was nearly noon and the day only promised to grow hotter as the dew on the grass outside turned steadily into a vaporous steam. Theodore Nott was sitting on Astoria's bedroom floor rolling a glass tumbler full of ice and soda water across his forehead.

"Hell on Earth," he muttered, pulling his shirt away from his sticky back again.

Astoria was sitting in the window seat that looked out over the garden but she turned to face your friend. "Why don't you take your shoes off or something, then? You're still in long pants and a sweater."

Theo scoffed and continued to roll the glass of ice over his neck. Apparently, Theodore considered his summer dress code to be the same as his winter one and anyone who wore lighter fabrics for comfort's sake alone was silly and beneath him. Astoria wondered if his toes had ever seen sunlight.

"It must have been hotter than this in Turkey, at least," said Theo, referencing the vacation with Aston Mendel that Astoria had just returned from. "Weren't you practically in the desert?"

"It was hotter but it was also drier," recalled Astoria longingly. "It was _always_ windy and Aston was only there to promote his book so we were near the coast. One of his old friends had a flying carpet!"

"Really?" asked Theo. "I thought those were illegal."

"Not in Turkey," said Astoria, grinning. "I didn't see a single broomstick the whole time I was there. You can nap on those carpets, they're so comfortable! I sat on one with Aston and two foreign businessmen to watch the sunset one night."

Theo rolled his eyes as though he found the idea of lounging about with grown businessmen to be vaguely classless and trivial. "I'm hungry," he decided at last. "Can't we go downstairs? It's cooler there and your aunt had a tray of tea sandwiches out."

Over the past few weeks, Belladonna had relented at last and she now allowed Theo to visit Astoria during the day. Still, Belladonna was never particularly keen to _talk_ to Theodore, preferring instead to watch his every graceless move with a mixture of unimpressed pity and amusement. This alone made Astoria feel awkward, but she also knew for a fact that her aunt was expecting company that morning and that was _more_ than enough motive for Astoria to want to stay barricaded in her room until dinner.

"Can't," argued Astoria. "There are people down there."

"Well, there's people up here!" cried Theo irritably. "And they're hot and starving!"

"She's hosting the ladies of St. Mungo's auxiliary meeting today," said Astoria warningly. "You want to talk about Hell on Earth..."

"They'll probably be out in the garden trying to catch a breeze," Theodore reasoned. "Come on! Just one sandwich and we can come right back up here to your sauna of depression."

This was a fairly apt description of Astoria's bedroom these days. Astoria had spent most of June at home with Daphne in Tidenham, reading books by the river and gossiping. It had been nice to have her sister all to herself again and they had spent hours in Astoria's bed trying on various nail polishes and laughing about teachers.

Then, it had been off to Turkey for two glorious weeks of sunshine and wonder. Astoria had worn nothing but linen and silk. Aston had let her try spiced wine with him in the villa that he had rented and he had not been offended when she complained that it tasted like chutney. Aston had also introduced her to his adult friends by her full name without sending her to bed early to be rid of her—a kind of dignity that she rarely ever received at home.

When Astoria had returned to England, full to bursting with stories and with an aching sunburn across her face, she had been surprised to find that her aunt's house elf Wobbles was waiting at her father's house to help her unpack her things.

"It's not one of Wobbles days, is it?" Astoria had asked her sister suspiciously.

"No," Daphne admitted, her voice calculated and somber. "Belladonna finally let my mum have her full time."

This had struck Astoria as immediately ominous. House elves were very loyal to their owners; not to mention extremely expensive to acquire. If Belladonna had parted with _hers_ , it must have been for a very good reason. Because of this warning, Astoria was not at all surprised when, two or three days later, she learned that she would be finishing the summer at her aunt's house.

As far as Astoria was concerned, Belladonna had levied a faithful servant to pay for Astoria's imprisonment and to cap it all off she had replaced Wobbles with a new, crotchety old elf named Bonky who regularly spied on Astoria and made reports to Belladonna behind her back.

"Fine," said Astoria, who was sweating through her sundress, "but if they are all in the sitting room, I'm staying on the stairs."

The moment they left the attic, the temperature began to drop considerably and by the time they had reached the first floor even Astoria was forced to admit that the air was much more comfortable to exist in down below.

The patio doors that lead off the formal living room were open and the murmur of four or five voices coming from the veranda under the apple tree confirmed that Belladonna had taken her lunch outside.

On the low coffee table near the couch, Astoria spied the tray of half eaten tea sandwiches. Sitting in one of the armchairs by himself and snooping nosily through an ornamental snuffbox, however, was a less expected fixture: Draco Malfoy

Draco looked up when Astoria and Theodore reached the bottom of the stairs and jumped, blushing guiltily as though they had caught him in the act of doing something obscene.

"Draco?" remarked Astoria in surprise.

"I didn't know _you_ were here," shot Draco guiltily. "Theo," he added stiffly, putting the snuffbox back down on the table.

Theo clearly seemed to think Malfoy counted as an unexpected invader but Astoria continued down the stairs. Perhaps Draco had tagged along with his mother thinking that Astoria wouldn't be at home? A chance to snoop about and set eyes on Belladonna?

"What are you doing here?" asked Astoria skeptically, moving into the living room room. "Have you joined the charity league too? I didn't know they were taking teenage boys."

Draco sneered halfheartedly, clearly still thrown by their sudden and unexpected arrival. "Mother's outside with the rest of them having tea."

"Do you always go to tea with your mum and then sit inside while they plan fundraisers?" asked Theo slyly, taking an egg salad sandwich off the tray on the table.

" _No_ ," sneered Draco, narrowing his eyes.

Belladonna appeared in the patio doorway. "Oh good, Astoria, you've come down," she said, taking in the sight of her niece with surprise. Despite the years that separated them—not to mention the slightly imperious way that Belladonna _stood_ —Astoria could realistically see how a person might be able to draw a resemblance between herself and her aunt. "It had just occurred to me that Draco was sitting in here alone. I was going to send for you."

Astoria reached for the plate of sandwiches, not at all happy with the idea that Belladonna thought Draco was impressive enough to warrant intentionally foisting her niece upon.

Belladonna clucked her tongue and her eyes wandered toward Theo, who was attempting to eat without dropping egg anywhere and failing spectacularly.

"I'll be outside then," she went on. "The gardens do look lovely today, don't they?"

"Yes," agreed Astoria challengingly, feeling more and more like an ungrateful brat the longer her aunt dithered about looking pleased with herself. "Four of your husbands _have_ put green thumbs into the soil, after all." Astoria lowered her voice. "Other parts too, maybe…"

"Nonsense, darling," shot Belladonna without missing a beat, a new chill marking her voice as dangerous. "You _know_ the roses prefer thin soil. What a terrible place to bury a body."

Theo choked on his eggs.

"No more than _one_ sandwich, Astoria," Belladonna admonished as a final afterthought before disappearing back out into the yard, "and stick to the cucumber. They're less fattening."

Theo opened his mouth the second she was gone.

"Yes, yes!" snapped Astoria crossly, beating him to the chase. "We can't bury any husbands in the yard because the rose beds aren't deep enough! Such comedy!" Astoria threw herself onto the couch moodily. "Isn't the Widow Lestrange just a _barrel_ of chuckles this morning?"

"I'm sure she wasn't serious," Theodore amended, not wishing to rile Astoria up.

"Like hell she wasn't," muttered Astoria. "That's _just_ the sort of thing she would do only later, when the plant bloomed, she'd probably also send the flower cuttings to his grieving family."

Malfoy seemed genuinely impressed with the creativeness of this idea but Theo had looked away from her. Astoria knew that he thought her mood swings regarding her aunt were trifling and a little embarrassing, but she couldn't help herself. Theodore shoved the plate of sandwiches at her, provoking Astoria further.

"Oh no," she muttered crossly. "I don't dare!"

"She'll never know if you have two, Astoria," argued Theo reasonably.

Astoria picked up a monogrammed cigarette case off the table near the lamp and the snuffbox and trilled: "Imagine what would happen if I let myself get _fat_? Her entire world would combust!"

Astoria flipped opened the case and took out one of the French cigarettes that her aunt liked to offer her gentleman friends after dinner parties and pocketed it. She had started doing this lately, relishing in the fact that she was not allowed and that plenty of responsible people found the habit disgusting. Mostly, though, she dropped them out her window into the garden untouched; a silent middle finger.

"You smoke now, do you?" said Theo, finding this idea almost as hilarious as he did pathetic.

"So what if I do?" Astoria challenged. " _She_ wants to make jokes about knocking people off and burying them in the yard? The least she can do is let me smoke through her stand up routine." Astoria got back to her feet.

"Are we going back upstairs?" asked Theo, scooping up some ice from underneath the platter of deviled eggs in preparation. Draco had risen too, causing Theo to frown at him. "Are you sure you can leave? You don't want to make your mother to come looking for you, do you?"

"You can see the gardens from my room, as well," Astoria snapped, irritated with Theo for his lack of support. "He'll be able to see if his mother comes in."

Astoria's room was still stiflingly hot when they returned and the ice Theodore had left in his seltzer on the floor had almost completely melted.

"How do you sleep up here?" Theo moaned, sprawling back out on his back on the carpet again.

Malfoy stood awkwardly. The only place to sit was on Astoria's bed and there were two or three pairs of stockings that she had tried on and discarded already on it. Draco hesitated and then sat on a bare patch of duvet cover, eyeing her laundry covertly like a spy in a foreign court. "Did you _sack_ the house elf?" he asked rudely.

"No," replied Astoria tersely. "My aunt gave our old one to my father and I don't let the new one in here."

"Why not?" asked Theo from the ground. "I've been meaning to ask you the same thing. I was starting to wonder if you were becoming a hoarder."

"Because the new elf spies on me and reports everything I say or do back to my aunt," said Astoria intensely, crossing to the open window seat.

"Do you live with your aunt, then?" asked Malfoy, looking around with poorly disguised interest.

"Only sometimes," said Astoria, staring hard at Malfoy. He looked slightly more unsure of himself then she was accustomed to seeing him and there was something a little self conscious about the distance he was keeping between himself and Astoria's pillows.

"You're taller," observed Astoria, noticing for the first time that he had grown several inches.

"I suppose," said Malfoy lazily.

"Theo is too," said Astoria with a smirk, looking at her spidery friend. "He looks terribly funny when he crosses his legs now."

"Why's that?" asked Theodore hotly.

"Because you kind of sit like a lady," said Astoria, grinning mischievously, wanting to forget her bad mood and replace it with something else entirely.

"I can't say I've ever noticed that, Nott," drawled Draco, glancing in Theodore's direction. "Do people tell you regularly that you look like a lady?"

"I said he _sits_ like a lady," Astoria clarified, trying not to grin at how offended Theo was beginning to look.

"Well I'm glad _that_ distinction has been made clear," Theo grumbled.

"Oh, don't!" said Astoria, laughing. She leaned her head back against the wall so that she could feel the sun. "I didn't mean anything by it, Theo. It's one of my favorite things about you, actually. I find it charming."

"I'm glad that I manage to charm you with my femininity," muttered Theo resentfully.

"It's more like repressed elegance, really," argued Astoria, "not femininity." Malfoy made a skeptical noise so Astoria went on. "It's one of the things about you that always strikes me."

Theo's expression had turned to one of near embarrassment at the word elegance.

" _That's_ what always strikes you about me?" he asked dubiously, "that I sit like an elegant woman?"

Astoria giggled so genuinely that Theo stopped just short of anger.

"What do you notice first about Malfoy, then?" Theodore asked, clearly hoping that Astoria had noticed something equally as shameful about Draco.

"The first thing I notice about Malfoy?" mused Astoria, basking in the sunlight and thinking. "Malfoy uses a soap I like sometimes. I occasionally catch myself thinking he smells nice."

The sour look that Malfoy had been fixing to make got stuck halfway and for the briefest of seconds, there was something little-boyish about his eyes as he took in her words.

"Oh, _that's_ fair!" said Theo bitterly. "My ice is melting again. Hang on, I'm going for more."

Theo strode across the room and dumped his warm seltzer over the window frame that Astoria's head was resting on. When Theo shut the door behind him, Malfoy seemed to remember himself and sneered.

Astoria pointed at him slyly, "There's also that."

"What?" demanded Malfoy, prickling.

"The sneering thing."

"What does that mean?" returned Draco defensively.

"That you have hilarious facial expressions," said Astoria, goading him on. She held up her hand so that she could keep a tally on her fingers. A small breeze was finally beginning to stir her hair. "You've got the sneer that you use when you don't know what else to do with your face. Then there's the one you use when you really _do_ think something is disgusting. You also sneer when you _don't_ think something is disgusting, but you want to disguise that fact—probably because you think the thing in question is trivial or embarrassing."

"I _don't_ do that," said Draco sharply, a pink flush creeping up his neck.

"Yes, you do," laughed Astoria. "If there was a jar of jam at breakfast that you really liked, you would sit down and sneer at it even if you ate the whole thing."

Draco looked a little disconcerted by this. Astoria gazed out across the lawn, noticing as she did so that the leaves were finally stirring in the trees. The sight of the treetops reminded her of a question she had been mulling over all summer. "Draco," Astoria began softly, still staring at the far off forest, "what do you think that thing we saw during detention was?"

"I don't know," Draco shrugged but Astoria could tell that even remembering the thing in the forest put him on edge."Those woods are _mad_. Everyone knows that."

"Do you think Harry really faced You Know Who last June?" Astoria continued quietly. "If he _did_ , then the thing we saw could have been—"

Draco made a loud sound of disgust. "If Potter had fought the Dark Lord, he wouldn't be _alive._ "

Astoria badly wanted to believe this, but there were niggling little details that were gnawing at her. "Apparently it's really hard to catch a unicorn."

"What does it matter how fast they are?" Draco scoffed. "Wizards have _wands_."

"Yeah," agreed Astoria, "but unicorns are really magical. It's almost impossible to snare one—I didn't realize that. It requires really powerful dark magic."

This seemed to give Malfoy pause but he held his ground. "The Dark Lord was vanquished," he scoffed.

"Maybe," Astoria muttered. "That thing we saw was _drinking_ blood."

"Whatever book you've been reading," started Malfoy scornfully, "throw it away. Or better yet, give it back to Theodore. I'm sure it belongs to him."

"Unicorn blood can keep a person alive, even if they're on the brink of death," Astoria added worriedly. "Did you ever tell your father about that thing we saw?"

"Of course I did," scoffed Malfoy, seeming to think that this much was obvious.

"Did he ask you a lot of questions about it?"Astoria pressed.

"Naturally," Draco shrugged.

"And you didn't get the sense that, I don't know," Astoria began delicately, afraid of pressing too hard, "maybe _he_ thought there was a connection?"

Draco pushed air out of his nose and narrowed his eyes at her. Astoria was stepping dangerously close to a world of details that Draco tended to keep private. Perhaps she should not have pried for Lucius's opinion?

"You mean did my father seem suspicious that Quirrell's meltdown was connected to that thing we saw in the forest?" jeered Draco. " _No_ , not particularly."

They were silent for a moment. Astoria attempted to will herself into seeing the matter as Draco did.

"Say the Dark Lord _is_ still alive and he's trying to rise again," Draco snapped, shifting on her bed irritably. "There have been people who have thought that for _years_. Are you telling me that you _actually_ think Potter fought him and won?" Draco's face twitched bitterly. "The boy who lived— _again_?

"I don't know," murmured Astoria truthfully. "He managed it once already, didn't he?"

"Blind luck, if you ask _me!_ " declared Draco resentfully, getting up and crossing toward the window that Astoria was sitting in to gaze out at the same trees.

"His luck is on point then," said Astoria wryly.

The bedroom door creaked open and Astoria turned to look, thinking that it must be Theo returning. Instead, she spotted the tiny and hunched form of her new house elf, Bonky.

"Out!" Astoria yelled, channeling all the rage of her attic imprisonment into her voice as she whirled around sharply.

"My mistress is wishing me to check on her ungrateful niece to see if she is needing anything. My mistress is never anything but selfless in this regard."

"Your mistress is having lunch and hasn't asked you to do anything," snapped Astoria coldly. "You heard me, out!"

Draco glanced at the elf disparagingly. "You can bring up one of the sandwiches from the living room," he called over his shoulder.

"No, you can't Bonky!" said Astoria, contradicting this order. "Get your own sandwiches, Malfoy, the thing is a creep. Don't you come back here!"

"A shadow on the heart of my mistress," Bonky muttered. "A blight against the name of a woman so good, so magnanimous, so benevolent! Mistress is saddled with such a contemptible girl!"

Astoria grabbed a wad of tissue paper out of a shoebox on her dresser, balled it up and beamed it at Bonky, forcing him to scuttle out to door to avoid being hit.

Draco looked askance at her before fingering the side of one Astoria's journals that had been hidden underneath the tissue.

"Little freak," Astoria muttered to herself. "He's got a picture of my aunt where he sleeps. I keep avoiding the kitchen because I'm afraid I'll walk in and catch him wanking over it."

Draco stopped discretely fidgeting with one of her perfume bottles and made a sound of gleeful disgust.

"Of course, that's the effect my aunt likes to have on the entire male species," Astoria went on, "you know, _before_ she's contemplating whether or not they'll fit under her rose garden, so maybe it amuses her."

Draco snorted, toying with a string of false pearls hanging from a jewelry stand. Astoria wished he would stop touching things because it was starting to put her teeth on edge.

Theo reappeared clutching a new drink, panting from his walk up the attic steps.

"That house elf of yours nearly tripped me on the stairs," said Theo almost accusingly. "He's crouching out there on the landing."

"Of _course_ he is," said Astoria.

"It looked like everyone was getting ready to come in from the garden, by the way," said Theodore meaningfully.

Draco was casually touching a shirt that Astoria had draped across her bureau but he stopped immediately when it became obvious that Theo was watching him intently.

0o0

Astoria received her Hogwarts letter and her new book list about a week later while she and Belladonna were eating breakfast in the sitting room.

This official letter had come with one from her sister as well. Astoria was anxious to finish off her yogurt and fruit in order to return to the attic to read the second note in peace, but the sight of the Hogwarts crest seemed to rouse Belladonna out of a sleepy silence.

"I was thinking you might go with Bonky into Diagon Alley later in the week," Belladonna mused over the rim of her tea cup.

"I'm not letting _Bonky_ take me anywhere," insisted Astoria flatly, privately stung that her aunt would shunt her off so easily, even if she would never admit it.

"My dear, is it your avowed goal in life to be difficult, or do you simply come by the trait naturally?" sighed Belladonna, exasperated. "My mornings are all engaged this week, so unless you would prefer to do your shopping at _night_ alongside the kitchen staff from the Leaky Cauldron, I'm afraid Bonky is your next best option."

"If you send me with that elf, only one of us is coming back!" growled Astoria threateningly.

"You'd rather run away?" asked her aunt, sounding perfectly unconcerned. "What, pray tell, do you imagine you would do with yourself on the streets?"

"Oh, no," clarified Astoria, realizing that her aunt had misunderstood. " _I'd_ come back."

"You would strangle our poor Bonky down an alleyway and be done with him, then?" asked Belladonna, her lips pressing thin with amusement.

Astoria made a face. " _Why_ can't I just go with Theo and _his_ father? Maybe if I wrote to ask now I still could?"

"Nonsense!" said Belladonna dismissively. "I'm sure Mr. Nott has not accompanied his son shopping since the poor boy learned how to count out change for himself."

Astoria had not thought of this, but now that Belladonna mentioned it, this seemed like exactly the type of thing that Theodore's father might be guilty of.

"Can I go with Daphne, then?" Astoria suggested in a pleading tone. "I went alone with her last year. She doesn't like to misbehave, she won't want to do anything other than buy books!"

Belladonna looked as though she was resisting the urge to roll her eyes; a good sign, as she did not immediately shoot the idea down.

"We can go early and I'll be back in time for a late lunch," said Astoria, grasping at blind hope. "I'll even bring Daphne here so that we can all eat together!"

Belladonna was not overly charitable towards Daphne, but Astoria knew that her aunt would recognize what was hidden in this offer. _I'll eat a whole meal with you and be I'll very civil because I won't want to upset my sister._

Belladonna continued to balk at this plan, but eventually (perhaps because Astoria continued to beg past the point of endurance) she gave up and told Astoria to write to her sister and fix a solid date.

This Astoria did, the moment she thought it was acceptable to excuse herself from breakfast. Tossing her Hogwarts letter onto the floor next to a heap of discarded dresses, Astoria climbed into bed and opened the envelope that was addressed from Daphne.

 _Dear Astoria,_

 _The past few weeks have been very dull without you. Mum and I passed some time gardening and last week we went for dinner in London. Father has been absent quite a lot lately, and mum thinks it's because he is working on getting signed on retainer because of the new patent case (she thinks it has something to do with Mr. Mclaggen's fever restoration potions). If so, that will make mum very happy. Other than this, I have nothing new to report._

 _-Daphne_

Astoria got up, trailing her blanket behind her to fetch a quill, anxious to write back.

0o0

On the following Wednesday, Astoria met her sister outside Florean Fortesque's ice cream parlor at nine o'clock in morning, elated to be free of the attic and Bonky for the first time in weeks. It had been less then a month since Astoria had seen her sister, but already, Daphne seemed changed.

Less prone to paleness than Astoria, Daphne a healthy glow about her. Her cheeks and shoulders were brown and pricked with a constellation of new freckles.

"Astoria!" Daphne cried out when she spotted her. They fell into a hug. Daphne was as short and stocky as she had always been but when their bodies pressed together, Astoria became of another change as well.

"You've got boobs!" declared Astoria laughingly, standing back to take in her sister's full profile.

Daphne went very red. "Don't even mention them," she begged somberly. "I can't fit into any of my robes anymore!"

"Who cares about the robes?" said Astoria, chuckling at her sister's discomfort.

"I do," moaned Daphne. "I look even fatter than I was before!"

"That's ridiculous," said Astoria shortly, wanting to curb the idea before it took root in Daphne's psyche. Daphne had never been a small girl, but there was certainly nothing _overly_ plump about her. Astoria firmly blamed Daphne's lack of male interest on her shyness and _not_ her figure.

" _You_ have boobs and you still fit into _your_ robes," muttered Daphne accusingly as they turned to walk down the street.

The day began to work its charms on both of them however, and Daphne's dark mood soon passed. It was beautifully sunny and there was the first crisp warning of fall in the air. They stopped at Eylopes Emporium to buy treats for Daphne's owl. On the way out, Astoria purchased two candy apples from a street vendor and they wandered over to a bench to eat them and consult their school lists.

"There are a lot of Lockhart books here, aren't there?" Daphne commented, scanning the page of new required reading.

"Mhmm," said Astoria slyly. "I bet the new Defense teacher's a middle aged witch with a dozen cats."

Daphne smiled tightly and for a wild moment, Astoria wondered if this discomfort was out of solidarity for crazy cat women everywhere. Then, a pair of familiar voices made her glance across the street. It was was Fred and George, and they were both waving enthusiastically.

"Oh _no_ ," moaned Daphne, who was not particularly cunning when it came to hiding her feelings.

"Astoria!" beamed George, crossing the cobblestones, grinning from ear to ear. "Try writing to us once in a while, we thought you had died!"

Astoria laughed but Daphne made a noise of discomfort because Fred was pushing onto the bench next to her.

"Speaking of people who have disappeared on us," said Fred, "have you seen Harry anywhere? He was supposed to come out at the Leaky Cauldron, only mum reckons he must have gone a grate too far."

"No," said Astoria, scanning the street. "We've only just got here. Maybe he came out at Gringotts? That happens sometimes doesn't it?"

"I've never come out there," admitted George doubtfully. "Hopefully he hasn't turned up anyplace dodgy."

"Oh look," murmured Daphne who had been searching the street as well. "It's Draco."

Sure enough, crossing the road several feet away was Draco Malfoy. He was trailing behind an elegantly dressed and very unimpressed looking man that, even from a distance, Astoria took to be his father.

"Oh yeah," said George, wrinkling his nose as though he had just found something stuck to his shoe. "Look at that."

"That must be Lucius?" asked Astoria, voicing the obvious.

"Must be," said Fred, scratching his jaw as both Malfoys turned down the bend. "Looks like they're headed for Nocturne Alley. Dad will think that's interesting."

"Why?" asked Astoria, wondering why Mr. Weasley should care what Lucius Malfoy did with his time.

"They're drafting a new Muggle Protection Act at work," explained George darkly. "Dad reckons some of the old families won't be too happy about it."

This sentence made Astoria feel slightly uncomfortable for reasons that she could not quite string into words. She was relieved when Fred spoke again. "

"Speaking of Malfoy, Harry reckons Draco sent his house elf to bother him at his Aunt and Uncle's this summer."

"What?" asked Astoria, immediately skeptical of this theory. "Aren't Harry's aunt and uncle muggles? Sending an elf there would be risky, wouldn't it?"

"I dunno," George shrugged. "From what I hear, that Malfoy kid has really got it in for Harry and its not everybody who _has_ a house elf these days, is it?"

Astoria thought about this, privately feeling that no matter how much Draco loathed Harry, he would still have known better than to send a magical servant into a Muggle residence.

"I saw him about a week ago, you know," said Astoria lightly. "He didn't mention it. Seems like the sort of thing he would brag about, too. I bet it was someone else."

"Who else would be dumb enough to sick the family help on a teenage boy?" wondered George ponderously.

"You saw Malfoy?" asked Daphne, sounding oddly wary.

"Yeah," said Astoria. "My aunt had a garden thing for the women who do the St. Mungo's charity league and he showed up with his mother. Thankfully, I already had Theo over or I would have been stuck alone with him."

"Oh," said Daphne, frowning.

"There's Lee," said Fred, standing up. Lee Jordan had just appeared near the white marble entrance of Gringotts bank and was standing on tip toe. "If you see Harry, point him toward the bank. I think dad went to look for him there."

"Alright," agreed Astoria, waving them off. Daphne sighed with relief the moment the twins had wandered off toward Quality Quidditch Supplies.

"They're not so bad, you know," said Astoria, feeling a little annoyed by her sister's lack of interest in her friendships.

Daphne wanted to buy a new quill so they wandered into the stationary shop but Astoria continued to press her case.

"The twins are actually quite a lot of fun and they happen to be nice to each other," she insisted. "None of that Slytherin nonsense about always having to come out on top of everyone else."

"Those Weasleys are bad news," returned Daphne darkly.

"Who would have thought we shared any opinions, Greengrass?" a drawling voice suddenly joined in with theirs.

Draco must have finished with his jaunt down Nocturne Alley because he was standing by a rack displaying parchments of various thicknesses and looking smug. Daphne stopped dead in her tracks, a deer caught in headlights.

"Lovely as always, Draco," remarked Astoria sarcastically. She turned back toward her sister. "Those 'Weasleys' happen to be hilarious. I don't like all of _your_ friends, you know, but you don't hear me complaining about them."

"Tracy and Flora don't like you either," muttered Daphne sulkily. "And Pansy straight up hates you."

Malfoy turned toward Daphne with interest, although he did not look entirely surprised to hear her say so.

"Who cares?" Astoria tossed out unconcernedly. "Pansy only hates me because she's a dull fake with no sense of fun. Who has time for that?"

Draco raised an eyebrow but did nothing to counter this opinion.

"She's alright once you get to know her," said Daphne softly. "You shouldn't go out of your way to instigate her so much, Astoria. You'd be horrified if you heard half of the things she says about you."

"What does Pansy say about her?" asked Malfoy at once, obviously intrigued.

Astoria thought for certain that Daphne would clam up but to Astoria's surprise and admiration, Daphne squared her shoulders. "That Astoria's a rogue trouble maker with no proper feeling and that if you actually look at her up close, she's really quite hideous."

"There's hope for you yet, Daph," exclaimed Astoria, laughing out loud at the look of surprise on Malfoy's face. "Did she really say all of that in front of you?"

"Some of it," admitted Daphne. "Not the hideous part. I overheard her saying that to Blaise Zabini. She was trying to get him to admit that you were ugly."

"What did _he_ say?" asked Malfoy, suffering from a stab of annoyance.

"He said he thought Astoria was uncommonly good looking, actually," said Daphne, peered at Draco with a bizarre keenness.

"I'm sure she _loved_ that," Astoria chuckled, still impressed by her sister's underemployed gall.

"No, she didn't," admitted Daphne. "She told him that you would prove her right someday because you'll probably turn out to be a desperate, promiscuous mess. Then, Blaise said that he sincerely hoped she would turn out to be right on all accounts."

Astoria was laughing so hard it hurt. "Zabini, bless him!"

"Oh yes, because that's _such_ a compliment," snapped Draco, but before he could say more, the look of indignation suddenly vanished from his face. He turned to stare over Astoria's shoulder. Behind her, Astoria heard the bell chime to announce someone else entering the shop.

"Have you finished, Draco?" asked a cold, clear voice. Astoria turned and found herself looking into a set of eyes very similar to Draco's, but somehow more restrained. Lucius Malfoy's calm gaze passed from his son to Astoria, and then her sister. The bell tinkled again and a man in a velvet waistcoat came up behind Mr. Malfoy, sweating profusely.

"I'll be about my business quickly then, Lucius, shall I?" said the man in the waistcoat, displaying a heavy German accent as he mopped his wet face with a monogrammed handkerchief.

"Would you?" drawled Mr. Malfoy disinterestedly. "I'd like to be on our way back to the Ministry as soon as possible."

The man bustled by and Astoria gave him a wide berth, not wishing to brush up against his clammy body.

"Were you going to introduce me to your friends, Draco?" asked Mr. Malfoy, his attention having barely wavered.

Draco introduced them in a rush, not bothering to point out that they were not strictly friends, "This is Astoria Greengrass and her sister Daphne."

Lucius's pale eyes did not change in expression, but Astoria got the impression that their names meant enough to Mr. Malfoy for him to form a keen idea as to who they were.

"You'll be George Greengrass's daughters, then?" said Lucius, his gaze switching from Astoria to Daphne. "You're the product of his second marriage, I presume?" he asked and Daphne nodded nervously, the courage she had only just found stripped away again in the face of such unexpected intensity.

"Ah," observed Mr. Malfoy lazily, looking across the shop with perfect indifference. "I see Mr. Oblanski has made a bungle of his purchases again."

Assuming that Mr. Oblanski must be the exceedingly sweaty man in the waistcoat, Astoria followed Mr. Malfoy's gaze.

A single glance was all it took to confirm that he had indeed made a bungle of himself. Standing in a reel of cascading parchment, Mr. Oblanski fumbled against the shopkeeper who was actively trying to extricate him. "Tell me, where does one find such a man, I wonder?" mused Malfoy coolly, making no move to cross the shop or help his charge.

"I don't know," responded Astoria lightly, glancing at Mr. Oblanski slyly, determined not to show fear, "but I suspect it would have to be damp."

Draco's eyes darted toward Astoria, but Lucius raised an appraising eyebrow, slightly entertained by this notion. Perhaps in a bid for more time, Lucius continued. "Would you believe then, that the Bulgarian Secretary assures me that Mr. Oblanski's wife is a reputed beauty? I believe he called Mr. Oblanski himself a 'lady killer.'"

Lucius spoke mockingly in general but Astoria snapped up the bait. This, after all, was a game that living with Belladonna Lestrange had taught her to play well.

"Perhaps the Bulgarian Secretary forgot to mention that he had been acquitted?" she tried brightly.

Mr. Malfoy let out a soft sound of amusement. Across the shop, Mr. Oblanski had finally managed to untangle himself. He was now attempting to count out change.

"I expect you to be ready when we are finished, Draco," said Mr. Malfoy, at last going to the aid of his foreign charge.

"So _that's_ your father, then?" asked Astoria the moment he was gone. She could certainly see now what model Draco was imitating when he tried to be imposing. "You look alike, but if first impressions are anything to go on, I think your father might have a better sense of humor than you do."

0o0

On the morning of September first, Astoria was finally forced to let Bonky into the attic in order to help her pack. Astoria had meant to do the bulk of her organizing the night before, but she had somehow ended up reading late into the night instead, only to awake long past dawn in a haze of panic.

Having overslept, Astoria was now running beyond late, struggling to gather her final, sprawling personal items. Following a heated exchanged of words with Belladonna and a near breakdown over a missing sweater, both Astoria and her aunt managed to make it to the train station on time.

"Have a lovely term, darling," said Belladonna, looking as though she meant it as she passed over the croissant Astoria had not had time to eat for breakfast.

Astoria had hardly been on the train for more then thirty seconds before it started to move underneath her. Pulling her cumbersome trunk along, she set off down the aisle in search of familiar faces. After passing through the first few cars, she spotted Theodore sitting in a compartment with Millicent Bulstrode. Astoria pushed in here with a stumble, sending Millicent's cat hissing into the overhead.

"Lady grace," shot Theo with a smirk, moving his stack of Lockhart books onto the floor so that she had room to sit. Millicent, as always, stared at her morosely and said nothing, so Astoria took this for a sign of welcome and unwrapped the croissant she had been holding.

"Have you started reading that," said Astoria through a mouthful of bread, gesturing towards the gleaming front of _Holidays with Hags_.

"Yeah," moaned Theodore in ecstasy. "They're all perfectly, dazzlingly awful! What a load of hogwash!"

"I know!" agreed Astoria with a grin. "I started _Voyages with Vampires_ last night and nearly sent you a midnight letter but I was laughing too hard. What do you think this says about the new teacher?"

"Witch," declared Theodore immediately. "Probably middle aged and bitter. I expect you'll hate her."

"The teacher isn't a witch," insisted Millicent defensively, speaking in front of Astoria for the second time ever.

"Maybe not," Astoria shrugged, not wishing to offend Millicent and cause her to fall silent again.

Theo shook his head and stuck to his guns. "No _man_ made up that book list," he said seriously. "I expect Lockhart took more time to be photographed for the cover of those than he did writing them."

Millicent blinked dolefully. "Lockhart is the new professor."

"He nearly is, isn't he?" cried Theodore, gleefully missing the point.

"No," corrected Millicent monosyllabically, "he _literally_ is the new Defense Against the Dark Arts professor."

The grin slid right off Theodore's face. "Dumbledore hired _Lockhart_?"

"It was in the paper yesterday next to a picture of him and Potter shaking hands," said Millicent, expressing no trace of an opinion on the matter.

Theo made a retching sound. "Well, he must have been hard up for other options! Dumbledore has to know that Lockhart's not half the genius he says he is. Dumbledore's an odd man, certainly, but I don't think he's stupid."

Astoria did not respond to this because she was busy laughing.

"Lockhart just sold a complete set of his books to every underage wizard in England!" she cackled. "He's not just a liar, he's a crook!"

After a moment, even Theo seemed to find the humor in this and they passed an hour or so abusing Lockhart, whom neither of them had ever met but already had every confidence would turn out to be utterly despicable.

Around noon, after the lunch trolley had made its rounds past their compartment, Astoria got up and went in search of Daphne. Theodore seemed to think it was more than likely that Daphne would be with Pansy, so he reclaimed _Holidays with Hags_ from the train floor and waved her off without offering to accompany her.

The aisle was nearly deserted and oddly hushed. If it weren't for the steady chugging of the train's engine, it would have been nearly silent. Astoria was able to pick her way across the cars easily enough until she ran into Neville, who was on all fours, poking about into a corner and sniffling.

"Trevor!" he called out hopefully as Astoria drew near. When he turned to look at her, his face fell. "I've lost my toad!"

Astoria looked down bewildered, lifting her feet to make certain she had not trod on it. "Have you checked under your luggage?" she asked, taking pity on Neville once she was certain that she had not killed Trevor by accident.

"Yes," said Neville, his lip trembling. "Somehow I always manage to lose him, no matter what I do!"

Before Astoria could even process the stress inherent in this statement, a compartment door to the left slid open and a toad leaped over the threshold. It landed fatly in the hall before a freckled hand streaked out and caught it.

"Trevor!" yelled Neville, scrambling to his feet. Fred Weasley straightened up and held the toad out to Neville, who took it gratefully.

"Blimey, Neville, you ought to have a cage for that thing," Fred admonished, wiping his hands on his pants.

"I already have one," admitted Neville sadly.

"Listen," said Fred, leaning closer. "You two haven't seen Ron or Harry, have you?"

Astoria and Neville both shook their heads.

Fred frowned. "They were supposed to come through the barrier at the platform behind George and I. We waited until the train started to move but they still hadn't come through and we had to give up. I think they must have missed the train."

"Really?" asked Astoria, who had imagined this nightmarish possibility several times and still did not know how it was to be solved. "How do you get to school if you miss the train?"

"They must let you use the floo network or something but it's bound to mean trouble," said Fred. "The last thing we need is to lose points before term even starts."

"Do you mind?" came a cold, drawling voice from behind Fred. "You're blocking the aisle."

Fred tucked back into the doorway to reveal Draco, Crabbe and Goyle.

"Why are you losing points for before term starts, Weasley?" asked Draco nosily.

"Never you mind, Malfoy," shot Fred roughly. "You just move it along."

Draco sneered and pushed past him.

"Speaking of losing points," said Fred, lowering his voice, "you should come along and see what George and I made over the summer."

It had been on Astoria's mind to follow Malfoy, as she imagined he might know where Daphne was, but at these words she paused, intrigued.

Draco seemed to have heard just enough of this conversation to turn sour, because he shot Astoria an accusatory look when she turned to follow Fred into his compartment and shut the door firmly behind her.

George looked up when she entered and grinned. Next to him, Astoria imagined that Lee Jordan was doing the same thing, only his head was completely invisible, and she could not be entirely certain.

Seeing that she was taken aback by this optical illusion, Lee Jordan let out a roaring laugh and reached up to tug an invisible hat off of his invisible head. The moment the hat parted ways with his hair, Lee's face flickered back into sight.

"Pretty neat, right?" asked Lee, enjoying the look of recovering surprise on Astoria's face. "Its the hat. It's got an illusionment charm on it!"

"It's not just the hats either," insisted George, leaping to his feet in order to pull down his trunk. "We've got gloves and some of mum's knit sweaters all keyed up to make you vanish as well. Fred and I even tried the spell out on a pair of old footie pajamas. Of course, they didn't fit either of us anymore and we couldn't really see the use of making someone's toddler vanish."

"Bit of a bad joke," Fred conceded. "We don't want anyone confusing our products with kidnap."

Astoria agreed with this bit of wisdom and lifted up one of the sweaters George was handing her. "I can still see it."

"You've got to press the brass button we've sewed into the sleeve," explained Fred, flipping the cuff over and pointing the switch out to her. "You can't have them on all the time or else the spell wears off too quickly.

Astoria pressed the brass button, which looked as though it had once belonged on a smart sports coat, and watched as the sweater vanished.

"So, are they jokes or assassin uniforms?" she wondered.

"Jokes," said Fred, pressing the button again, causing the sweater to reappear. "You know, pop a hat on and all your friends watch your head disappear? I suppose if you had a whole outfit you could do a healthy bit of sneaking around, though. Mind, you'd have to cover your face with one of the scarves and that might get a bit awkward."

Astoria was impressed. "I think you might have two whole separate markets on your hands. Imagine if you tried this charm on anything with a hood? You could call it a temporary invisibility cloak."

"We toyed with that idea," exclaimed George, warming to her optimism, "but the spell only lasts an hour or two."

"So what?" shrugged Astoria. "As long as you tell people that when you sell them, you'll still have interested parties. Think of how much you could do with two hours of being invisible?"

"We'd have to stop using second hand fabric," muttered Fred, taking her idea seriously.

"So charge the price of a new cloak into the cost," said Astoria. "It's like a two for one deal, isn't it? Two hours of invisibility and then a brand new winter cloak! I'll buy one."

"Yeah," said George, obviously attracted to this notion. "You know, that's not a half bad idea..."

"We'd need start up money to buy the cloaks," said Fred uncomfortably, cutting his brother off.

"So, we take bets again this year," suggested Astoria with a shrug. "I'll play bookie again. Then we can use _that_ profit to make _more_ profit off the invisible cloaks."

Fred looked as though he was sorely tempted to kiss her. "You'd be alright with that?" he pressed gratefully.

"Of course," Astoria scoffed, sitting down. "Although, I've been thinking about how we handled our bets last time and I think there's room for improvement. We should be doing research on the teams before they play. You know, talking to the captains and stuff. We could offer more intelligent odds on the matches if we were informed."

"Marry me," said Lee in a dreamy, offhand voice.

George laughed and gave Lee a shove before turning to Astoria. "That would be great in theory, only Fred and I already play for a house team. The captains aren't going to tell _us_ anything. They'll think we're cheating."

"Well, I don't play," said Astoria slowly. "I'm a girl and I've never shown any interest in flying. I also spend more time mingling with the other houses than most people usually do. People _might_ talk to me. I've even got a sister in Slytherin, so I can do some snooping there. That whole House likes to break the rules when they think they can get away with it."

"You've also an admirer on the Slytherin team," added Fred slyly. "George and I heard old Miles Bletchley talking about you with his buddy Warrington on the other side of the train. What a troll!"

"Feel free to use _that_ connection for all it's worth," added George with a chuckle, "but if you start to date the tosser, we're firing you."

The compartment door slid open again to reveal Neville again, still clutching his toad. Hermione Granger followed him in, and she looked worried.

"Still no sign of them?" Hermione asked, wringing her robes anxiously. A small girl with vivid red hair was peeking over Hermione's shoulder.

"Nope," said George. "No one's seen them. They must have missed the train."

"Don't worry, Ginny," added Fred, speaking to the small red-headed girl who was beginning to show alarming signs of wanting to cry. "They're with mum and dad. They'll get to Hogwarts all right."

0o0

By the time they had reached the great hall for the start of term feast, however, there were still no signs or Ron or Harry and even the twins began worry.

"I didn't think they'd would be so late that they would miss the sorting," whispered Fred as Professor Mcgonagall cleared the stool and hat away. "Ron wanted to see Ginny get sorted. I wish we knew what was keeping them."

As if on cue, Katie Bell hurried toward them from the Hufflepuff table wearing a repressed smirk. "Found out where your brother is," she breathed to Fred. "He's in Snape's office."

"What?" asked Fred, glancing at the staff table, noticing that it was indeed missing its potions professor. "Why?"

"I've had it from Ernie Macmillan, who heard it from McGonagall in the entrance hall. He and Harry _did_ miss the train, only instead of waiting around for your parents, they stole a flying car and flew here."

George whooped ecstatically. "They _flew_ the Ford Anglia here?"

"Yes," said Katie and her smirk was no longer hidden. "Apparently they crash landed right into the Whomping Willow and knocked a few limbs off. Snape found them outside and he's livid."

Lee whistled. "Epic!"

"They must have planned it, the lousy gits!" complained Fred in annoyance. "They should have told us! If George or I were driving, _we_ _never_ would have hit the willow!"

0o0

* * *

Ah, Belladonna. I sort of hate to admit it, but I really, really enjoy her. I'm sure in real life I wouldn't be half so taken with Belladonna (she _is_ sort of truly villainous) but as a character, she really cracks me up.

I imagine that Belladonna and Astoria have a very interesting relationship. I believe that Belladonna truly loves her niece (despite being selfish and calculatingly ambitious) and I like the way that Belladonna serves to pull out some of the darker, more resentful, parts of Astoria's nature that she does not show very often at Hogwarts. Both women are rather similar too, although neither of them seem likely to admit it.

In any case the next chapter will introduce the 'Chamber of Secrets' and get that ball rolling. I love hearing what you think, so drop me a review!


	8. Heir

Chapter Eight

Heir

* * *

0o0

By the next morning, the whole school seemed to know about Harry and Ron's flight to Hogwarts and the crash into the Whomping Willow that had followed. As though this adventure was not ludicrous enough on its own, there were now additional facts in circulation as well: the car had escaped into the forest of its own accord, neither boy had been expelled nor had they lost a single house point in the process. True to her promise to Fred and George on the train, however, Astoria faithfully chose to eat breakfast at the Slytherin table rather than taking part in Gryffindor gossip.

Having already consulted the notice board, Astoria knew that the first quidditch match of the season was slated as Gryffindor playing against Slytherin and she still had a vain hope of somehow trapping Marcus Flint in conversation before then. The most logical and obvious way of doing this, of course, seemed to be ambushing Marcus at his own breakfast table

Theodore was eating scrambled eggs on toast when Astoria sat down and he shot her a meaningful look before swallowing.

"Morning," he said slowly. "You've just missed it. Ron Weasley had a howler from his mother. The hall's in an uproar."

Theodore said this sarcastically, but one look down the Slytherin table proved that he was at least partially correct. Pansy and her crew of Slytherin girls did indeed have their heads together, whispering and shrieking with laughter intermittently.

"' _If you put another toe out of line'!_ — _"_ floated the loud, scathing voice of Draco Malfoy, clearly in imitation of Ron's mother. Astoria searched for the source of the noise and spotted Draco, sitting with a crowd of Slytherin quidditch players, who were all roaring with derisive mirth. Among these players, Astoria noticed, was the hardened face of Marcus Flint.

She continued to watch Marcus covertly as she poured her tea, trying to decide what sort of person he was. Marcus was very tall and broadly built, but there was something about the way he laughed that was reserved and intelligent—perhaps even slightly sinister?

"What's the deal with Marcus Flint?" asked Astoria, trying to keep her tone as light as possible to avoid rousing Theodore's suspicions. "What's he like?"

When Theo did not respond, Astoria glanced back at him. He had dropped egg into his coffee but was continued to sip it anyway, staring off at the Ravenclaw table in a state of distraction.

"Don't know," said Theodore at last. "He's quite a bit older isn't he? He _seems_ like a thug, but in all fairness, he does a good job of keeping his team in line so he's probably smarter than he looks. Why do you care?"

"Fred and George want to take bets on the first match of the season and I thought I might do some research," admitted Astoria idly, wondering what Theodore could possibly find so interesting about the Ravenclaw table.

"I still don't get why you bother with any of that," muttered Theo, starting back in on his eggs, "but in the interest of your education, I do know this: Flint likes to win and he's not afraid to play dirty. He's also looking for a new seeker. Terrence Higgs graduated last spring."

"Do you think he would let me watch a Slytherin team practice if I told him it was all in the name of gambling?" asked Astoria avidly.

"I doubt it," admitted Theodore, his eyes straying back across the hall.

"What _are_ you looking at?" asked Astoria peevishly, swiveling around in her seat at last in order to understand what was consuming Theodore's attention. All she could see across the hall in that particular direction was Padma Patil, however, busily going over a chapter in her potions text with Terry Boot.

"Nothing," said Theo hurriedly, turning the color of an ungainly radish. "Ask Marcus, then, if it means so much to you!"

0o0

Warned, but not altogether disheartened, Astoria determined that the best way of extracting useful information from Marcus Flint was to catch him on his own. Happily, fate almost immediately provided an opportunity of running into him.

Astoria was washing dirt off of her hands at the greenhouse spigot after Herbology when she spotted Marcus Flint strolling up the lawn with Professor Kettleburn. Blinking once or twice, hardly able to believe her luck, Astoria took the unnecessary precaution of ducking in order to stare after the duo covertly. A Care of Magical Creatures class had just finished. Several other sixth year students were approaching the castle as well, but Flint and Kettleburn were walking alone, giving every appearance of being in the middle of an academic discussion.

"Astoria, d'you mind if I get my hands under there for a minute?" asked Ernie Macmillan, pointing to the spout that Astoria had entirely forgotten about the moment she had spotted Flint, allowing icy jets of water to run into the grass in her absence.

Astoria hurriedly moved aside to give Ernie room, calculating how much time she still had before her next period Transfiguration class. Surely professor Kettleburn and Flint were talking about a class project and Kettleburn would _not_ go all the way to the castle if he had another class next period? Astoria dried her hands on her skirt and darted out across the lawn, picking her way around the vegetable patch. There were pumpkins at the furthest end almost twice the size of her body. Astoria allowed herself to marvel at these for no more than a few seconds before turning around, determined to overtake Flint from the rear and make their meeting appear accidental.

Astoria passed professor Kettleburn, who was indeed returning to a paddock near the forest, as she jogged. Astoria smiled at him greedily, speeding up her pace.

"Hello, Marcus!" Astoria called happily, falling in with his loping strides.

Marcus raised a surprised eyebrow, glancing over both of his shoulders in a bid to figure out where she had come from. "Greengrass," he murmured, looking as amused as he did suspicious. "Fancy seeing you here. Did you cut your first class?"

"Oh, no," said Astoria with a winning smile. "I just took a stroll the long way around the greenhouses."

"Is that right?" returned Flint, who did not look at though believed this for a second.

"Getting keyed up for the quidditch season?" Astoria continued brightly, cutting almost directly to the point.

"I suppose," Marcus snorted. "Shouldn't I be? I am captain."

"I know," admitted Astoria, her smile turning predatory. "I don't suppose you remember, but last year I took bets on the outcome of one of the matches."

"That's right," said Marcus, shooting her a shirty sidelong look. "Of course, I seem to remember that you _also_ set the Gryffindor Team beaters on anyone who refused to pay you."

"Oh, good, you _do_ remember!" Astoria beamed encouragingly. "Well, then, it won't surprise you to know that I plan to do the same thing this year."

"What are you looking for, Greengrass?" asked Flint, stopping and turning to look at her with a rather patronizing smirk. "You want me to bet on my own match? I paid you last time, fair and square. I won't be turning over any more galleons to Gryffindor."

"That's fine," agreed Astoria. "I just figured that, since you've been playing for so many years, you might have something to say about who _you_ think will win the match. I'm such a quidditch novice, after all."

Flint narrowed his eyes.

"How _is_ your team looking this year?" Astoria pressed.

"Is it possible that you're looking for insider information, Greengrass?" asked Flint, his sharp smile deepening into a knowing smirk.

"In a matter of speaking," Astoria admitted, seeing no way of putting the matter delicately.

"You think I'm going to tell a _Gryffindor_ all about my team's game strategy?" hooted Flint.

"No, I was _actually_ hoping that you would let me watch one of your practices," Astoria concluded earnestly.

"In your _dreams_ , maybe!" hooted Flint.

"Ok," said Astoria, who had come prepared to haggle, "what if, in return for your help, I gave you part of my winnings?"

Flint was still smirking but Astoria sensed a shift in his attitude. Marcus might be inclined to say no, but Astoria could tell that she finally had his whole ear. Flint was obviously interested in a Slytherin victory, but he was not wholly opposed to a side deal.

"I'm not going to sacrifice a whole quidditch match for a few measly galleons," explained Flint thoughtfully.

"Of course not," Astoria agreed. "All information gathered would be for gambling purposes only. I won't talk to anybody about what I see, you have my word."

"Your word?" drawled Flint, who had started walking again. "That's rich!"

"Not as rich as you might be if I were able to offer informed odds on the match," needled Astoria. "I'll tell you what, I'll make a deal with you. I'll cut you in at ten percent. If I share any Slytherin team secrets, you can sick _your_ beaters on me for the whole thing."

Flint said nothing for a long moment, considering this improved offer. They had reached the entrance hall when he finally spoke. "Alright. I'll consider it, but only because it looks like the Slytherin team might be receiving a considerable donation this year. If that comes through, I'll feel confident enough to risk it. I'll be in touch."

They parted ways at the staircase. Astoria jogged to class grinning, five minutes late but not caring in the slightest.

0o0

Autumn settled over the grounds like a blanket of rustling foliage over the next week. On Saturday morning, Astoria met Theodore in the library. Outside the window, red and gold poplar leaves scurried like mice across the courtyard and Astoria could just make out the dull grey plumes of smoke coming from Hagrid's fireplace.

"Draco's claiming that Potter got caught handing out signed photographs of himself," said Theo informatively, looking over Astoria's astronomy chart for her.

"What? That's rubbish. Let's take our books out to the courtyard," Astoria urged, distracted by the magical fall that was happening outside, possessed by a need to inhale the smells of decay and woodsmoke.

"It looks cold—" observed Theo doubtfully, breaking off as Marcus Flint entered the library. "What does _he_ want?"

Improbably, Marcus Flint came to a stop when he spotted them. He was now motioning toward Astoria clandestinely. Astoria pushed out of her seat and crossed the room.

"Your sister said you would be here," explained Flint, wasting no time. "I'm having practice in an hour. You can come, but if you get caught taking bets by any of the teachers, my name gets left out. If I find out you've been in cahoots with Wood, I'll eat you alive. Understood?"

"Right. Cannibalism. Got it," quirked Astoria enthusiastically. "Ill be there and I'm bringing Theo."

Flint glanced at Theo, stringy and thin in his Slytherin robes, and then shrugged.

"Why are you having secretive conversations with Marcus Flint?" demanded Theodore tensely the moment Astoria sat down.

"Because I'm pregnant with his child," answered Astoria flatly, carefully not changing her expression. Theo did not seem to have a single response for this so Astoria shoved him in the shoulder and started to pack up her things. "I've managed to talk him into letting me watch a Slytherin quidditch practice. It's in an hour and you're coming with me."

" _How_ did you get him to agree to that?" asked Theodore, giving off an air of suspicious bewilderment. "I don't suppose it's possible that you actually _are_ pregnant with his child and just don't know it yet?"

Astoria laughed, which only seemed to make Theo shoulders grow more tense.

"Of course not!" she clarified. "I've worked out a bit of a deal with him."

An hour and a half later, Astoria and Theodore were finally walking across the grounds toward the quidditch pitch. They had been late leaving the library because at first, Theodore had refused to go with her. Then, after much nagging and persuading, Astoria had finally gotten Theodore to his feet only to have him insist that he needed an extra sweater. At that point, sulky and suspicious that Theo might disappear into his dormitory (where she would be unable to reach him), Astoria had been forced to follow him all the way down to the dungeons and wait outside the stone wall that concealed the Slytherin common room until he reappeared.

The Slytherin team was still on the ground when they reached the stadium and if the hoots of laughter coming from the green-clad players were any indication, Astoria and Theodore had just missed something exceedingly hilarious.

"Hope you weren't coming to watch the Gryffindor practice, Astoria!" called Adrian Pucey as they approached. "They've just cleared out."

"Good thing I wasn't," returned Astoria calmly, surveying the scene.

There were some new faces on the team this year, but they were united by a singular expression; they were all leering triumphantly. Astoria was surprised to spot Draco Malfoy standing near Marcus, dressed in green like the rest of the team. In his hand, he was clutching a dark, sleek-looking broom. Draco caught Astoria's eye.

"Like it?" he asked, gesturing to the broomstick gloatingly. "Father got them for the whole team."

Astoria was beginning to understand what Flint had meant by 'expecting a large donation'.

"Joined, have you?" Astoria asked, determined not to be impressed by Draco _or_ the small fortune in broomsticks he was apparently responsible for.

"I'm the new seeker," confirmed Malfoy, his eyes shining with barely repressed satisfaction. "I don't suppose even Potter can outstrip the new Nimbus model, but I'm sure it'll be fun for you to watch him try."

"Where do you want me to sit, Marcus?" asked Astoria, ignoring Draco and hoping it annoyed him.

"You're not watching _our_ practice," cried Adrian Pucey scathingly.

"In the lower stands," replied Flint lazily. "You should be able to see from there. We're practicing on this end."

"Are you kidding, Flint?" spat Adrian. "She'll go back to Wood with everything she sees!"

"Never you mind," said Flint, sounding so perfectly unconcerned that his voice border-lined amused.

"Will I understand what I'm watching?" Astoria asked innocently, treasuring the look of confusion on Malfoy's face.

"Hopefully not," shot Adrian scathingly. As a sixth year, Adrian seemed to be the most upset to discover that a move had clearly taken place in secret over his head.

"Bole!" yelled Flint, pointing to a round, rather constipated looking boy near the back. "You're an alternate. Go sit with Greengrass and explain formation to her."

Bole looked like he wanted to disagree, but Flint glared at him so he shuffled forward.

"Thanks, Marcus!" called Astoria over her shoulder girlishly, starting off toward the stands. "You're a peach."

Flint snorted but Astoria caught something of a smirk on his face before he turned around.

"Alright," admitted Theo as they mounted the stands. "I take back any doubts I may have expressed. This little exercise of yours is worth it, if only to watch it ruin Malfoy's day."

"It didn't ruin Malfoy's day," Astoria scoffed, taking out a notebook. "He's still on the quidditch team, isn't he?"

"Yeah," said Theo, smirking slyly, "because of his assets, not his competency. You just waltzed right in and stole the thunder away from his father's generous donation. Do you think Flint even made Malfoy try out for that position?"

"Probably not," Astoria shrugged, feeling a prickle of discomfort, "but I've seen him fly, he's alright."

Theodore made a jeering noise and slumped back into his seat. When the team took to the air, Bole sighed bitterly and began to explain flight patterns.

0o0

"Slytherin's got a set of new Nimbus Two Thousand and One's and Lucius Malfoy's son is playing seeker," announced George brusquely at dinner, slinging himself into a seat and pulling a platter of chicken legs up to his plate. "We found out at practice today."

"Slick little git bought his way onto the team. It doesn't even matter if he's any good or not because the whole game is rigged now," growled Fred. "We had to have our practice this evening because Flint went to Snape and usurped Oliver's field booking!"

Both twins were still in quidditch robes and they looked grumpy and wind swept.

"I already knew," Astoria confessed. "I watched their practice today."

"From where?" burst George. "You can't see anything on the pitch from the castle towers—it's too far away, we've tried."

"I watched it from the stands, actually," said Astoria lightly, wishing she had told Fred and George about her proposition to Flint before they had found out about Lucius Malfoy's contribution. Somehow, she sensed by the looks on their crestfallen faces that they were not going to find her plan as brilliant now.

"Flint didn't _see_ you?" asked Fred, stunned.

"Well, yes," said Astoria, pushing her finished dinner away, "he saw me. Remember how I said on the train I was going to try to get the scoop on all the teams before the season started?"

"Yeah," said George, his chicken leg suspended in midair. " _Why_? What did you do?"

"Well, I kind of struck a deal with Flint."

Fred and George's faces both turned stoney. George dropped the hock of meat onto his plate with a dull splat and wiped his hands on his napkin. "What kind of deal?" he asked seriously.

"The kind where I get to watch the Slytherins play once or twice so that I know all of their strengths and weaknesses, and Flint gets a _small_ cut of our betting profits." Astoria made sure to emphasize the word 'small'.

"Go to Wood," said Fred at once. "Flint cheated and let Malfoy buy his way onto the team. I say we cheat too."

Astoria shook her head. "I told him I wouldn't."

"So?" demanded George. "A promise made to Flint is a promise null and void, I say!"

"I told Marcus that if I went to Wood, I'd give him all the winnings. My lips are sealed."

George scowled but his shoulders sagged. "Fine. Money is money, I guess. We need it pretty badly. Can you at least tell us how fast the brooms were?"

"Faster than yours, I'd imagine," drawled Draco Malfoy, who had crossed the hall with Crabbe and Goyle.

"You're awfully confident, Malfoy," returned Fred smoothly. "Especially for a person that no one has ever even seen fly before. I reckon you start to shake the moment you hit sixty feet."

Malfoy's smug look became cold. "Bitter, are we? I suppose you could always ask _your_ father to do something for the Gryffindor team, Weasley. I wonder if it would be against the rules for you all to fly junk cars?"

"Alright," said Astoria loudly, standing up in an effort to avoid confrontation, fighting down the temptation to tell all three boys where she thought they ought to shove their broomsticks. "I'm off to do homework."

Whatever Malfoy had dragged Crabbe and Goyle across the great hall to achieve didn't seem to involve Fred or George Weasley, however, because he followed Astoria around the end of the table.

"I was surprised to see you at practice today, Greengrass," he called after her, his voice tense with annoyance.

"Yeah?" scoffed Astoria. "Well, that makes two of us."

Theodore rolled his eyes as Astoria passed the Slytherin table and exited the hall with Draco trailing behind her.

"I imagine you must have worked pretty hard to get Flint to let you into that practice," continued Draco aggressively. "Why did you want to see it anyway? What do you care?"

"It wasn't that hard, actually," Astoria shot back, hoping to lose Draco at the staircase. "Flint's not such a bad guy."

" _Flint's not such a bad guy_?" Malfoy repeated jeeringly, taking the steps two at a time. "Flint would go around groping _swamp_ _muggles_ if he thought he could get away with it!"

"Careful, that's your new captain," warned Astoria, repressing a grin. "You should show some respect! Does he really fondle muggles?"

" _Probably_ ," sneered Malfoy. " _I_ certainly wouldn't put it past him, but if _you_ think he's alright—"

"Why do you care so much, Draco?" Astoria snapped, cresting the second floor hallway. "I'm not planning to sabotage your match if _that's_ what you're after!"

"Then why are you sitting in on Slytherin's practices?" demanded Malfoy, visibly flustered. "If you're planning some kind of Gryffindor cock-up, I suppose I deserve to know about it!"

"What are you _talking_ about?" Astoria moaned, feeling as though she had lost the flow of the conversation somewhere. "Flint didn't explain it to any of you?"

"Explain _what_?" Malfoy spat, absolutely red with indignation. "Are you Flint's little groupie now? Because I'm sure I could survive without _those_ details."

Astoria was slightly surprised by this. She did not think that Flint was stupid, but his silence about their deal raised her faith in him considerably.

"What about groupies? I'm taking _bets_ on the next game, Malfoy," Astoria sighed in exasperation, unsure whether or not to be offended. "I'm not _dating_ Flint or fixing games. I— _Ugh_!"

They had both just splashed into nearly four inches of water. Malfoy scowled and jumped toward the window where the floor was raised just enough to be above water level, but both of his ankles were already wet.

Astoria sloshed over to him. "Why's the hallway flooded?"

"I don't know," snapped Draco, clearly displeased by the state of his wet shoes. "It's coming from over there—"

He pointed toward a door several feet away.

"Oh, ew!" Astoria exclaimed, dancing even further away from the water. "That's moaning Myrtle's bathroom!"

Draco made a face that quickly vanished, his eyes catching on a bit of vandalism someone had written on the wall furthest from them.

"What's the Chamber of Secrets?" asked Astoria, squinting at the same lurid red scrawl.

A look of understanding flitted across Malfoy's features. "Come on," he insisted, his tone suddenly clear. "We have to get out of this hallway."

"Enemies of the Heir, beware?" Astoria muttered, reading out-loud wonderingly. "The heir to what?"

"You've _never_ heard of the Chamber of Secrets?" drawled Malfoy in gleeful disbelief.

"No," answered Astoria, trying to get closer without having to splash back into the water.

"Astoria!" Malfoy hissed, grabbing her by the arm before she could edge any closer. "Come on! I'm _not_ getting caught in this hallway."

Startled by his sudden authority, Astoria stopped trying to move toward the writing on the wall. They could both hear the sound of other students now, moving around a floor below them and a sudden infectious fear that Astoria couldn't explain began to creep into her limbs.

The red paint on the wall glistened sinisterly and Astoria finally understood what it was that was putting such shivers down her back. Beside the mysterious writing was the hanging, immobile figure of a cat, swinging slightly below the torch bracket.

Her scope of terror broadened. Astoria turned and stumbled back down the stairs behind Malfoy mutely, confused and afraid.

"Is that supposed to be some kind of sick halloween joke?" Astoria panted once they had regained the first floor. "Was that Flich's _cat?_ "

"The _Chamber of Secrets_ ," Draco insisted impatiently, certain that something must eventually click for her. "Slytherin's _monster_?" he tried.

Astoria shook her head and Draco let out an incredulous scoff. A cluster of students passed on their way to the staircase and Astoria's sense of unease tripled.

Draco waited for the pack to disappear from sight before beginning his rapid tirade, recounting facts with the cold precision and detachment of a remembered folk-tale he had heard many times before.

"Legend says that Salazar Slytherin built a secret chamber at Hogwarts. In it, he concealed a monster that could rid the school of all the mudblood filth that the other founders were letting in in droves. But Slytherin left the school, so the Chamber remained sealed until his true heir could return and set the monster free. How have you never heard this before?"

A sudden commotion in the hall above drew Astoria's eyes toward the ceiling. Draco indicated toward the stairway quietly. Unable to resist the morbid allure, Astoria followed him.

A small crowd was forming in the second floor corridor now. In the middle of this cluster stood Professors Dumbledore, Snape, Lockhart and McGonagall. Filch was slumped against the wall, sobbing and cursing intermittently. Standing between the adults and the crowd of students was Harry Potter, looking very pale indeed.

"You've murdered my cat!" wailed Filch at a stunned and visibly shaken Harry. "You'll pay for this!"

Malfoy laughed softly, beyond himself with delight at this unfortunate turn of events.

"Argus!" cried Dumbledore warningly, detaching Mrs. Norris from the torch bracket. There was something very grave about his expression as he summoned Harry toward him. Fending off Lockhart, they both retreated down the hall with Snape.

Professor McGonagall began to take charge of the corridor. "All students are to report immediately to their house dormitories," she called out shrilly, motioning toward Percy and Roger Davis to help her create order, as they were both prefects and they both happened to be part of the assembled audience.

"Gryffindors this way!" called Percy in his bossiest voice, ushering Katie Bell and Alicia Spinnet away from the vast puddle.

Professor Snape had followed Dumbledore, so there was no one ushering Draco or any of the other Slytherins back down the staircase.

"This way Hermione," said Percy, pointing at her. "You too, Astoria."

"You'll be next, Mudbloods!" Malfoy called out before Hermione was out of earshot. Astoria turned her eyes away, afraid he might try to bring her in on the joke.

0o0

It took a very long time for Astoria to fall asleep that night. The image of the cat, while gruesome, was only one of the many ghosts that haunted her.

The fact that someone had attacked Mrs. Norris, despite the many times Astoria had been tempted to do so herself, was actually rather shocking. What was more, Astoria and Draco had been the first people to find her. Had they been near the attacker the whole time? Perhaps they had even warned him away with their loud, approaching voices?

What if Astoria had been walking alone, not speaking, as she had originally intended? Would she have accidentally run into this spectral attacker herself? What if Draco was right? Could it be that the writing on the wall had not been the act of a student at all, but of a legendary monster?

If even half of this was true, then the heir of Slytherin had returned to Hogwarts. Could one of Astoria's peers secretly be in league with a beast, intent on murdering people of lesser blood status? If so, who might that person be?

Something about the unnatural hush of the dormitory told Astoria that she was not the only one laying awake. Finally, around midnight, Lavender Brown timidly broke the silence.

"Hermione?" she whispered, her voice low and frightened.

There was a brief pause before Hermione whispered back. "Yes?"

Lavender and Hermione were not particularly good friends, but something about the evening had rattled them all and made comrades out of everyone.

"What's the Chamber of Secrets?" asked Lavender.

Hermione didn't say anything for a moment. "I can't remember," she sighed at last, irritated with herself. "There's something in _Hogwarts, A History_ about it, though. I'll check it out of the library tomorrow."

"I think _I've_ heard of it before," joined Parvati quietly. "It has something to do with Slytherin. The founder, not the house."

Astoria waited with baited breath but when no one had anything else to say, she added, "I heard Slytherin was supposed to have built the chamber and that he put a monster in it."

The silence was suddenly very heavy.

"What?" whispered Parvati in a voice infused with terror. "What does the monster do? Why are there _always_ monsters at Hogwarts?"

Astoria hesitated, unsure how to word what Draco had told her in a delicate fashion—or if she even wanted to try. "I think it has something to do with being muggle-born," said Astoria at last, "because Slytherin was all about blood purity."

"Who told you that?" asked Hermione tensely.

"No one," said Astoria quickly. "I just heard one of the Slytherins talking."

"Well, I'm a pureblood anyway," said Lavender angrily, "but if the monster only attacks muggle-borns, why did it attack Mrs. Norris?"

"I dunno," Astoria whispered, considering this.

"My mom was muggle-born," said Parvati anxiously, "but my dad's family has been all pure-bloods for a long time. Do you think the monster would attack _me_?"

"Probably not," said Astoria soothingly. "Not if you're half-blooded."

Hermione didn't say anything at all and as the seconds passed by, her silence became dreadful.

0o0

Astoria did not sleep in on Sunday despite how long she had tossed and turned the night before. The cold dawn broke the pact of the Gryffindor girls' kinship, however. Hermione was already out of bed and gone from the dormitory by the time Astoria rose. Lavender and Parvati, meanwhile, both continued to slumber with their bed curtains closed.

A thick, glistening frost was visible though the tower windows as she exited the portrait hole. Hermione had said that there was something about the legend of the Chamber of Secrets written in a book, so Astoria turned her steps toward the library, thinking she might try to check out a copy before somebody else beat her to it.

Astoria was clearly not the first to think of this, however, because the library was unnaturally busy for eight o'clock in the morning on a Sunday and the shelf that should have contained three copies of _Hogwarts, A History_ was already bare. Three identical bald trails through the dust showed that each book had been removed recently and Madam Pince confirmed that ever copy had been checked out that morning when Astoria summoned the courage to ask her.

Spotting Theodore through a gap in the shelves, she felt her hopes rekindle. If anyone had already _Hogwarts, A History_ and stood a chance of remembering its passages, it was Theo.

Theodore was not alone near the window, however. Draco, Crabbe and Goyle were all leaning against his table as well: a grouping that struck Astoria as very peculiar. They were whispering when Astoria drew near, and they all jumped apart guiltily when they realized they were not alone.

"Hi," Astoria mumbled.

Madame Pince's soft, lurching shuffle passed through the aisle behind them. Theodore waited for the librarian to carry on before speaking.

"The Chamber of Secrets was supposedly opened last night, have you heard? Filch's cat was petrified. Someone wrote on the wall with blood."

"She knows," drawled Draco lazily. "She was _with_ me, Nott."

"So the cat's not dead?" asked Astoria, surprised to find herself somewhat relieved.

"Not according to Flint," said Malfoy, who seemed to have gotten over his violent aversion to Marcus overnight now that Flint was in the know and it had been ascertained that Astoria was not his fan-girl or fomenting corruption. "Apparently he spoke to Snape this morning."

"How do you know the message on the wall was written in blood?" Astoria wondered. "It just looked red paint from where we were standing."

"Snape says it was chicken blood," Theo interrupted. "Apparently all of Hagrid's chickens were strangled last night."

Astoria blanched. Whether the whole thing was a prank or not, _someone_ had still strangled a dozen chickens and magically petrified a cat. In Astoria's opinion, this was not a laughing matter but Draco and indeed, even Theo, both seemed slightly amused.

"Well it's not exactly funny, is it?" Astoria snapped as Draco and Theo exchanged glances. "I don't suppose either of you are psychotic enough to be sneaking out of school and throttling chickens? Everyone is in danger! Why are you both grinning?"

"Astoria," drawled Draco scathingly, "the heir of Slytherin only attacks _mudbloods_. What does it matter? Just keep your head down and let him carry out his business."

This did not sit well with Astoria at all.

"How do you know it's just muggle-borns who are in danger?" she insisted. "This whole thing could be the work of some Ravenclaw with a history book! There's no proof it has anything to do with a legendary monster at all!"

"It's not a ravenclaw," argued Draco confidently.

"How do _you_ know?" asked Astoria.

"Because Father seemed to think something like this might happen this year," said Malfoy carelessly. "I suppose if _he's_ convinced, then it's the real thing and not a prank."

Theodore shot Draco a look of surprise and Astoria guessed that this was why they had been whispering.

"How does your dad know?" asked Astoria, finding this very odd indeed.

Draco blinked and perhaps realized he had let on too much because he seemed to backpedal slightly. "How should I know? He hears things from all sorts of people..."

"Did he tell you who was doing it?" asked Astoria intently.

"Of course not," said Draco bitterly. "He won't even tell me anything about the last time it was opened. He says it would look suspicious if I knew too much."

Draco might feel resentful about this but Astoria thought that Lucius had a fair point. Especially as his son had already accidentally revealed more then he should have without knowing any of the actual particulars at all.

"The Chamber was opened before?" asked Astoria. How had she never heard of the Chamber of Secrets before if there had been attacks on students in the past?

"Yeah," said Malfoy, reclining in his seat somewhat cockily, clearly enjoying his position of power as the only font of information. "Of course, it was nearly fifty years ago, so it would have been before father's time. Whoever it was that did it must have been expelled or imprisoned—it can't be the same person now."

"Unless it's a teacher," said Theo slowly.

"Shhhh!" said Madame Pince, dragging a severe return route to her desk.

"Let's go to the courtyard," complained Malfoy, shooting Pince a nasty look. "I'm sick of whispering."

Draco hadn't been whispering at all but Astoria and Theo both followed him out of the library behind Crabbe and Goyle anyway, equally eager to hear what he had to say. Malfoy seemed to know this it too, and it lent him an air of even greater haughtiness than usual.

"Of course, the last time the Chamber was opened," Draco went on as they passed the clock tower, "a student actually died and the school had to hush it up as much as they could to avoid being closed."

"It's almost sort of fascinating, isn't it?" said Theodore. "All of the books claim that the Chamber of Secrets is nothing more than a bedtime story."

This struck Astoria as slightly heartless but Theo had a tendency to see most things through detached, scholastic eyes so she did not call him out.

"Someone died?" asked Astoria quietly.

"Yeah," shrugged Malfoy unconcernedly. "I suppose it's only a matter of time before someone else is killed this time. It's too bad Longbottom's parents weren't muggles..."

Crabbe and Goyle both guffawed. Astoria could not truly find this funny, but as there were no books on the subject left, it seemed disadvantageous to make Malfoy stop talking.

"You know," mused Astoria thoughtfully, watching a bird circle in the sky, "there's no reason the Heir _couldn't_ be a Ravenclaw. Even if the Chamber really has been opened."

"It's the heir of _Slytherin_ , isn't it?" said Malfoy a little defensively.

"I know," said Astoria, sitting on one of the large stone benches in the open air walkway, "but that doesn't mean I person could't be related to Slytherin and still be sorted into another house. Look at my family. I'm the first non-Slytherin in a hundred years."

"You're a freak anomaly, though," said Theo, producing what looked like a very dingy, rolled cigarette from deep down in his robes. "I'm convinced you forced the hat to put you in Gryffindor just to annoy your aunt. Although you _do_ make a good point."

"What _is_ that?" asked Malfoy, eyeing the cigarette in Theo's hands doubtfully.

"Loose tobacco I got off of Pucey," said Theo unashamedly, lighting it with the tip of his wand.

The tobacco smelled like acrid, ancient dust burning and Astoria had to work hard to hide her grin.

"Take that thing down wind, would you?" sneered Malfoy disdainfully, standing up to escape the radius of foul smoke.

Theo shrugged, still puffing, but he ambled down the hall toward a grassy spot near the courtyard.

"Just look at him," drawled Draco condescendingly, "he thinks he's _such_ an academic."

Astoria could no longer suppress her smile. "I might get him a pipe for Christmas."

"So, I suppose Potter's all in a dither," Malfoy sneered, changing topics. "Plotting to catch the heir of Slytherin and impress us all with his heroics again, is he?"

"I haven't asked," said Astoria, who could not bring herself to really dislike Harry and did not especially want to waste her time making fun of him.

"Seems like the sort of thing he would try to do, doesn't it?" said Malfoy. "He loves to stick his nose where it doesn't belong."

"I don't know," said Astoria. "Why, are you afraid he'll think you're the Heir and come after you?"

She laughed heartily, struck by the idea that Harry and Draco might spend a year locked in a battle that did not even exist.

"Why's that so ridiculous?" asked Draco sharply, clearly offended. "For all you know, I _could_ be the heir of Slytherin."

"Except that you're not," scoffed Astoria confidently. "I found Mrs. Norris with _you_ , didn't I? So unless your powers as Heir extend to being in two places at once..."

Draco flushed and stared off after Theodore, his faced etched with displeasure.

"Why would you _want_ to be the Heir of Slytherin anyway," wondered Astoria, vaguely exasperated. "You really want to sneak around the school at night attacking people? You'd probably just end up expelled."

"I wouldn't get _caught,_ " Malfoy sneered irritably.

Across the courtyard, Astoria suddenly became aware of a flash of red hair. Fred, George and Lee Jordan were cutting across the yard near the fountain. Panicking slightly, Astoria fought an immediate urge to duck. Now that Theodore had wandered off, it struck her afresh how odd and vaguely disloyal it might appear to be seen lurking in a corner with Malfoy, Crabbe and Goyle.

"Oh, look," observed Draco in a rude tone that could have almost been mistaken for one of jealousy. "It's your _pals_. God, between Theodore and the Weasley twins, Greengrass, I'm starting to think you were born with no taste."

Astoria's eyes fluttered onto Crabbe and Goyle, who were both blinking oafishly. She raised her eyebrows pointedly.

"Neither of _their_ parents have ever been accused of tinkering with muggle trash," scoffed Draco, obviously catching the insult.

"Fine," Astoria sighed, "but they're not interesting either, are they? You spend so much time talking about how you're a superior class of wizard, but what's the point of being so well bred if you don't even get to have any _fun_?"

Astoria grinned at Draco in the sunny, conspiratorial way that she usually reserved for convincing people to start trouble with her.

For the briefest of seconds, Draco appeared to have been briefly hypnotized, forgetting to shape his soft expression into an insulted one. Then, with a self conscious twitch, Draco sneered and the affected look was gone.

But Astoria had seen it and, for the first time, she found herself flirting with the idea that it might be within her power to make Draco act stupidly. Thankfully, the concept made her feel vaguely self-conscious. With hardly any hesitation, she managed to flick her worry aside: much like the look that she suspected Draco had not meant for her to see in the first place.

0o0

The day of the first match of the season arrived, overcast and pregnant with unshed rain and repressed thunder. The static in the air could not even be contained by the sky; it was electrically present amongst the student body.

Astoria had never known an approaching match to be treated with such intensity. As far as everybody was concerned, Gryffindor had not had such a talented team since the legendary Charlie Weasley had left school. But the Slytherins, in true form, had fought back this advantage most spectacularly—they had secured a fleet of the best brooms that money could buy. The winner, therefore, was anybody's guess and Astoria had spent the last week accepting bets up to her very highest limit.

"I'm not going to sit in the stands during the match," Astoria announced to Fred and George the night before. "I'm going to get a pair of good binoculars and set up shop in one of the towers. There's too much interest in the outcome of the game. I don't want one of the teachers to spot me or overhear anyone talking to and get suspicious."

Fred and George both seemed to think that this was a very good idea. "You're better off out of it," Fred agreed.

So, at ten o'clock on Saturday, Astoria wished Fred and George good luck and wandered off to find Theo, suspecting that he wouldn't want to sit in the stadium either and might be content keep her company.

The Slytherin team, if anything, looked more agitated than their Gryffindor counterparts. Perhaps being in possession of so many Nimbus Two Thousand and Ones was enough to make the threat of losing seem doubly shameful?

"Are you going to the match?" Astoria asked, leaning against the table behind Theo in order to snag a piece of toast from one of the bread holders.

"Of course not," scoffed Theodore. "It's bound to be packed. I'll be in the library like a sane person."

"Come with me to the astronomy tower?" Astoria suggested. "I'm watching from there to avoid running into teachers."

Theo's face lit up with delight. "Fantastic! That tower's open at the top, right?" He rubbed his long thin fingers together. "I can smoke there."

At that moment, Astoria was forced to move aside because the Slytherin team was getting up to leave. She nodded respectfully toward Flint and tried to make eye contact with Draco, who was looking much paler than usual—a far cry from the confident swagger he had been employing in the days leading up to the match.

"Looks a little piqued, doesn't he?" murmured Theo in a low, satisfied voice. "I guess money can't buy confidence."

Astoria was almost inclined to pity Draco, but he was avoiding her eye like the plague and concentrating hard on keeping his breakfast down, so Astoria let him pass in silence.

The Astronomy tower was one of the tallest in the castle and by the time they had established themselves with scarves, sweaters and a throw blanket that Theo had nicked from his common room, the match was just getting started. Theo had added additional enchantments to Astoria's binoculars and they were taking it in turns to peer through them at the distant red and green figures.

"You can't quite tell who is who," Astoria complained, crossing off an ill advised bet and blowing on her cold fingers to warm them.

"You can _kind_ of guess who they are by what position they're playing," insisted Theo, lighting one of his foul smelling cigarettes and offering it to Astoria.

Astoria shook her head, thinking that occasionally stealing an expensive French cigarette from her aunt to be bothersome was one thing, but smoking anything as foul smelling as what Theodore was holding toward her was quite another.

"Tap the glass lenses twice to zoom," ordered Theo, his voice warming with touch of satisfaction as Astoria tried out his new enhancements. "See? Now you can see better."

"You're so handy!" declared Astoria happily, tapping away to prompt the eyepieces into sharper focus.

Theo blushed unattractively but seemed satisfied.

"I was in the library when a handful of Ravenclaws were trying this spell out," he explained. "I think they were trying to use a glass to look at fallen leaves close up."

"Which Ravenclaws?" Astoria asked, taking great care to keep her face composed. Theodore had been staring avidly at the Ravenclaw table in the hall quite a lot lately.

"I don't know," Theo muttered, shifting. "Some of the girls from our year."

"Girls, eh?" said Astoria slyly, not taking her eyes off of the game, sensing that direct eye contact would silence Theodore completely. "Been making new friends, have you?"

"Hardly," said Theodore defensively. "I just thought it was an interesting bit of magic, that's all. You know me too well to think I was creeping on girls in the library!"

Astoria did indeed know Theodore rather well; well enough to know that he was unlikely to spend his time spying on people that didn't interest him at any rate, but she didn't quite have the heart to say so.

"Of course," Astoria demurred kindly. "What Ravenclaw girls are in our year? I can't remember them all."

"Lisa Turpin, Mandy Brocklehurst... that Patil girl," Theo rattled off, but something about the vague way that he said 'that Patil girl' instead of using her full name made Astoria feel certain that _she_ was the real object of his snooping.

"There's something weird going on with the bludger," said Astoria suddenly, squinting hard.

"Can't be," said Theo indifferently, plainly relived to change the subject. He leafed through her book of hidden bets. "I wish I could see what you've written in here. Technically you could let me look, couldn't you?"

"Technically I _could,_ but I'm not taking any chances," said Astoria smartly. "The bludger is just following Harry, I think someone's hexed it."

Theo held out his hand for the magical binoculars and Astoria passed them to him. "Huh," said Theo, frowning at last. "That's weird."

"Give me the binoculars back," Astoria ordered. _Not_ being able to see was somehow worse than watching it happen.

"Potter sure gets more than his fair share of tampered quidditch supplies, doesn't he?" said Theo, trying not to laugh.

Astoria peered through the lenses just in time to watch the bludger slam into Harry's elbow. Astoria winced, her book of bets forgotten. "It hit him!"

"Did it really?" asked Theo, sounding moderately amused. "I wonder if they'll call the match because of illegal hexing."

"Could you be less analytical for just one minute?" Astoria complained.

It turned out she did not need a whole minute; Harry had collapsed into the mud, clutching a tiny golden ball in his good hand.

"He's got the snitch!" Astoria screamed, standing up and sending the blankets flying. "It hit him but he caught it anyway! The whole thing is over!"

"Well bully for Potter," scoffed Theo, slightly resentful that he hadn't been able to witness any of the hilarious maiming.

"Gryffindor won!" Astoria danced up and down. "They've barely been playing for fifteen minutes!"

"Are you exhibiting House pride?" asked Theo, sounding a little disgusted. "I didn't think you had it in you."

"What? Are you kidding?" cried Astoria shrilly. "Do you know how much money I just made?"

"I don't actually," returned Theodore flatly. "I can't read anything that's written in your notebook. For all I know, you're making the whole thing up and all of those pages are blank."

"Give me that," said Astoria, snatching up the book. "This is fantastic. Nearly everybody bet on Slytherin because of the broomstick advantage. We've swept the board!"

"If you say so," said Theo, still peering at the game. "Oh look, everyone else has stormed the field. I think Potter's fainted."

"Well, I suppose he _does_ have a broken arm," insisted Astoria a bit defensively. "Does he look alright?"

"Too far away to tell. Ah!—" cried Theo in delight. "Lockhart's got him!"

Astoria stared at Theo, transfixed.

"Hagrid's helping him up to the castle," Theo muttered. "It looks like Lockhart tried to do a spell. Ten galleons says it didn't work—now _that's_ a bet I'll let you write me down for."

"I don't think so," grumbled Astoria, privately relived to hear that there was anything left of Harry at all. "Hey, if I write some numbers on another piece of paper without names, will you double check my math?"

They both pulled the blanket back up over their legs and Theo lit another cigarette. "Here," said Astoria, passing him the last scrap of paper. "I've got two thousand and fifty, what do you have?"

"Closer to two thousand and sixty," said Theo slowly, his cigarette pinched between his lips, one eye squinting to keep out smoke. "No wait, you're right, two thousand and fifty. Some of these twos look a lot like sevens..."

"All right," said Astoria, circling the number in her book before probing the scraps of paper with her wand. They promptly caught fire and curled into ashes.

"Is that really how much you've made off of the last two matches?" asked Theo, surprised and perhaps a little bit impressed.

"No," admitted Astoria coyly, knowing she couldn't talk about it but unable to resist bragging. "That's what I made on this match _alone_."

"And you're really going to turn it all over to the Weasleys?" asked Theodore, gobsmacked.

"Not _my_ savings obviously," said Astoria, spewing like a leaky faucet in her excitement. "My aunt manages that money, so I'll have to put it back in. Once I subtract the fifty we lost though, I'll hand over the new thousand to the twins and my aunt will never even know that I tampered with my account at all!"

"That's risky," said Theo darkly. "What if you lost it all? Wouldn't your aunt be angry?"

"Fortune favors the brave!" insisted Astoria, rather falsely laughing off the idea Belladonna's wrath if she were ever to learn that Astoria had bet her savings not once, but twice.

"It sure does!" exclaimed a beaming George Weasley, bounding up the last of the tower steps with his brother at his heels. "How did we do?"

"Since you asked—fantastic!" confirmed Astoria, tucking the book under her arm. "I'll go over the numbers with you later. Congratulations on the match!"

"Thanks!" said Fred heartily. "Did you see the rogue bludger?"

"Yeah," frowned Astoria. "What was that about?"

"Dunno," scoffed George, "but someone definitely tampered with it.

"I don't suppose _you_ heard anything about it in _your_ common room?" asked Fred, directing an unkind look at Theodore.

Theo made a dispassionate face and climbed out from under the throw blanket with surprising dignity. "Well, that's my cue to leave."

" _Theo_ ," Astoria whined, shooting the twins an angry look. "He didn't mean anything by it."

"I kind of did, actually," said Fred darkly. "Harry's in the hospital wing right now with his arm deboned."

"De- _what_?" asked Theo, his interest revived.

"Deboned," offered George, pulling an uneasy face. "He broke his whole arm when the bludger hit him and then Lockhart accidentally removed all the bones in in it instead of healing them."

Theo bit his lip to hide his mirth. "Yes, well, that _is_ unfortunate," he simpered in an oily voice, trying to catch Astoria's eye.

"That still doesn't make Slytherin the winners, though, does it?" goaded Fred.

"We've just see Flint hollering at Malfoy," added George with a smirk. "He was saying the snitch was literally on top of Malfoy's head the whole time and he didn't notice. Flint looked livid and we reckon Malfoy was really sour about it."

"It's nearly impossible to curse quidditch balls because they've got all kind of protections on them," declared Theodore. "You're beaters, _you_ should know that. It probably _wasn't_ a student who cursed the bludger, least of all a member of the Slytherin quidditch team—most of that lot could give new meaning to the term 'thick as thieves'. I'll catch you later, Astoria."

Theo inched past the twins and shot her a last look of annoyance before disappearing down the spiral staircase.

"What's _that_ supposed to mean? 'It wasn't a student'? What's he on about?" asked Fred hotly. "You reckon he thinks it was a teacher?"

"I don't know," said Astoria irritably, "but he might have told you, if you hadn't been so rude to him."

"Do you think he was talking about the Heir of Slytherin?" asked George suspiciously.

"I doubt it," Astoria sighed. "I think he was just trying to say that no one on the Slytherin quidditch team is wizard enough to pull off a spell so advanced."

"Either way, I didn't like the sound of it," said Fred frowning.

"What are we doing to celebrate?" asked Astoria lightly, switching their conversation away from curses.

"George and I are about to pop off to Hogsmeade to procure proper party supplies," said Fred with a wink. "Want to act as look out?"

"We may need help carrying things up to the tower too. Especially if we don't want to be completely obvious about it," added Fred. "You'd make such a cute henchman."

Astoria followed them off to the third floor where Fred and George both paused before a statue of a humpbacked witch and looked conspicuously about in both directions.

"Right," said Fred, withdrawing his wand. "You stay here, and George and I will be back in about twenty minutes."

"Thirty five tops," added George reassuringly. "When you hear us knocking, knock back to let us know the coast is clear."

Astoria didn't even had time to ask what they would be knocking on before Fred tapped his wand three times near the old crone's back and whispered, " _Dissendium_."

All of a sudden, before Astoria's startled eyes, the hump opened to reveal a neat, circular tunnel that a person could drop through into a wide, earthy passage below.

"Remember," said Fred, hoisting himself up and then leaping down into the shadowy dirt tunnel, "knock back so we know it's safe to come out."

Astoria nodded mutely, shocked that there had been a route into Hogsmeade concealed in the third floor corridor under her nose for so long without her knowing about it. Sneaking into Hogsmeade was more simple then she had imagined.

George dropped down after his brother and the witch's hump closed with a gravely, crunching hiccup.

Once the shock had begun to wear off, Astoria realized that she now had nothing to do but sit and wait for a half of an hour alone. There was a window several feet away between two suits of archaic armor. Astoria allowed herself to wander just far enough to gaze out of it, certain she would still be able to hear if Fred or George tried to send any signals through the stone witch's back.

The threat of storm had burned off to reveal a brilliant afternoon. Giddy sunshine streamed down from directly overhead and the castle cast only the shortest of shadows across the frosty grass. Wind blew choppy waves against the shore, making the lake appear cold and inhospitable despite the radiant shafts of sunlight.

All of a sudden, somebody was approaching quickly down the hallway behind her. Astoria pulled back just enough to catch the reflection of Draco Malfoy's surly, tense face in the glass as he rounded the corner. He stopped dead when he saw her. Astoria turned around, uncomfortably aware that Draco was the last person she wanted in the corridor when Fred and George began pounding on the other side of the stone witch.

"What are you doing here?" Draco demanded roughly. "Shouldn't you be off drinking butterbeers with your red-headed pals and doing victory laps around your tower somewhere?"

Astoria blinked, stunned by his very ill timing. Draco's common room was several floors below and she could think of no reason whatsoever that he should be on the third floor at all, unless perhaps he was taking the long route back from the owlery to avoid his teammates for as long as possible.

"Bad mood, is it?" asked Astoria distractedly, wanting more than anything to move Draco along before it was within his power to have Fred and George expelled. "At least you still have all of your bones."

Draco seemed confused by this. "And why wouldn't I have all of my _bones_?" he demanded scathingly.

"No reason," snapped Astoria shortly, turning back toward the window, hoping it would discourage him from making further conversation. She could still see his reflection in the glass, however, standing right behind her; rigid and angry.

"How much money did you make off of Potter's little victory?" asked Draco bitterly. "If you can even _call_ it a victory. The whole match should have been called off because of that illegal bludger!"

"The bludger was following Harry, not _you_ ," Astoria pointed out dryly.

"So?" Draco demanded, instigated to even greater heights of anger despite the caress of something almost pleading in his tone. "It was _still_ tampered with. I couldn't get anywhere near Potter or the snitch without it hitting _me_ as well!"

This was patently not true, as Astoria had it on very good regard from Fred and George that the snitch had been hovering near Draco's head when Harry had caught it. But Astoria backtracked anyway, knowing she only had minutes before the twins would try to return.

"You still flew well. You'll probably be on the team until you graduate," argued Astoria. "You can just play him again next year. Harry's won every match that he's competed in. It's not like you did something anyone else on your team hasn't already done before by losing to him."

"Tell that to your new friend Marcus Flint," sneered Malfoy resentfully. "You should have heard the way he was talking to me! You'd think _I_ threw the match! I don't suppose he remembers that it's only because of _my_ family that his whole team is on new brooms!"

Astoria did not know how she had become Malfoy's venting piece, but it appeared to have happened in the blink of an eye. A quick glance at her watch confirmed that nearly twenty minutes had already elapsed since the twins had gone down into the tunnel. She was nearly out of time already.

"Where is Flint, anyway?" she began awkwardly, searching for a reason to vacate the corridor as quickly as possible.

"I don't know," Malfoy scowled. "Down near the lake with his beaters, drinking and forgetting that I'm the entire reason his team has any advantage at all?"

"Well," said Astoria, trying hard not to look at the witch or her hump, "I'd like a word with him, so if you know where he is, you should take me there. Now."

"What do you want with Flint?" snapped Malfoy sharply.

"I owe him money," hissed Astoria, grasping at straws. A real panic was beginning to make her sweat underneath the thick sweater she had worn to watch the game.

"He didn't bet _Gryffindor_ would win?" demanded Malfoy, disgusted.

"No," said Astoria. Her gaze flicked involuntarily toward the statue, prompting her to give away a secret in order to get Draco to move. "Look, I told him I would give him a percentage of the winnings in exchange for letting me watch his practice."

Malfoy let out a nasal sound of irritation, torn between annoyance and sudden vindication at the news of Flint's confirmed crookedness.

"So he took money to let you watch his practice?" asked Malfoy intently. "You _bribed_ him?"

"Obviously," Astoria growled, beginning to inch toward the the stairway. To her extreme pleasure, Malfoy followed her, not thinking about what he was doing.

"You _said_ you knew where he was," Astoria continued. "Unless you're afraid to face him?"

But the question of whether or not Draco would have brought her to Marcus Flint in order to preserve his own dignity was rendered irrelevant when suddenly, Marcus Flint came striding down the hall with Montague.

Montague looked like he had seen the wrong side of a bottle of fire whiskey because he was lurching slightly and something about his gaze struck Astoria as glassy.

"Oh look, it's our seeker," said Flint calmly, catching sight of them. He smiled coldly at Malfoy.

"Flint," said Malfoy, moving sideways because Montague was swaying and looked liable to catch on a suit of armor. "What's wrong with _him_?"

"The rogue bludger must have brained him about a hundred times before he could get it locked up," explained Flint with a shrug. "I think he's concussed. What are you doing here Greengrass?"

Flint's eye's strayed from Draco to Astoria perceptively.

"Looking for you," said Astoria, avoiding the nightmarishly rapid passing of time on her watch as she ripped a piece of blank parchment out of her notebook.

"Looking for me?" repeated Flint slowly, raising his eyebrows at Draco in a taunting way, as though he found her phrasing amusing. "You've got a figure for me, then?"

Draco scowled, hating the look Flint had just given him.

Astoria propped the notebook against the stone witch, quickly divided how much she and the twins had won by ten, scrawled Flint's bribe onto the scrap of paper and handed it to Marcus.

Draco dithered, his eyes darting off down the corridor, wanting very badly to slink away but oddly hesitant to leave Astoria and Marcus alone together. Perhaps he thought they might strike new secretive deals and he wanted to be present in case they did?

"I thought we agreed on ten percent?" said Marcus, smirking. "What is _this_?"

"That's ten percent," Astoria insisted irritably. Either Fred and George had gotten caught in Hogsmeade or else they could hear the entire conversation taking place above their heads and had decided to remain silent, because they were very late, indeed.

"And here I thought you were handing out bonuses," leered Flint greedily. "You've got a lucrative little business going on there."

Draco craned his head nosily, trying to see what Astoria had written on the piece of paper. Flint folded it up with a cruel little laugh the moment he saw Malfoy trying to have a look.

"You ought to open a betting pool on who the Heir of Slytherin will knock off first," Flint went on. "I might actually put money on that."

"Ill send Fred and George around to pay you later in the week," said Astoria, ignoring his comment about the Heir.

"Works for me," agreed Flint, still leering. "You coming with us, Draco? Thought we would have a look at lunch. If Montague can make it down the stairs, that is."

It was obvious from the look on Draco's face that he did not want to go anywhere with Flint. But, whether because Marcus was still his captain or because he could not think of any valid reason for lingering in a corridor with Astoria, Draco resentfully followed them down the staircase. Astoria heaved a sigh of relief and turned back toward the statue, which remained innocently immobile.

She tried tapping on the hump a few times to signal that the half of the Slytherin quidditch team that had popped up out of nowhere was gone but the hump remained solid. Nearly twenty minutes later, when the twins finally _did_ knock, Astoria let them out resentfully and, out of nerves, scolded them for their lateness.

0o0

* * *

I'm afraid this was a bit of a boring chapter but there's a lot in here that I'll need for some of the upcoming plot, so I hope you'll all forgive me! The next chapter will be rife with interesting bits, I promise.

In other news, I'm starting to worry about chapter size. I've realized that I have a tendency to try to cram a lot of text into a single chapter (I just get so excited that I don't want to save anything for later) but that may not be the easiest way to read them. Would anyone prefer if I took chapters of this size and broke them down into smaller segments? It occurs to me that reading a chapter in one quick sitting might be easier that way.

Either way, let me know what you think and thanks for reading!


	9. Attack

Chapter Nine

Attack

0o0

* * *

Sunday morning dawned brightly, bringing with it a haze of chaos.

Apparently Professor Flitwick had announced to his entire common room full of Ravenclaws the evening before that there had been another attack, this time on a student. Astoria knew this because the news had then quickly spread from house to house. By the time she reached the entrance hall on her way to lunch, gaggles of students were hanging about and whispering in low, nervous voices, passing on information that was already fearfully altered from its original state.

"Of course," Draco Malfoy drawled contentedly from a set of benches along the wall, "the first attack _would_ be on a Gryffindor. No surprises there."

Draco's regular circle of hangers-on had been augmented slightly by Pansy and her group of Slytherin girls, but Draco still spotted Astoria across the hall when she paused near the marble staircase to listen. When Draco spoke again, his voice seemed to raise a few octaves in an attempt to entice her into joining them.

"Although, I suppose it's Creevey's own fault for telling everyone that his dad is a muggle milk man. Can you even imagine telling people something like that on _purpose_?"

"It _was_ Colin, then?" asked Astoria, slipping in between Flora and Daphne, her curiosity winning out over her natural aversion.

Daphne was looking rather queasy so Astoria subconsciously reached toward her sister. For the first time that Astoria could remember, however, instead of leaning in, Daphne pulled away.

"Its not as though Colin can _help_ what his dad does for a living," she added tensely, wondering at Daphne's unwillingness to be touched in front of her friends.

"I suppose if _my_ father was a muggle milk man, _I_ probably wouldn't be going out of my way to brag about it. What with Slytherin's Heir on the loose and all," returned Malfoy, causing Pansy Parkinson to snort ungracefully. "Then again, I don't think I'd tell anyone even if there wasn't a monster running around the school, come to think of it..."

Crabbe and Goyle both guffawed sycophantically but Astoria ignored them as she always did.

"What's the school doing about it?" Astoria asked. "The staff can't just let a monster pick off muggle-borns."

"More's the pity," muttered Blaise Zabini, who was lurking against the wall.

"They've called a meeting of the School Governors," answered Draco lazily. By the looks on the surrounding faces, Astoria could tell that he had been saving this particularly juicy bit of gossip for last.

"Ooh, how do you know?" asked Pansy immediately, her mouth falling open in an expression of shocked fascination.

"Because my father is one of the governors, isn't he?" Malfoy went on unhurriedly, luxuriating in his rapt audience. "He says they'll be meeting with Dumbledore before noon. Dumbledore is expecting an earful any minute now."

Draco peered at Astoria sneakily, perhaps wondering if she was intrigued by this news.

"What's going on?" asked Theodore, who had just come up from the dungeons. He blinked sleepily.

"That first year Gryffindor with the camera was attacked last night," said Astoria matter-of-factly, not wanting to make the tale seem any more sensational than it already was.

"And the school governors are coming to meet with Dumbledore!" Pansy rushed to add, casting Astoria an oddly competitive look.

"The boy that's always following Potter around?" asked Theo, finding a bit of yesterday's lint on his shirt and frowning. "He was attacked? Did he die?"

Everyone turned to look at Malfoy, who promptly turned his gaze toward the high windows instead. Outside, a group of adults were congregating at the foot of the hill.

"What?" asked Draco distractedly. "Oh, no. He was petrified like the cat." Draco pointed out toward the grounds. "There are the governors now."

Astoria gasped. Even from a distance, she could make out the sleek blonde head of Lucius Malfoy, but this was not what had made her recoil. Hissing in horror, Astoria took a step back from the glass.

"Isn't that your aunt, Astoria?" asked Theo curiously, following her gaze.

"Yes," Astoria croaked, but that was not the worst of it.

"Who is _that_ behind her?" Theo murmured, cracking into a wide grin as he took in the sight of a woman in a mustard yellow sun hat.

"That's _my_ mom!" remarked Daphne, nearly as stunned as Astoria was, although clearly less disgusted.

"I didn't know your aunt was a governor," said Draco, sounding a little annoyed by the idea that he might not be the only authority on school politics.

"She's _not_ ," Astoria muttered angrily. "I can't _imagine_ what she's doing here unless she thought it was a fun way to get out of the house."

"How do _you_ know Astoria's aunt?" Pansy asked Draco quickly, displeasure etched into every feature of her face.

"What the hell is your mother _wearing_ , Daphne?" drawled Blaise, giving voice to what he deemed to be the most pressing matter at hand.

For a moment nobody answered, perhaps because there was no ready answer available. They all stared together, transfixed by the radiant brightness that was Beatrice Greengrass's day suit while the small party continued their way up toward the castle. At last, Draco broke the silence with a low, positively delighted laugh.

" _That's_ your stepmother, Astoria?" he drawled, his eyes almost watering with glee.

"Well, father's never been accused of having very sane taste in women," Astoria admitted, unable to look away, the mustard sheen of Beatrice's bosom robbing her of any capacity to be insulted. "No offense, Daphne."

"I don't see what's so wrong with it," argued Daphne defensively. "It's just rather yellow..."

'Rather yellow' was quite an understatement, however. Astoria was afraid her eyes might begin to water like Draco's—not from mirth, but from the glare.

"Alright, children!" called Professor Flitwick, hobbling out of the great hall. He must have some idea about what was taking place because he did not even bother to check what it was that they were all looking at outside the window. "No loitering, off with you! It's a fine sunday, you should be studying."

"Sir, my father is on the lawn," drawled Draco insolently.

"Yes, well," sighed Professor Flitwick, "would everybody without the convenience of having a relative on the lawn move along, please? This is not a public spectacle! It is a matter of grave importance. Up, up!" He shooed Blaise away from the wall. The pack began to disperse but Astoria held her ground. "Off with you, girl," said Flitwick tersely.

"If you don't mind," started Astoria, rather more politely than Malfoy had, "I've got an aunt and a stepmother outside. They both seem intent on making spectacles of themselves."

Flitwick 'humphed' but the hall had largely cleared so he waved his hands and stalked off to meet the approaching party at the front doors. Pansy cast Astoria a dark look and followed her friend Flora but Theo remained by Astoria's side, still yawning.

"Better move along before Flitwick comes back," Astoria warned but Theo shrugged.

"My dad's a governor," he said simply. "He let you, Daphne and Malfoy stay."

"My God, that dress doesn't get any less yellow even out of the sun," Malfoy whispered.

There was a hold up at the doors, but after a brief moment of chaos, Flitwick ushered the majority of the pack away to follow him up the marble staircase. He left behind Daphne's mother and Amos Diggory, who was bobbing up and down on the balls of his feet impatiently.

Those who _had_ been permitted entrance—presumably the actual school governors plus Belladonna and a small, mousy looking woman in tears—passed close by them. Astoria almost had to marvel at her aunt's audacity. As if sensing this rare emotion, Belladonna made a small gesture in Astoria's direction that clearly demanded that she wait.

"How _does_ your aunt do it?" asked Theo with a caress of awe.

"I don't know," Astoria deadpanned. "Maybe she threatened to marry Flitwick."

"Ha!" laughed Theo, finding this comment much more witty than it really was. "Do your aunt and stepmother get along?"

"Like cats and dogs," Astoria grumbled.

"Let me guess," said Malfoy slyly "your aunt is the cat?"

Daphne blushed.

"Daphne!" exclaimed Beatrice, spotting her daughter and making her way across the hall in excitement. "Darling, you're safe!" Beatrice seized Daphne in a dramatic hug that looked capable of stealing the breath from any human being. Astoria flinched reflexively.

"I'm fine, mum," Daphne muttered, attempting to extract herself. "There's nothing to worry about!"

"Nothing to worry about?" spluttered Beatrice, putting her natural flair for theatrics to good use. "They say students at the school are being attacked!"

"Yes," Astoria cut in flatly, eager to help her sister escape a suffocating humiliation, "but whoever it is is only attacking _muggle-borns_."

"Muggle-borns?" asked Beatrice rather idiotically, making it sound as though she had never heard the phrase before.

"Right," continued Astoria impatiently, "as in not pure-bloods which, happily, Daphne and I both are. What are you _doing_ here?"

"Astoria, you've grown a foot!" observed Beatrice, close to spluttering. "I don't think I've seen you since last June! Just think, you're only a few months older than Daphne and I swear, if I didn't know any better, I'd peg you for sixteen! My goodness!" Beatrice stepped back a few inches to look at Astoria, releasing Daphne, who promptly inched away. "I'm starting to see a bit of your mother in you..."

Astoria blinked, wishing the earth would swallow Beatrice up, mustard hat and all.

"Your terrible aunt is here, you know!" Beatrice went on, fanning herself in a manner that seemed to suggest the very notion of Belladonna gave her a hot flash. "Such a pushy woman! It's a wonder she's had so many husbands! I don't know how she managed it! But there she is now, coming this way!"

Beatrice pawed for Daphne, flustered. "Come with me sweetheart! We'll take a walk and you can explain this whole mystery to me! I simply cannot _stand_ another encounter with that woman!"

Like the curtain dropping on one stage, Beatrice pulled Daphne after her toward the doors just in time to allow a new act to commence when Belladonna's patent leather pumps stepped down from the marble steps with a prim click and made their way purposefully toward the spot that had been vacated.

"Odious woman," drawled Belladonna, following Beatrice's flight with fluttering, amused eyes. "Never dress in colors, Astoria. Make a note for yourself."

"What are you doing here, auntie?" Astoria demanded, becoming a little exasperated herself. "If you're going to be so nosey, why don't you just join the board?"

"Goodness, who could ever find time for _that_?" inquired Belladonna cooly, withdrawing a silver cigarette case from the pocket of her dark, well tailored robes. "After all, my only motive is to inquire after the health and well-being of my niece. Surely there can be nothing so _very_ suspicious about that?"

"Yes, if that _were_ your only motive," agreed Astoria sharply, "and I'm positive you're not allowed to smoke in here."

"Gracious, darling and you profess to be a rebel!" cackled Belladonna, exhaling elegantly toward the rafters. "Who do you propose is coming to stop me? Not Dumbledore, surely? I've heard he's under siege."

Theo let out a sound between a laugh and an exclamation before sucking in his breath. His eyes remained fixed on Belladonna, shining with admiration. Astoria bristled at the sight.

"Tom," acknowledged Belladonna with a soft tilt of her head, having grown accustomed to Theodore's face in their house over the summer.

" _Theodore_!" Astoria corrected with a hiss.

"And Draco, was it?" Belladonna continued, switching subjects.

Draco nodded, his usual sneer held at bay by the cold vision of Belladonna smoking in the entrance hall and staring at him expectantly.

Belladonna clicked her tongue and looked about. "Nary a Weasley in sight. Could it be that your sensitivities are improving, Astoria?"

"Yeah," Astoria fired back, hating the look on Theodore's face, "I'm guessing they were too busy having tea with muggles to be here for your surprise attack."

"Obviously _not_ , then," plowed on Belladonna indifferently. "So tell me the truth of it, there have been attacks? One on a student and another on a teacher?"

"Technically it was an attack on a teacher's cat," said Theo, anxious to participate despite the fact that his name had been bungled. Astoria had never quite understood Theo's fascination with Belladonna, and the fact that she herself held Theo in such low esteem made his admiration all the more contemptible.

"It was _Flich's_ cat," interrupted Malfoy, sneering at Theodore. "He's the _caretaker_ , not a teacher."

"And also a known squib," Belladonna added curtly. "Who was the student?"

Astoria could tell by the looks of wonder on both Theodore and Draco's faces that, while Filch's being a squib may have been known to _some_ , it had not been known to either of them.

"His name's Colin Creevey," said Astoria, "and as Draco was so keen to point out earlier, his dad's a muggle milk man."

"Interesting," mused Belladonna and she appeared to mean it.

"What does a muggle milk man do, one might wonder?" asked Theo in his most annoyingly pensive voice.

"One _might_ , if one had literally exhausted every other topic on Earth," finished Belladonna so condescendingly that Astoria almost felt bad for Theodore. Out of the corner of her eye, Draco had begun smirking gleefully.

"There was also the matter of some kind of vandalism?" her aunt went on, "claiming that the Chamber of Secrets has been opened? I've heard it was written with blood?"

"For someone so fond of secrets Belladonna," came a cold, silky voice, "its a wonder that you aren't rejoicing at the news of a Chamber that promises to be full of them."

They all turned as Lucius Malfoy descended into sight, followed by the rotund, always be-furred, Augusta Longbottom. Astoria almost moaned in despair. Augusta Longbottom was infamously cranky and she was bound to bring out the worst in everybody present. The last thing she needed was for her aunt to play nice to Lucius Malfoy in front of an audience. Astoria could neither blink nor look away as her body flooded with shame.

Theodore looked as though he had been handed second helpings of a particularly succulent pudding, however, and even Draco failed to look disinterested as he turned his curious gaze toward his father.

"Smoking in the hall, I see," observed Lucius lightly, his tone bringing to mind the chastising of a naughty child. "What a fine example you cut."

"See here Malfoy, there's no need to make light of things! Not while we have this situation with the Chamber on our hands," barked Augusta Longbottom boorishly, puffing up her chest. "In _my_ day we could smoke any which way we pleased. If you're so fine and dignified, _you_ can just continue out onto the lawn to greet the minister like you originally meant to. There's plenty of clean air out _there_."

With that, Augusta barreled her way past them and continued her tottering trek toward the doors, her handbag slipping down to her elbow before she pulled it up again violently.

"You know," said Belladonna idly, taking a slow, lazy drag off of her cigarette, "there are some that say Augusta is over-assertive, but I've always found her to be _quite_ dear."

Astoria blinked in surprise because she had not expected this. Her aunt had an uncanny—at times even nauseating—way of sucking up to people she deemed rich or influential enough to be important. It was not typically her habit to mock these sort of people within earshot until _after_ she had either gotten what she wanted from them or failed greatly in her pursuit.

"Far be it from me to disrupt your interrogating children, but it seems to me that the duty of discussing the Chamber of Secrets lies with the Board of Governors, of which you are not a member," said Lucius unaffectedly. "Although, I know how close to your heart the issue must strike. Your second husband was once married to a muggle-born, was he not? Or was it your third? I lose track."

"Oh, you must mean Alfred," cried Belladonna brightly. "You're quite right, he was my second and how is your lovely wife?"

"Living," quirked Lucius with a nasty smile, "thank you."

"It's funny that you should mention people who have married muggle-borns," mused Belladonna and Astoria could sense the dart before her aunt even threw it, "didn't your wife's sister do the same. Andromeda, yes? You know, I think I remember a time when you fancied Andromeda quite as pretty as her sister but perhaps my memory fails me."

Lucius's smile never vanished but Astoria could tell by the way that way it suddenly became glacial that her aunt had struck home and that Lucius was annoyed. "I hardly think that an errant comment on looks some twenty years previously even bears remembering, Belladonna."

Theodore had frozen, watching this tennis match of unpleasantness in a state of shock. Draco meanwhile had turned faintly pink and looked unsure of himself, certain that his family was being insulted, but having a hard time responding in a way that anything other than riveted.

"I do admire you so, for your selective view of history, Lucius," cooed Belladonna, "but as they say, when one door closes, another pure-blooded marriage opportunity appears. I suppose it's all water under the bridge for you."

"As the cemetery in your backyard suggests," said Lucius tartly, " _you_ would know."

"Oh I'd call it more of a family plot, really," said Belladonna modestly.

"Perhaps if you had set the bar higher in your choice of husbands, you have could afforded to do a little more for their interment," Lucius indicated snidely. "Your last was a banker, wasn't he?"

"Ah!" laughed Belladonna, who rarely encountered an argument in which she was not the superior in punishing sarcasm and who seemed to be taking to this one in rare form. "Just think, if I had only set my designs on _you_ when you were uncertain as to which Black sister you preferred, the whole burial plot might have been reduced to a single headstone!"

"Perhaps it would not have been mine," suggested Lucius dangerously.

"Oh, no. I'd have lost you, sure enough," continued Belladonna in a voice that would have been hilarious had the context of the conversation not been so inappropriate. "To a pox, I think," she mused slowly, clearly relishing the idea, "something that riddles the body from the inside out."

The sound of a set of boots being wiped clean on the top step outside the front doors made everyone turn their heads.

"Yes, that'll be Fudge. Late, I see," said Lucius, checking his pocket watch. "I'll alert the board."

"Good," agreed Belladonna, blowing the last of her cigarette smoke in a direction that was far to close to Mr. Malfoy's face to be entirely accidental. "Perhaps I'll run into the Minister on my way out. I wanted a word. Astoria darling," she said, stroking Astoria's hair distractedly, "behave." She nodded curtly at Draco's father. "Lucius."

Then she was off, her heels pinging lethally in the direction of Augusta and the Minister. When she reached the door, Astoria could have sworn she heard Belladonna chuckle. Lucius Malfoy shot his son a look that commanded him stay before turning on his heel and striding back up the steps, leaving Astoria, Draco and Theo in his stunned, silent wake.

"Did your aunt just threaten to _murder_ my father?" asked Draco haltingly.

"She's been known to do that," sneered Astoria darkly. "Frankly, it's more terrifying when she tries to be charming."

"That woman just served up more sass than Draco's father has seen in about ten years," hooted Theo, letting out a low whistle. "You _never_ see people go toe to toe with Lucius!"

"My aunt has never been afraid to go toe to toe with anyone," Astoria muttered.

"I think she's brilliant!" said Theo expansively. "Does she always go around talking to people like that?"

"Pretty much," Astoria sighed. "Although she saves her best bickering for when she senses an equal match. Listening to her try to bully shopkeepers is generally pretty boring in comparison, although occasionally she'll find a live one."

"So it's like her sport?" asked Theo.

"Something like that" Astoria murmured unhappily. "To be fair, Draco's dad _did_ insinuate that her husbands were nearly middle class. Who knows, Draco? Maybe your dad will off my aunt and I'll be free to wear whatever I want without criticism before I come of age!"

Even though Astoria had meant it as a joke, Draco looked a little disconcerted by this notion.

"That would _never_ happen," Draco sneered. Then, as if remembering that his family had been insulted, he added, "but your aunt _really_ should learn to watch her mouth."

0o0

December found the castle as cold in spirit as the chilly, wind swept grounds. The atmosphere of well-being and anticipation before a holiday was dampened by fear. Decorations went up, as they always did, in the second week of the month but it wasn't until Astoria awoke one Tuesday morning to a soft blanket of snow that she began to feel the first true stirrings of Christmas cheer.

The fire was nothing more then a few glowing embers; Astoria could tell by the earliness of the hour and the cold sting of her nose. Beneath her covers, however, she was the good kind of dry. The type of toasty-warm that occasionally made waking up feel leisurely.

Snow was pilling up in the tower windowsills, creating the illusion that everything was soft and muted, as though the volume of the world had been turned down. Astoria stretched and allowed herself the pleasure of staring at the collecting flakes, safe in the knowledge that she had woken up earlier than she needed to and therefore had no obligation to rush out of bed anywhere.

A few feet away, her housemates seemed to be doing the same thing in their own beds. Lavender's long hair was piled on top of her head and rogue curls were escaping in all directions, but she seemed to feel the same cheer in the air. "Look," she murmured happily. "It snowed."

"I bet Hagrid's not pleased," Astoria grinned, rolling over and resting her head on her arm. "He's putting up the Christmas trees in the hall today. Filch will have a fit about the mess."

Already, before breakfast or classes could interfere, it felt as though vacation had prematurely begun.

"I wish I didn't have to go home this weekend," Lavender sighed sleepily, "but my mum is making me."

"You'll have fun," said Astoria bracingly despite the fact that she really didn't know anything about Lavender's family at all. Lavender and Parvati had formed such an intense friendship in their first year that there was hardly any room for an extra voice between them these days.

Astoria herself was going home for Christmas, not to Belladonna's, but to her father's house which meant that she would be able to spend the holiday with Daphne.

"I guess," said Lavender, "but they're bound to ask me all about the Chamber. I'm afraid I'll scare them by accident and they won't let me come back."

"That won't happen," said Astoria, pushing off her blankets because Lavender's semi-irrational fear was starting to make her nervous as well. "You're a pure-blood, right? They won't keep you home."

"They might," said Lavender, watching as Astoria began to fish about for tights. "I thought about it all last night. My parents were activists against You Know Who during the last war. What if they get so mad about the fact that the Heir of Slytherin hasn't been caught that they make me stay home or send me to Beauxbatons in protest?"

Astoria snorted and ran a brush through her hair. "It costs a lot of money to go abroad to a non-native school. They won't ship you off."

For a second, Lavender looked very relived. "Oh, yeah..."

"You'll be back," Astoria insisted, but the idea of somehow being withheld from returning to Hogwarts chased her all the way to breakfast.

Professor Mcgonagall was already going around with her list, collecting the names of students who wished to stay at Hogwarts over break. Fred and George both added their names to the bottom of the piece of parchment and Astoria experienced a new and unexpected pang of jealousy.

"Mum and Dad are visiting Charlie," Fred explained when he caught Astoria watching him pass the list to George, misinterpreting her look of longing for one of pity. "It's not bad, really, staying at school. Almost no one ever does, so we usually get the common room to ourselves. The feast is always top notch."

A few feet away, Hagrid was wrestling a giant fir tree into a stand, scattering needles and snow all over the flagstones. Professor Flitwick trailed behind him, oscillating between cleaning up and conjuring streams of silver garland with his wand.

"I almost wish I was staying," Astoria admitted wistfully. "My aunt is visiting old friends in Belgium, so I'll be home at my Dad's house."

"No, you won't," said Daphne, who had crossed the Great Hall and was clutching a note in her hand nervously. Daphne did not like the Gryffindor table and made a habit of avoiding it when she could, but she handed Astoria the letter anyway, leaning in against Astoria's shoulders.

"What's this?" asked Astoria, hardly daring to hope.

"It's a letter from Dad," said Daphne. "Dad got that patent case he wanted."

"The one about MacLaggen's potions or whatever it was?" asked Astoria, remembering that Daphne had mentioned the case in passing towards the end of the summer.

"Yes," said Daphne. "So he and my Mum are going to be staying in London and Dad says he thinks they'll be too busy to be any fun for us."

"Why is Beatrice going at all?" Astoria snorted, skimming over the note.

"They're married, aren't they?" insisted Daphne almost hotly. It was obvious that her sister found this arrangement to be the most natural thing in the word, but Astoria could not help but think about the pictures she had seen of Mr. MacLaggen's wife, who was very attractive and was often talked about as having a bit of a wild streak. In truth, there was a terrible part of Astoria that wondered if Beatrice was only going to London to safeguard her marriage, but she did not voice this suspicion out-loud.

"Anyway," Daphne went on, "I thought I would tell you before you lost your chance to sign the list. I didn't want you to have to go find Professor Mcgonagall."

"Thanks," said Astoria, taking the sign up sheet from George, who was beaming enthusiastically.

"This is brilliant! We can start work on those invisibility cloaks once everyone's gone!" he said, rubbing his hands together.

Astoria carefully added her name to the bottom of a very short list and grinned. Daphne took her letter back, relived that Astoria had not taken the news badly, and quickly retreated back to her table.

"Have you seen the notices this morning?" asked Fred, upending a bottle of ketchup onto his sausage patties.

Astoria shook her head. A soft happiness about her new holiday prospects was creeping into her chest like a good mood. She had never spent a Christmas at Hogwarts and she was surprised to find how much the idea pleased her.

"They're starting up a dueling club and the first meeting is tonight," George explained.

"I reckon George and Lee and I are all going to go. Do you want to come along?" asked Fred. "One last hurrah before the holidays and we're all alone and joyless?"

Astoria smiled happily, forked one of Fred's saturated sausages and agreed.

Despite the heavy snow, Herbology had not been cancelled, so after breakfast Astoria trooped off to a very cold double period in the greenhouses. Her mood was so lifted, however, that the chill could not do much to bring her down.

Snow continued to fall thickly, visible through the glass roof. Professor Sprout, alive to the new importance behind the success of her crop of mandrakes had a more simple yet seasonally appropriate assignment for them; they collecting white berries from heads of mistletoe to restock Professor Snape's ingredient cabinets.

"Thinking of going to the dueling club later?" asked Ernie jauntily, casting an open handful of berries into the bucket that Astoria was sharing with him.

Ernie could occasionally be rather pompous but today, he was a perfect fit for Astoria's merry mood.

"Mhmm," confirmed Astoria. "Do you know who's teaching it yet?"

Ernie shook his head and withdrew his set of clippers. He had struck too close to the Mistletoe's branches in search of berries, causing their shared bush to shake nervously.

"No idea, but Justin seems to think it'll be Lockhart," continued Ernie. "He's a muggle-born you know, so he's very impressed by Lockhart's books. He thinks being a wizard means all sorts of adventures and battling famous beasts."

They shared a smile that seemed to agree to some suspicion behind Lockhart's fantastic exploits.

"Well, I don't know about Lockhart, but learning how to duel seems useful," Astoria continued conversationally, coaxing the plant back toward them.

"Especially with Slytherin's Heir on the loose," agreed Ernie. "I think it's good that the school is at least willing to teach us some self defense."

Astoria had not thought of it that way, but now that he mentioned it, it seemed as reasonable a theory as any.

"Come _on_ , plant!" Ernie complained, grabbing at the mistletoe's trunk.

"Careful, Macmillan!" called out Professor Sprout with a rather amused smile. "Once you get trapped underneath the mistletoe, there's only one way out."

Ernie glanced at Astoria sheepishly and released the plant, which proceeded to pluck up its lower boughs like the train of a skirt and run on its root-legs down the length of their table in terror.

It was still snowing thickly when class got out. The courtyard looked like a painting on a Christmas card. Astoria passed Neville on her way to the benches, noticing that he had snow in his hair and down the front of his scarf.

"Watch out!" Neville called to her nervously. "Someone is throwing snowballs!"

Theodore was sitting on a bench as far away from any flying snow as possible, reading a damp book. Astoria took off her own scarf and handed it to Neville almost kindly before trudging trough the snow toward Theo.

"You look like the Grinch," exclaimed Astoria happily, wiping snow off of Theo's old gray hat. "Why are you lurking in the corner when it's so nice out?"

"You call this nice?" asked Theo in confusion, looking about at the winter wonderland that surrounded him with dull, suspicious eyes.

"Yes," Astoria gigged. Several feet away, Fred and George were trying to entice a cluster of first years into buying large, smelly looking onions.

"For protection," George insisted in a carrying voice, "because the Heir of Slytherin walks among us!"

"Guaranteed to ward off monsters!" Fred agreed, accepting several sickles from a small boy in overlarge robes. "A small price to pay for safety when the Heir could be your best friend in disguise!"

"What do you think the odds are that Slytherin's Heir is a Ravenclaw first year's best friend in disguise?" asked Theo sarcastically.

"Zero, I'd say," answered a snide voice, announcing the arrival of Draco, Crabbe and Goyle.

All three of them had very pink cheeks and there was a dusting of snow on Malfoy's gloves that made Astoria feel rather certain he was somewhat responsible for the throwing of snowballs.

"What are your plans for Christmas, Draco?" she asked, refusing to allow him to dampen her holiday spirit. "I suppose _you_ probably aren't curling up with a large protective Weasley onion?"

"He's staying on," said Theo with a snicker.

"Mother and Father are going to France," drawled Draco, "and there's no reason that the pure-bloods should have to evacuate the school. Father doesn't see any reason I should have to go anywhere."

"So they're going on vacation without you?" Theo pointed out sarcastically. "Gee, it's almost as though your parents are using you to make a point, Malfoy."

Draco ignored this. "You'll be staying with your aunt again?" he asked, glancing at Astoria. "Millicent said you visited Theodore last year and his dad nearly _attacked_ you."

"Since when do you talk to Millicent?" Theo stuttered, embarrassed. "My dad didn't _attack_ Astoria. If you want to know the whole story, he ended up inviting her in for tea."

"You had tea with Mr. Nott?" drawled Draco, his face lighting up with malevolent glee. "Lord, that had to have been nearly worse!"

"It was lovely, actually," returned Astoria brightly. "Theodore's father taught me about the goblin uprisings. And no, I'm not going to my aunt's this year."

"You're not?" asked Theo, plainly disappointed.

"No," Astoria confirmed. "Aunt Belladonna's traveling and my father's in London working, so I'm staying at Hogwarts too. I just found out this morning."

"Hey, Astoria!" a voice called out across the courtyard. Astoria turned, surprised to see that Cormac MacLaggen was waving at her and walking their way.

"What does MacLaggen want with you?" asked Malfoy sharply.

"No idea," said Astoria truthfully. Even though they were only a year apart and in the same house, she had never actually spoken to Cormac before. It came as something of a shock that he even knew her name.

"Want to see something neat?" Cormac panted at last, giving Malfoy, Crabbe and Goyle a once over of surprise as he wiped his nose. Then, without waiting for an answer, he produced a newspaper and unfolded it. "Look, our fathers were both in the paper this morning!"

Astoria leaned closer. Draco shoved Goyle's elbow out of the way so that he could have a look as well.

Below, a small article was captioned: ' _Court Justice MacLaggen to Release Line Of Self Help Potions'._ Beneath that was a black and white photo of Cormac's father in his dark plum (although you could not tell from the photo) wizengamot's robes with his arm around Astoria's father. Beside them waved Mrs. MacLaggen, plump and curly haired, smiling at the camera flirtatiously. Beatrice was not in the frame at all.

"Oh," Astoria exclaimed in surprise. "Neat."

"Yeah," said Cormac. "So you'll be at our Christmas party, then? Father's invited some of the senior cabinet for the celebration. I think even Rufus Scrimgeour will be there. You know, the head of the Auror Office? There's an open bar all night, it should be outrageous."

"No, actually," said Astoria, slightly taken aback although not altogether sorry to be missing out on a pompous London ministry party even if it was one that threatened to turn into a drunken highland fling. "I'm not going home for Christmas."

"Really?" reacted Cormac, surprised. "Well, _that's_ rubbish. Write home and say you've changed your mind!"

"How can she have changed her mind if you're only just telling her about it now?" interjected Draco coldly, still sneering in the direction of the article.

Coming from a person that Astoria had never exchanged words with before, she thought MacLaggen's advice was rather bossy herself.

"It wasn't really my choice," Astoria explained. "My parents are busy."

"Well, ask permission anyway. Tell your dad I invited you. I'm sure he'll understand," Cormac insisted, handing her the newspaper like a formal corsage. "Here, you can keep this. Let me know if you're coming, I'll keep you on the list!"

Before Astoria could even make a sound of assent, Cormac was off again, jogging back toward his friends, who were lingering near the castle eaves.

"Okay then," said Astoria to the thin air that Cormac had just vacated. She thrust the paper at Theo, who had not been able to read it properly with Malfoy standing in front of him. "Well, that doubles my incentive not to go anywhere for Christmas."

Draco laughed but the sound came out like a bark.

"Your dad is working with MacLaggen?" asked Theo, reading the newsprint carefully.

"I guess," said Astoria. "Apparently Cormac thinks that makes us new best buddies. You know, I've never even talked to him before? He must have mistaken me for somebody who cares."

" _Or_ for the best looking girl in the year with a dad who is bound to be going to his Christmas party," suggested Theo with a sly smile.

Malfoy's head snapped sideways to look at Astoria.

"Have you ever noticed that Cormac's face is perfectly square?" mused Astoria, wanting to shift the subject. "It's like a _dictionary_."

"When did MacLaggen say he thought that Astoria was the best looking girl in the year?" asked Draco irritably.

Theo continued to chortle into the newsprint, ignoring Draco. "His face is perfectly square? Is that a reason to turn down dates, these days?"

"That wasn't him asking me out on a date," said Astoria dismissively. "That was him _commanding_ me to attend a boring ministry gathering with bottomless liquor."

"Sounds like my kind of event," said Theo, putting down the Daily Prophet. "I bet even Bertie Higgs will be there."

"You should go then," Astoria insisted, pointing at him with both hands in the shape of finger guns and imitating Cormac's voice, "I'm sure he'd put you on the list!"

Malfoy laughed snidely, his happiness restoring with every insult Astoria made. "Bertie Higgs? Father says he went to a charity event last year so pissed drunk that they had to kick him out because he started hitting on Fudge's wife. I'd say you're better off out of it." Draco stared off across the grounds toward Cormac and his knot of friends, scowling instinctively. "You know, I think you're right, MacLaggen's head _is_ square _."_

Astoria laughed because the insult had been stupid and hearing it in Malfoy's voice only made it funnier.

"Still, it's good for your dad isn't it?" probed Theo. "It's a big case, he's bound to make money off of it."

"Probably," Astoria admitted. "I think he's just doing it to have a go at MacLaggen's wife."

" _What_?" drawled Malfoy.

"Yeah," Astoria continued carelessly, hoping that by giving voice to her own fears she might manage to purge herself of them completely. "Have a look at her, she's a minx."

Theo held the paper back up and brushed snow off of the photo. Mrs. MacLaggen continued to grin toothily, buxom as a bar wench.

"I suppose she is rather comely," said Theo with a half repressed grin.

"An apt choice of words," remarked Astoria lightly, holding in her own smug smile.

"I'll allow his secret crush," Theo went on reasonably.

"Speaking of secret crushes," said Astoria softly, her eyes following Padma Patil, who had appeared from behind the fountain and was crossing the courtyard with Marietta Edgecombe. "I think somebody is in the presence of theirs right now."

Theo blanched and, to her surprise, so did Malfoy.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Draco snapped. Then, his eyes followed Astoria's and he seemed to catch her meaning. "You fancy a _Ravenclaw,_ Theodore?" he drawled gleefully.

"I do _not_ have a crush on a Ravenclaw," said Theo, shifting on the bench irritably. "I don't know what Astoria's talking about."

"Of course not," said Astoria, who had forgotten herself and regretted her comment the moment she realized it had been uttered in front of Draco. "I'm just kidding."

She dared a glance at Theodore, who was staring at her hatefully.

"Padma seems nice enough though," Astoria went on, trying to dig herself out of the hole she had created, sensing that she was only tunneling deeper.

"Are you sure that's even her name?" asked Malfoy derisively. "Aren't there two of them?"

"They're twins," said Theodore shortly. "They're still _two_ people."

"Padma's in Ravenclaw," Astoria confirmed, hoping to be clear that she also considered the Patils to be two unique individuals. "Parvati's in my house."

"What kind of names are those, anyway?" jeered Malfoy, scooping up a fistful of snow and working it into a small compact ball.

"You're one to talk," bristled Theo.

"My name is Latin," said Malfoy pompously, taking aim at the fountain and lobbing the ice-ball into the air. It landed with a dull crack on the frozen ice. Several people nearby looked around at the sound nervously. "It's not nearly as funny sounding as 'Padma'. Who are the Patil's _people_ anyway? They're obviously not English."

"Mr. Patil is a Healer and I think he's from India," said Astoria, who had known Parvati and Padma when they were younger, although they had never been particularly great friends. Astoria was certain that Mr. Patil worked at St. Mungo's, however, and that he was quite well liked by his peers. She had met him a few times and remembered him as a short, well dressed man with a kind face.

"Oh," said Draco, who didn't seem to particularly care what Mr. Patil did if it wasn't foolish or shameful.

"Parvati is a little silly," Astoria admitted. "I used to know _her_ fairly well when we were kids because she was always more outgoing. I don't know Padma as well."

"How did you know the Patils?" asked Theo, displaying interest despite himself.

"Oh, I don't know," said Astoria. "Random day classes and birthday parties, you know? Things like that. I think Mr. Patil must must know my dad somehow. We all went on a picnic once when I was about eight. Everyone went swimming except for Padma because she was afraid of the water." Astoria was quiet for a moment as she watched Theo's long, serious face process these unimportant details intently.

"Padma likes to read," Astoria added softly because Draco was making another snowball and she thought it was likely he was not paying proper attention, "and she likes birds. She used to have a pet canary when we were really little. I know she doesn't eat licorice either because her sister used to tease her with them."

Somewhere in the castle, the bell rang. Theo rolled up the newspaper and handed it to Astoria.

"I think this was for your perusing pleasure," he said with a half smile as Astoria took the copy of the Prophet from him.

Theo hesitated slightly and then said, very quietly, "She hates licorice, then?"

"Loathes it," Astoria confirmed, smiling softly to herself as she watched Theodore nod and lope away toward his next class.

0o0

That evening at eight o'clock, Astoria met Fred, George and Lee outside the portrait of the Fat Lady and they all headed down to the Great Hall together to see what Hogwarts had to offer by way of a dueling club.

The Great Hall was bustling with students of all ages when they arrived and the long House tables had been cleared away, leaving a wide space in the center of the hall for demonstrations. A raised platform had been erected in the middle and covered with a soft looking velvet that reminded Astoria of a fortuneteller's stage.

"Fancy," chuckled George. "I wonder if Lockhart had a hand in decorating?"

Lockhart had obviously had a more than a hand in just decorating however because next moment the crowd parted to let him through and he was climbing the stairs of the platform, his cloak billowing behind him.

"Welcome!" Lockhart beamed. "Welcome!"

Lee groaned and put his round face in his hands to hide his smile. He grinned through his fingers at Astoria.

"Of course," Astoria mouthed at him.

When Professor Lockhart introduced Snape as his assistant however, Lee dropped his hands in actual shock.

"We're about to witness _murder_ ," whispered Fred excitedly.

Indeed it looked as though they might. In fact, something about the way Snape's lip was curling seemed to promise it.

Astoria put her head closer to Fred and George so that they could whisper and only looked up again when Lockhart began to count.

"One— two— three—"

" _Expelliarmus_!" cried Snape, baring his full set of teeth in the dull candle light.

Lockhart was blasted into the air and flung from the stage. He smashed into the far wall face first. A few feet away, Malfoy began to applaud.

George bit his lip, suffocating his urge to laugh. Lockhart's hat had been shot clean off of his head. It landed near Alicia Spinnet, who held it up, motioning toward Fred with it from across the hall excitedly.

"A Disarming Charm!" cried Lockhart in a feeble imitation of pluckiness, but even from where Astoria was standing, she could see that his knees were shaking. "Very instructive," Lockhart muttered. "An obvious shot—very block-able, but instructive nonetheless!"

Snape made a soft bow. When he raised his head again his look was so poisonous that even Lockhart could not pretend to ignore it.

"Yes, well, everybody into pairs!" Lockhart yelled, clapping his hands.

Astoria looked toward Lee, assuming that Fred and George would want to duel each other but Snape, who was going down the line, pointed at Astoria instead.

"MacLaggen, you can duel Greengrass," said Snape, making a lazy motion toward Cormac. "Jordan, you can take on Pucey. Weasley and Weasley can partner Patil and Patil," Snape smiled unkindly, "a twin for a twin as it were…"

Snape moved on, partnering people off in the cruelest way his sharp mind could manage, pointing his long yellow finger in random directions and barking instructions.

Cormac moved forward to stand near Astoria, managing to look pleased about their chosen arrangement.

"It's almost unsporting to be dueling a girl, isn't it?" asked Cormac pompously. "I promise to go easy on you."

Astoria smiled back at him tightly.

"Face your partners and bow," called Lockhart, who had regained the stage. "Wands at the ready! When I count to three, cast to disarm your opponents!"

Lockhart began to count and Astoria stiffened, feeling that she had something to prove. MacLaggen's easy, unworried face only served to egg her on.

"Three— Two— One!"

" _Expelliarmus_!" Astoria yelled.

Perhaps MacLaggen had been expecting Astoria to ask for help because he didn't even manage to raise his wand. Instead, Cormac yelped in surprise as his wand was yanked out of his hand and came to skittering to a halt several feet in front Astoria.

Behind Cormac, Harry was on his knees and Malfoy was laughing hysterically, compelled by magic. Theo had been hit in the face by a flying shoe, probably because he was staring so avidly at George Weasley, who was partnering Padma Patil.

" _Finite Incantatem!_ " yelled Snape commandingly from somewhere in the middle of the panicking crowd. Malfoy stopped laughing and regained his feet. His hair was disheveled and he was glaring daggers at Harry.

"That was a lucky first try," said MacLaggen lightly, stooping to pick up his wand. "You got me before I was in position. Let's go again."

There was something a little bitter about he way he said this and Astoria guessed that he did appreciate losing to a female.

"Are you going to disarm _me_ this time?" asked Astoria, smiling pleasantly.

"Yeah," said Cormac hesitantly, not quite daring to curse her.

" _Expelliarmus_!" said Astoria, this time with more confidence.

With a gratifying " _Oof!_ " MacLaggen's wand zoomed sharply from between his fingers. Cormac _himself_ was pushed back several steps, where he collided with Draco. Draco pushed Cormac away rouchly, forcing him to grab the stage to avoid falling.

"Hah!" laughed Cormac flatly in an attempt to save face, brushing velvet lint off the front of his shirt. "Little spitfire, isn't she?"

Malfoy shot him a look of such unexpected loathing that Cormac quickly gathered himself and limped back toward Astoria.

"Ok, my turn now," he muttered, rubbing the shoulder where Malfoy had pushed him.

"Does it hurt?" asked Astoria, trying very hard not to laugh.

"Hmm, I think I'd better teach you to block unfriendly spells," said Lockhart, surveying the damage around him. Cormac's shoulders relaxed, evidentially relived that he would not have to choose between cursing Astoria and being thrown across the room again. "How about a volunteer pair?" suggested Lockhart, motioning towards Justin and Neville.

Once again, Snape interfered and it was Harry and Draco who were obliged to climb up onto the stage. The crowd moved in curiously, some still able-bodied and others wincing or holding theirs heads at a tilt to staunch bloody noses.

Snape bent close to Draco in order to consult with him. Harry was stuck with Lockhart, who made several grandiose motions before dropping his wand by accident.

"Three— two—" Harry blanched, unsure of what he was supposed to be doing, "one!"

Harry raised his wand determinedly but Draco was faster. With a shout, Draco conjured a large, hostile looking snake as thick as a man's arm.

"Buh!" shivered Cormac, taking a huge step back as the snake fell onto the staging with a slap. He was not the only one who withdrew, either: Susan Bones tread heavily on Astoria's foot in an effort to push herself further away. Cormac shook his head. "I hate snakes..."

The snake reared back its lethal looking head, fangs poised before Justin Finch-Fletchley.

Snape seemed to decide that things had gone far enough because he sprung forward, but not fast enough. With a strange hissing sound, Harry crept closer to the snake, which went remarkably still.

Goosebumps ran up and down Astoria's arms as the giant serpent turned obediently toward Harry, hypnotized. Harry opened his mouth again and the same, otherworldly hissing sound came out of it. The snake slumped, the fight completely drained out of it. Harry looked up, grinning foolishly at Justin.

Justin was white as a sheet and trembling. He yelled something and then began to push his way through the crowd. Dark muttering went up along the hall. The snake had vanished but nobody seemed any more keen to approach the stage. Ron had taken hold of Harry's arm and was pulling him away from Snape, who for the first time all night, looked wary.

"What was _that_?" burst Cormac MacLaggen suspiciously.

"I don't know," said Astoria blankly, knowing that what she had just witnessed something very incriminating but not quite able to rearrange the details so that they applied to Harry.

Theodore was staring at Astoria grimly and motioning with his head. She broke away and followed Theodore out into the shadowy entrance hall. The murmuring pandemonium of the Great Hall was a dull thunder here but, without stopping, Theo stalked away toward the entrance to the dungeons. Several sets of armor turned to watch, their visors creaking rustily, sensing intriguing gossip.

"C'mon," Theo muttered, taking the dungeon steps three at a time.

The underground passage was darker but bare. There was no armor here and the sound of other voices had largely fallen away. The flames in the torch brackets guttered and spit as a draft ripped down the passageway.

"Potter's a _parselmouth_?" demanded Theodore accusingly.

"A what?" asked Astoria, fighting to recall this vaguely familiar word.

"He can talk to snakes!" said Theo, gesturing to the floor sharply as though there were snakes slithering beneath them as they spoke. "A parselmouth! Did all of you Gryffindors know about this?"

"No," Astoria denied hotly. "It's not like we all hold a conference about what we're going to hide from the rest of the school every semester. I had no idea Harry could talk to snakes. Even Ron looked surprised!"

"He should be, if he didn't know!" said Theo. "It's a rare and dark gift, snake language. You can't be taught it."

"You can't?" asked Astoria, slightly taken aback. She was beginning to recollect hearing the term 'parselmouth' once or twice before in old bedtime stories about frightening wizards who led little children out of their homes.

"No," said Theo. "You have to be _born_ a parseltongue. There's only a handful of wizards who have ever claimed to be able to talk to snakes and proved it!"

"Anybody _other_ than Herpo the Foul?" Astoria needled sarcastically, referencing the bedtime story she remembered best about a creepy man who had fed small children to his basilisk in ancient Greece.

"How about Salazar Slytherin?" suggested Theo pointedly. "That's what he was famous for. It's no coincidence that Slytherin house's symbol is a snake. Come on, Astoria, how do you _not_ know this?"

Astoria's skin was beginning to crawl again because she _did_ know this. Theo's words seemed to be bringing a lot of it back to her.

"You know what this means?" said Theo energetically.

"Maybe Harry's related to Slytherin really distantly?" suggested Astoria feebly. "The Potters are a pretty old, pure-blooded family."

"And _what_ would that make Harry?" demanded Theo in a leading voice.

"Slytherins...descendant?" answered Astoria evasively.

"Descendants inherit the genetics of their forefathers, therefore making Harry an...?"

"Heir!" Astoria snapped. "Yes, I get it! I see where you're going, but I don't believe for a second that it was Harry who attacked Colin and Mrs. Norris!"

"Astoria!" whispered Theo gravely, the same manic energy that he applied to particularly interesting philosophy lighting up his expression. "What are the odds that there are _two_ relatives of Slytherin at school?"

"I don't know," Astoria scoffed, beginning to become put off by the conversation, "but Harry's really not like that. I don't think he _cares_ about blood status."

"He hates the muggles he grew up with," Theo pointed out. "Maybe he's got it in for all of them and Granger is just an exception."

"That is the stupidest thing I have ever heard," said Astoria stubbornly.

A rumbling on the steps behind them indicated that the other Slytherins were flooding down the hall.

"What are you doing down here, Greengrass?" called Malfoy, tugging on Crabbe's shirt to stop him from barreling onward with the rest of the crowd. "Having a little conference about the Boy Who Lived?"

"You think Harry is Slytherin's Heir too, do you?" Astoria sighed in exasperation.

"Of _course_ not," snapped Draco, narrowing his eyes. "Potter, the Heir of Slytherin? He doesn't have the wits."

"Well he has the lineage, apparently," argued Theo.

"As if!" Malfoy sneered scornfully. "That was probably a trick Lockhart taught him. Potter's a bigger muggle lover than Dumbledore."

Pansy and her crew of girls came into sight, whispering excitedly. Pansy's head turned when she spotted Draco and she stopped in her tracks entirely when she spotted Astoria. Flora looked around in confusion but Pansy had already reassembled her face into one of polite curiosity.

"Lost, Astoria?" she asked, her pug-like nostrils flaring. "I thought you lived in the tower with snake boy. Or are you hiding down here because you mussed up MacLaggen?"

"What _did_ you do to MacLaggen?" asked Theodore with renewed interest. "Did you punch him? I thought I saw him nursing his shoulder."

" _Draco_ pushed him into the stage," insisted Astoria accusingly. " _I_ never hit him."

"I only pushed him because you hexed him into me," insisted Draco defensively. "What was I suppose to do, let him hang on me?"

"I _disarmed_ him into you," said Astoria sharply. "You and Harry were the only ones I saw hexing each other."

"It's a good thing that you're a pure-blood, Draco," said Theo, raising his voice to make himself heard. "If Harry's a parseltongue, odds are, he's the Heir you been idolizing."

"Why don't we continue this in _our_ common room," Pansy suggested, wheedling for a way of excluding Astoria.

Pansy needn't have bothered. Even though neither Draco nor Theo showed any signs of moving, Astoria was itching to go.

"Think what you want Theo, I'm going to bed," Astoria sighed.

She scaled the dungeon steps irritably. Only when she reached the shadowy, now-deserted entrance hall did it occur to her that nearly a whole castle separated her from her tower dormitory. Perhaps it was because of the way Harry's voice had sounded at the dueling club (so low and inhuman), or perhaps it was because of Theodore's suspicious excitement, but Astoria was suddenly afraid and she half wished she had asked someone to walk with her.

Shivering, she pulled her school robes tight around her shoulders and set off at a brisk pace. The wind rattled the windows. Every breath Astoria took, she imagined from the perspective of a monster lurking somewhere out of sight. By the time Astoria reached the portrait of the Fat Lady and issued the password in a rapid voice, it didn't matter that her family had been pure-blooded for a dozen generations; she was certain that she had only escaped death by inches.

She slept with her blankets pulled up over her head that night, breathing awkwardly through a gap in her sheets.

0o0

* * *

Belladonna, what are _you_ doing here? To be honest, I thought it was more fun to have Astoria stay at Hogwarts over Christmas in the next chapter than to send her home and I wanted to touch base with the adult world before next summer. I also rather liked the idea of seeing Lucius and Belladonna interact with each other. I've decided that there is a reason they don't particularly like each other, an old beef if you will, (before anyone gets grossed out, they did _not_ date) that will probably come out in a much later chapter.

Until then, I have a few things to address but if author notes aren't your thing, feel free to skip and I'll be back in a couple of days with a full chapter!

Firstly, I want to quickly say a few things about how irksome Draco is in the earlier years. I _know_ it's no fun to read about him being a bigoted, snide jerk but I really think that in order to keep his character canon, some of that attitude has to remain, particularly in his youth. It's always tempting to write pleasant Draco and Astoria moments but I actually think that the fact that Draco is quite taken with her would probably even _further_ prevent him from coming across as agreeable right now. Anyone who has ever had an awkward crush _knows_ what an ass it can make out of a person. I think the fact that Draco genuinely likes Astoria, (who is never overly obvious about whether or not she is fond of _him_ ) is partially to blame for some of Draco's self-conscious unpleasantness. Draco is a bit of a coward and I have a hard time picturing him putting himself on the line in a soft, obvious way unless he was very certain that the feeling would be returned and that he would not be made fun of. Ergo, a lot of his conversations with Astoria come across as either naggy or mocking, mostly because I don't think he really knows how to appeal to her. I'm sorry guys, just give him time!

I also want to talk about Theodore smoking. I sort of knew while I was writing it that the idea would not be very popular. Preteen smoking is always pretty cringeworthy, so I'll respect anyone who who loathes his new habit. That being said however, I picture Theo as the type of kid who is very anxious to be seen as mature or 'grown up'. I think his intellect and his common sense probably outstrip most of his peers and I picture him being slightly frustrated by that. Picking up smoking seems like the type of dumb thing that a kid might do in order to cultivate the self-image of a worldly, adult-like person. Slytherins also seem to make pretty poor choices on who they take for role models and I feel like the fact that Belladonna (who Theodore secretly admires for her sarcasm and her ability to be exactly who she is without compromising) smokes, probably has some influence as well. Rest assured. With maturity, he'll probably grow out of fake crutches to prove his competence.

In any case, thanks so much for reading! I'll put up the Christmas chapter as soon as it's completely ready!


	10. Tracey

Chapter Ten

Tracey

* * *

0o0

Astoria awoke the next morning to find that the cheerful snow of the day before had been replaced by a swirling blizzard. The castle was darker than it usually was during the daytime and the only view afforded by the windows was one of thick, white obscurity.

A chilly wind kept blowing out the fires in the braziers, making the library cold and musty as Astoria sat going over her final homework assignment for Professor Binns. Snow battered the wide windows with such a fury that it did not take much imagination to pretend that she was either underwater or sitting at the center of an unfinished universe.

"Dad wishes you a merry Christmas," said Theo, breaking the silence and blushing slightly.

"He sent you a letter?" asked Astoria.

Mr. Nott was not in the habit of keeping regular correspondence with his son. Astoria had a vague suspicion that this had more to do with Mr. Nott's relative confusion over what day it was rather than a lack of interest, but she also suspected that it bothered Theodore nonetheless.

"Yeah," said Theodore, making an amendment to his timeline of famous trolls. "He wanted to let me know that he'd be collecting me from King's Cross when break starts. I can't believe you're staying here! I was counting on you being at your aunt's house so that I would have a place to escape during the day. Christmas is going to be so _boring_."

"You could stay at Hogwarts?" suggested Astoria hopefully.

"Dad's already got everything planned out," mumbled Theo morosely. "If I change the arrangements now, it'll be an uproar."

"Well, tell him happy holidays for me," said Astoria. "At least you'll get a proper Christmas, you know. With family and all. It'll be just Daphne and I here and we don't even get to share a common room."

"Malfoy, Crabbe and Goyle are staying too," Theo reminded her, smirking. "I'm sure _they_ won't mind if you stay in the Slytherin dormitories with your sister over the holiday."

Astoria snorted. "Can you imagine?"

"I think Malfoy would quite like it, actually," said Theo, shooting Astoria a strange glance.

"Why's that?" Astoria asked, borrowing Theo's inkwell because her own was dry and clotting.

"Well, he certainly goes out of his way to hunt you down. I hardly _ever_ have to talk to him when I'm not with you. You'd think sharing a common room would actually be a bit of a relief on his part."

"And you _know_ how I live to make it easier for people to harass me!" added Astoria brightly. "It could be my Christmas gift. Two whole weeks of nothing but time to pick on me. He'd be hoarse in three days."

Theo shook his head and snickered. "Now _that's_ what you get for the person who has everything."

"Money just can't buy a good pestering like it used to," Astoria sighed falsely.

Theo did not laugh but continued to stare at his textbook mutely, his shoulders rigid.

"What?" asked Astoria, looking around for the source of his discomfort only to find that the library was quite deserted. Astoria was about to turn back toward Theodore in concern when she spotted a long, dark braid behind the nearest bookshelf.

"Really, Theo!" Astoria huffed, putting her quill down the length of her book to mark her page. "This is getting ridiculous. Do you want me to talk to her?"

"Talk to who?" asked Theo irritably, still not looking up from his homework.

"Do you want me to say her name out loud?" asked Astoria threateningly.

"Whose name?" asked Theo stoutly, a faint crimson working its way up out of his robes.

"Pa—"

" _Shut up!_ " Theo hissed.

Astoria grinned wickedly. "Why won't you just admit that you like her? That's the sort of thing friends talk about!"

" _Girlfriends_ , maybe!" spat Theodore, loosening his tie a little. Emotions were not Theodore's forte and in the face of overwhelming ones he tended to grow angry and unsure of himself.

"It's natural, you know," said Astoria, trying to be reassuring but coming off rather patronizing for her efforts.

Padma pulled a book from the shelf and passed them both quietly on her way to Madam Pince, unaware of the intense scrutiny she was under.

"Very well then!" burst Theo tersely the moment she had gone. He threw his quill down and looked up at last. "If you _insist,_ let's talk about it. Let's talk about feelings and be _emotional_ together."

He pronounced the word 'emotional' so slowly and with such sarcasm that it came out sounding rather more like ' _ee-mow-tional_ ' and there was nothing Astoria could do to hide her amusement.

"Oh sure, laugh away!" said Theo, offended. "You're the one who keeps bringing it up!"

"Because every time she comes within twenty feet of us, you get all queer and freaky!" argued Astoria, employing great self-restraint to avoid laughing.

"That's the thing," said Theo tensely, "I don't even know if I really _do_ like her! I don't know her at all!"

"Then talk to her!" Astoria moaned.

"What would I say?" asked Theo, his face betraying real confusion. "'I don't know you, but your presence makes me 'freaky and queer'?' People don't just go around admitting things like that!"

"How about, 'Geez, I see you studying in here all the time. What are you working on?'" suggested Astoria helpfully. "Don't you have any of the same classes together? Surely there's some assignment you two could work on."

"Ugh," spluttered Theo, looking as though the idea caused him physical pain.

"I could befriend her for you, if you like," said Astoria pensively, holding up a hand when Theo began to look alarmed. "I told you already, I knew her when I was younger. It wouldn't be very weird for me to ask her to help me with Charms or something. And then you can tag along and figure out if you have anything in common!"

"No," said Theo flatly. "I don't care if you two used to take _baths_ together, I'm positive you'd end up leering at her like a vulture."

"Do I frequently leer at people like a vulture?" asked Astoria querulously.

Theo opened his mouth to retort when a shout overhead made them both fall silent.

"ATTACK! ATTACK! NO MORTAL OR GHOST IS SAFE! RUN FOR YOUR LIVES! ATAAAACK!"

"What the hell?" breathed Theo.

"Was that Peeves?" asked Astoria.

The sound of doors crashing open all along the hallway made them both rise to their feet. Forgetting their bags, both Theo and Astoria jogged out into the corridor. The majority of the sound seemed to be coming from upstairs, so they ran up the nearest flight of steps together, darting glances at one another until they ran into Ernie Macmillan, who seemed to be doing them same thing that they were.

Students were spilling out of classrooms and obstructing the view, but there could be no denying the ghastly sight before them. Justin Finch-Fletchley, the Hufflepuff that had nearly been bitten by Draco's charmed snake the night before, was lying on the ground petrified. Floating in the air horizontally, newly dark and most chilling of all, was Nearly Headless Nick.

Professor Mcgonagall raised her wand and a sonorous bang echoed off the stone walls. "Back to class!" she commanded furiously. "All of you!"

It was only then that Astoria spotted Harry with his back against the wall, looking both frightened and cornered.

Theo was tugging on the back of Astoria's robes like a small toddler so Astoria stumbled toward the stairs after him.

"I knew it!" Theodore hissed the second they were around the corner. "There's been another attack and Potter was caught at the scene of the crime!"

"Theo," said Astoria slowly, measuring her words carefully as they reentered the library because she very much wanted him to understand the matter as she did, "use your formidable deductive reasoning for a second. Nothing about what we just saw proves that Harry had _anything_ to do with the attack. Being in the hallway doesn't mean anything. _We_ were in the hallway too."

"Because Peeves started yelling," said Theodore reasonably.

"Still," said Astoria. "I know Harry a little. He seems like a nice guy. He's loyal to his _friends_." Astoria stressed this last point carefully. "His blood traitorous, _muggle-born_ friends."

"Fine!" said Theodore, looking harassed. "I might _not_ be Potter, but personally, I really hope it is."

"Why?" gaped Astoria, who could not think of a more disappointing or shocking candidate.

"You should _hear_ the way everybody goes on about the Heir in my common room," complained Theodore darkly. "He's like a hero down there. I'd just love to see the look on Malfoy's face if it turned out to be Potter all along."

"Well, I wouldn't," said Astoria flatly, her insides strangely dull with the ache of unhappiness this would cause her. _Wasn't the world a better place with a least one sodding hero in it?_

"I guess we'll find out tonight at dinner," said Theo, missing the quivering look on her face. "We'll know by then if Dumbledore had to expel him."

In the end, Harry reappeared for the last class of the day looking ashen faced and shaky but determinedly not expelled. Astoria rejoiced at the sight of him, seeing it as a victory against Theodore's theory.

Fred and George did nothing to assuage the blossoming general opinion of Harry's guilt, however. They both turned up as the bell rang to escort Harry to dinner, frog marching him through the halls and shouting: "Make way for the Heir of Slytherin! Nasty Wizard coming through!"

Harry took it in stride and while he did not laugh, he did seem relived that the twins were not taking the idea of his attacking students very seriously.

"Not so close now!" Fred warned a group of third year Hufflepuffs who had strayed too near. "His monster bites!"

Most of the Gryffindors seemed to find this new act vaguely amusing but Astoria, who spent more time among the other houses, could tell that they were the minority. The Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw tables both eyed Harry darkly all through dinner and the Slytherin table had the audacity to actually declare itself nearly annoyed.

Malfoy in particular looked as though he had swallowed a lemon. When Fred and George got up to follow Harry toward the tower and demanded, "Should Harry pop off to the Chamber for a word with his servant? Team huddle!" Astoria very distinctly heard Draco whisper loudly to Blaise in return, "Did he just say _Team Muggle_?"

0o0

The term ended as the blizzard blew itself out. The grounds were buried a foot deep in untouched snow. With the exception of the deep tracks that led to the horseless carriages that had been used to convey homebound students toward the train station platform, the sloping lawn remained pristine and glistening.

Astoria rose around noon and found that the common room had been transformed overnight. Great wreaths of sparkling holly adorned the doorways and stockings had been hung above the hearth. Someone, (most likely a house elf) had even painstakingly sewn the remaining student's names onto these stockings, so that it was rather like they had been bequeathed clubhouse all their own.

The Weasleys, Harry and Hermione were the only other students in Astoria's house who had stayed behind, and they were all sprawled about in armchairs or on the rug in front of the fire in varying states of relaxation playing exploding snap when she descended from her dormitory.

"Astoria!" called George merrily from an armchair, putting down what looked like a pair of knitting needles. In his lap sat a half finished sewing project that she could only assume was destined to become a muff. "You're up!"

"I am," said Astoria, staring at the muff suspiciously. "What is _that_?"

"A sweater!" said George proudly, pushing the pale pink blob off his lap and kicking it out of sight under the chair. "A Weasley sweater to be exact. NOT that it's meant for your prying eyes."

"At least, not until it's finished," Fred amended mischievously.

"Why's that?" asked Astoria thickly. She stared in horror as his meaning dawned on her. "You don't mean I'll have to _wear_ that?"

"Of course you will! Mum makes us all one every year, only I forgot to write her and mention that you'd be staying with us," explained Fred apologetically. "We don't want to bother her now."

"But never fear," pressed George, trying to ram the spool of yarn down between the cushions so that Astoria wouldn't be able to see it, "Fred and I have taken on the job of knitting you up a nice Weasley sweater so that you can match the rest of us!"

"Well, semi-match," amended Fred, tossing a pillow over the hastily stowed yarn. "We can't guarantee that you'll have armholes."

"Or even proper sleeves for that matter," added George.

"It looks like a bloody pot holder!" declared Fred miserably. "Who knew how _hard_ sewing was? To think, mum makes seven of these every year! Eight last year, if you include Harry's! The woman needs a hobby."

"She has a hobby," insisted George unctuously. "She _knits_ , you nit."

Astoria smiled politely and slipped toward the portrait hole, trying not to think about the horrible pink monstrosity destined for her back on Christmas morning.

Even though it was nearly lunch, the Great Hall still smelled like bacon and coffee and the lingering scent of so many morning meals was enough to make her mouth water. Astoria's primary goal, however, was to find Daphne and she was not disappointed. Daphne was sitting in the middle of the Slytherin table writing a letter but she was not alone; Tracey Davis was sitting with her as well.

Astoria had quite taken for granted the fact that she and Daphne would be alone together for Christmas. So much so, that she had never stopped to consider if any of Daphne's Slytherin friends might be staying as well. Astoria could not prevent herself from being disappointed. It had been a very long time since she and Daphne had been able to be properly alone with each other and she could not help but view Tracey as an invasion.

"Hey," said Astoria awkwardly, sitting down and pulling a carafe of coffee across the table towards her.

"Hi!" Daphne beamed, forgetting about her letter and Astoria felt some of her fear subside. "Happy holidays! Tracey and I were just writing a letter to Pansy, telling her all about break."

Astoria sipped her lukewarm coffee, and tried not to pull a face. "Term only ended last night. Isn't that a little..."

"Premature?" prompted Tracey Davis sarcastically, eyeing Daphne with kind but slightly harassed eyes.

"Prompt!" Daphne corrected. "She told us to write straight away and let her know who is staying! This way she'll get the letter when she arrives home."

Astoria didn't know which was worse: the act of feeling obligated to write to Pansy as fast as humanly possible or the fact that Daphne seemed to think this was a pleasure instead of a chore.

"I'm sure Pansy will have plenty to do when she gets home," reasoned Tracey. "I say we table the letter until tomorrow and go outside and have fun."

This was a more reasonable request than Astoria expected from any of Pansy's friends and she took a moment to study Tracey curiously.

Tracey's short, concise blonde bob ended at her angular chin in thin, sharply trimmed but wispy tips. It looked soft as a fresh paintbrush and if Astoria had been able to freeze the world for a second, she might have run her fingers through it just to know what it felt like. Tracey's face, however, was _not_ very feminine, Astoria decided, but there was something interestingly androgynous about the shape of it. Altogether, she reminded Astoria of a milky-pale boy that had not yet reached manhood, marked here and there across her cheeks by freckles.

"But I've already started," complained Daphne, pen poised obediently in her hand.

"So have the holidays," returned Tracey in a bored voice. "Not that anyone would _know_ it."

Astoria could not help but feel that Tracey had a point. They were the only ones sitting in the otherwise deserted hall which still bore the evidence of the hundreds of people who had eaten heartily there hours before. Even the staff table was uncharacteristically empty, save for a few bottles and a forgotten fur cap.

"Where are the teachers?" asked Astoria lightly, trying not to look at the length of the letter Daphne was composing.

"Either at the train supervising or else sleeping in for the first time in weeks," suggested Tracey confidently. "Must be a relief for them not to have to worry about students getting picked off. There's only about twenty of us left and you'd have to be really stupid to stay if you weren't at least a half blood." Tracey ran her fingers through her thin hair, trying to force volume into its limp form and then pointed toward the staff table. "What do you think was in those bottles?"

Astoria's gaze worked across the green, wine shaped glass the teachers had opened that morning and grinned. "I don't know. Bet it wasn't pumpkin juice."

"Oh, don't!" whined Daphne as Tracey stood up, revealing herself to be surprisingly tall and almost painfully thin. "They'll all be back soon!"

"We'll hear them coming," said Tracey, dismissing the warning. "This hall is like an echo chamber."

Astoria sat back in her chair, both impressed and surprised. Tracey turned one of the bottles about leisurely, betraying no skittishness as she read the label.

"Madam Rosmerta's mulled mead!" she called to them, smiling in a self satisfied way. "I guess it's a good thing those carriages drive themselves. What's this?" Tracey's inquisitive fingers had a brown manilla folder.

Astoria pushed out of her seat and went to join Tracey. It occurred to her that she had never been behind the staff table before and the moment she found herself on the other side, the act began to strike her as a more rebellious than it had appeared from below. "

There's got to be ten bottles here," said Astoria, counting. "What's in the folder?"

"Hah," said Tracey, lifting a bottle up to the light. "Cheers! They missed one, look this hasn't even been opened."

Astoria's hand had stopped to hover over the manilla folder. Who knew what secrets it might contain? All of a sudden, she was fighting a mad, irresistible urge to grab the folder and run.

"Don't you even think about it, Astoria!" Daphne cautioned from below, punctuating a sentence tensely, wise to what was going on in her sister's head.

Astoria looked toward Tracey, prepared to judge from her new friend's facial expression how likely it was that she would tattle if Astoria made off with the folder. Tracey was already looking at Astoria in precisely the same manner regarding the bottle of mead that she had discovered.

Astoria raised an eyebrow and that was all the courage Tracey needed to tuck the bottle down the front of her sweater, where it bulged like a poorly concealed, wine-shaped secret.

The sound of the front door opening rattled through the hall.

Tracey was off the stage in the blink of an eye and after a split second's hesitation, Astoria snagged up the folder and followed.

"Why did you _do_ that?" Daphne rattled. "You'll get caught! Why do you do these things, Astoria? It's annoying!"

Filch and Professor Flitwick entered the hall. Astoria sat on the folder she had just taken and spread out her skirt to cover it.

"This one here," Filch growled, pointing to a puddle beneath one of the enchanted Christmas trees. "The magical snow keeps melting."

Astoria grinned sheepishly but Tracey did not look at all embarrassed about her own bit of thievery.

"The second those two turn around," Tracey whispered, "let's make a break for the door and head outside. Put that letter away, Daphne!"

Daphne made a face of discomfort tinged with anger. It was clear that she would prefer to remain exactly where she was until she had finished writing and that she had no desire to take stolen goods into the snow.

"Come on," Astoria pleaded. "It'll be fun!"

It was Daphne's last chance. Flitwick had bent down to reach the floor and Filch was peering over his small shoulder, waiting tensely to see the offending mess be removed. There would be no better opportunity for running. Tracey was already on her feet.

With a twinge of regret, Astoria twitched the folder out from underneath her own weight. Holding it close to her chest, Astoria ran as fast as she dared down the length of the table behind Tracey, who was snorting with laughter. They burst into the entrance hall and Tracey's sniggering suddenly turned into a sound of alarm as they nearly ran headlong into Malfoy, Crabbe and Goyle.

The mead bottle in Tracey's sweater slipped so far down that, for a moment, Astoria was certain it would shatter on the stone floor, but Tracey somehow managed to catch hold of it and duck under Crabbe's arm. Astoria was not so agile and she shoulder checked Malfoy and Goyle. Malfoy stumbled but Goyle remained unmoved; a mountain in a high wind.

"What are you _doing_?" jeered Malfoy, taking in both of their delighted faces with a look of surprise.

"Nothing," shot Tracey suspiciously, forcing what was clearly the bottom of a bottle back up into her sweater.

A sudden sound near the doorway caused them both to freeze all over again. Someone was whistling 'Jingle Bells" and approaching rapidly from the other side.

"It's Sprout!" Tracey hissed urgently. Hide that folder, Astoria! You don't know who it belonged to!"

But Astoria had nowhere to hide the folder. Her shirt was tucked in and she didn't even have so much as a hat to take off in order to cover it.

"Take this," whispered Astoria pleadingly, pressing the folder at Draco. "You've got a cloak on!"

"What are you talking about? What is this?" Draco sneered, slightly flabbergasted and unwilling to take on smuggled contraband of mysterious origins.

"Just take it!"

The whistling drew nearer. In a panic, Astoria grabbed Malfoy by the front of his robes and forced him backward against the wall. Draco made a stunned, nasal sound as she pushed him into the stone. Taking advantage of his pink faced shock, Astoria began to forcibly undo and stuff the folder into his cloak herself.

Draco wriggled and tried to grab her arm, but either because he was afraid to let her continue rummaging about in his clothing or because he was afraid of letting Professor Sprout walk in them while she was doing so, he relented just in time for Astoria to turn around and block the half-concealed folder from view.

"Happy Christmas, Professor Sprout!" Astoria called out merrily, nudging the folder further into Draco's robes with her hand because she could still see it, causing Malfoy to jump about a foot in the process. Crabbe stared at her ponderously.

Tracey had one arm across her chest and had turned her back to the door so that she could pretend to look at a suit of armor in a crown of golden spruce. Astoria could tell by the way her shoulders were moving that she was laughing silently.

"Merry Christmas, dear!" said Professor Sprout, waving a cheery hand at them. The moment she had gone through, Tracey doubled over and this time the bottle nearly dropped out the neck of her shirt instead.

"Come on!" Tracey dove for Astoria and grabbed her. Draco sill had the mysterious folder, however, so Astoria took hold of a nudging handful of his winter cloak and all three of them spilled out the front door into the snow together. After a second's pause, Crabbe and Goyle lumbered after them into the blinding whiteness.

Tracey was positively cackling with glee. "I said stash the folder," she panted at last, "not molest Malfoy!"

Malfoy scowled, confused and perhaps a little resentful of being pushed around without an explanation.

"What am I holding?" he asked in annoyance, withdrawing the folder. He was still faintly pink and there was something about his expression that spoke of wishing to save face.

"Look at this, it's Madam Rosmerta's stock," said Tracey Davis, handing her stolen bottle to Draco. He turned the faded label upward. A light snow was still falling. "It came from the teachers table about fifteen seconds before Filch walked in."

Malfoy raised an eyebrow. "This stuff is famous, isn't it?" he asked, balancing the bottle slightly as though testing its weight.

Astoria shrugged and turned toward Tracey, who seemed to know more than she did.

"Rosmerta only sells those in small batches," said Tracey knowledgeably. "I figure Hagrid and old Kettleburn must have got them to celebrate the start of the holidays."

"Isn't that _just_ the Hogwart's staff to be drinking at _breakfast_ ," drawled Malfoy.

Tracey reached for the bottle in Malfoy's hand but he tugged it away from her somewhat maliciously.

"I should claim a smuggler's fee," he sneered. "You're lucky I didn't just sell you both out to Sprout."

Astoria, not wanting to be caught in the middle of a Slytherin bickering match, agreed before Tracey could try to strike a harder bargain. "We'll all try it. We owe it to Draco for making it out of the castle and look," she said, taking the mead out of Malfoy's hand, surprised when he let it go, "it's stronger than butterbeer. If you drank all this yourself, you'd end up trying to make out with Filch, Tracey."

Tracey made a sound halfway between a scream of contempt and a laugh.

"Yeah, Davis?" asked Astoria, grinning impishly. "That would just _make_ your holidays, wouldn't it?"

Crabbe and Goyle were both lifting their feet and kicking snow like restless horses.

"What 'bout the Great Hall?" asked Crabbe, who did not seem to have any interest in the wonderland that was the frosted Hogwarts grounds.

"You two go," said Draco, waving them off without any interest.

Crabbe shrugged, but in the end, he didn't seem to care either way.

The path Astoria wanted to take led down toward the outskirts of the forbidden forest. She did not plan to penetrate deeply into its mysterious depths, but she _did_ have a notion that it would be very pretty under the branches and that the snow might be lighter on the ground. With that reasoning in mind, they set off along the deep track that the rest of the students had used that morning, slipping and sliding where the snow had become compact and slick.

Malfoy stopped when the easy path ended, allowing Tracey to be the first to test the new ice. Astoria followed, running and then gliding across a frozen puddle, grabbing Tracey laughingly by the shoulders to stop herself from falling headlong into a bank of snow.

As they reached the trees, Astoria's laughter began to sound oddly muffled and close to her own ears. The heavy evergreen branches overhead sagged with snow and here and there, small saplings bent low to the ground, weeping icicles. Her breath rose in front of her like smoke from a cheerful fire, fading to nothing with each exhale. Tracey's eyes, which Astoria had just begun to think of as permanently serious and skeptical, were now wide with delight.

Astoria handed the mead back over to Malfoy and took the folder from him. Draco began to pull the foil off the top of the bottle, which was sealed with a cork and capped with wax. "I don't suppose either of you thought to bring a corkscrew?" he asked.

"This is why girls are handier than boys," said Tracey in a sing-song voice. She pulled out her wand and tapped the glistening wax cap. _"Waddiwasi!"_

The cork shot out and bounced off of a nearby tree trunk with a dull thwack, causing several inches of snow to rain down between the branches.

"A little warning might have been nice," said Malfoy snidely, eyeing the site of the sudden avalanche nervously.

"Snow never hurt anyone," said Tracey, unperturbed. "This mead tastes like chutney."

"Is that a good thing or a bad thing?" asked Astoria, accepting the bottle and sniffing it. At first swallow it reminded Astoria little of spiced honey and she could sort of see what Tracey had meant by chutney, but a second sip proved that the mead was both seasonal and pleasant. Astoria passed it off to Draco and flicked snow off of the mysterious folder.

"So whats your deal, Davis?" Astoria asked, flipping the folder open. "Why aren't you at home for break?"

Tracey shrugged and sat down on a stump. "My grandmother is in St. Mungo's and my mother is staying in London with her 'till she recovers. I guess she thought Roger and I would have a better Christmas here."

"Roger Davis is your brother, then?" asked Astoria, prickling with interest. "Isn't he the captain of the Ravenclaw quidditch team?"

"Thinking of bribing him too, are you?" shot Malfoy, picking up on her enthusiasm and shooting her a sharp, knowing look.

"Wait, what?" asked Tracey, glancing between Draco and Astoria, aware that she had missed something.

"Nothing," said Astoria at once. "Malfoy's being weird."

Draco narrowed his eyes over the bottle of mead, but he did not go on to mention Marcus Flint's gambling commission.

"Roger's happy to stay, I think," Tracey went on. "He's got his O.W.L's this year, so it's a good chance for him to study. He's a Ravenclaw and they take that sort of thing too seriously for their own good."

"Must be hard juggling team captaincy and trying to bone up for the exams at the same time," remarked Astoria sympathetically, earning another reproving look from Malfoy.

"I _guess_ ," scoffed Tracey, who Astoria could tell was beginning to find the topic of her brother slightly boring. "The way things are going though, they'll have to close the school before he even gets a chance to take the test."

Malfoy scoffed. "They won't _close_ the school. They'll just sack Dumbledore. Hogwarts is better off, I say. It's about time that we had a decent headmaster who won't let idiots like that Creevey in."

Astoria was busy reading the papers in front of her. It was a transcript of the minutes from the last meeting of the School Governors. While much of it was official and boring, certain snippets on the pages stood out to Astoria. Amelia Bones had suggested closing the school over break and hiring a team of Magical Experts to sweep the school from top to bottom...

"Is it true that Potter's a parselmouth?" asked Tracey curiously, paying no mind to Malfoy, whose opinion she had probably heard opined many times before in the Slytherin common room.

"Everyone seems to think so," remarked Astoria, liking this topic far less. "Weren't you at the dueling club?"

"Yes," said Tracey, "but as you're actually in Gryffindor, I thought you must know."

"I don't know any better than you do," said Astoria honestly. "It sounded real enough, though. I've never heard anyone make noises that way before."

"Neither have I," Tracey admitted, "but I'm not convinced Potter was actually sicking the snake on what's-his-face."

"Finch-Fletchley," supplied Astoria.

"Stupid name, that," said Tracey. "It almost looked like Potter was shaking his head, didn't it?"

"I've been thinking," said Astoria slowly, turning her attention away from the folder at last. "Isn't it possible that the real Heir attacked Justin because he wanted to make it _look_ like Harry did it? You know, as a diversion and Justin was conveniently muggle-born enough?"

Malfoy's eyes were focused on Astoria watchfully. "Saint Potter, the Mudblood protector?" he sneered. "Why even bother? No one actually think's he's responsible."

"That's the thing, though," said Tracey, giving Astoria's words some consideration, "I think a lot of people do."

"If Potter turns out to be the Heir of Slytherin, I'll snap my _own_ wand in half," Malfoy vowed fiercely.

The sound of crunching snow nearby made them all pause. Tracey looked up from her stump and peered over her shoulder nervously. The grounds had appeared quite deserted on their way down, but they were still in possession of a bottle of mead and a folder of secret information and _that_ merited alertness in Astoria's book.

The crunching sound grew sharper. Astoria crouched down next to Tracey; it almost sounded as though the sound was coming from _within_ the forest. Draco, perhaps remembering their last encounter with strange noises in the woods, went pale and ducked.

But it was only Hagrid, snapping through branches and swinging his his arms heavily. Or _was_ it only Hagrid? Astoria looked closer, distracted by the trail of feathers he was leaving in his wake. Sure enough, in the place where Hagrid's arm should have been met by a glove, a very red and ruddy set of fingers was clutching a limp, dead rooster.

Three sets of eyes followed Hagrid as he passed some twenty feet away, heading in the direction of his cabin. Astoria could not tear her gaze away from the dead rooster, which was leaving a trail of fresh blood in the snow.

"What was he holding?" Tracey whispered, "It looked like it was dripping..."

"It was a dead bird," sneered Malfoy, his distaste tempered by his confusion.

"It was a dead _rooster_ ," Astoria corrected quietly, her eyes still fixed on the crimson dots in the snow. After a long beat, both Tracey and Draco seemed to catch the difference.

"I thought the Heir of Slytherin killed all the roosters when he opened the Chamber of Secrets?" Tracey hissed. "Isn't that what he wrote on the wall with? Rooster blood?"

Even Draco looked disconcerted by this coincidence. "Let's get out of here," he muttered. "We should go sit near the owlery or something. This forest is _mental_."

0o0

The image of Hagrid and the limp, dead rooster clung to Astoria for the next few days like a bad memory, corrupting the seasonally idyllic image that the teacher's table would have otherwise cut.

Perhaps to make up for the horrors of the past semester, or perhaps because they were simply in desperate need of something to celebrate, the Hogwarts staff was determined to turn down and enjoy the holiday. Hagrid went on doing what he had always done, trudging about the grounds and joking merrily (tipsily?) with Professor Sprout at dinner. Still, Astoria could not shake the feeling that she had witnessed something incriminating and she found herself toying with the idea of telling someone about it.

"I saw Hagrid in the forest the other day," she informed Fred and George in the common room several nights later. Fred and George were engaged in a game of chess and as the presence of knitting apparatus was miraculously absent, Astoria was content to sleepily watch them play.

"Oh yeah?" asked George, encouraging his bishop towards Fred's rook. "He probably doesn't get any time off from his job when the students leave, does he? Hagrid must stay fairly busy all through break."

"I guess," said Astoria tensely. "It looked like he has a dead bird in his hands when I saw him, you know…"

Astoria stopped herself short of saying ' _rooster'_ , afraid that it would sound as though she was purposefully trying to come across as incriminating.

Fred frowned as George's bishop cruelly bludgeoned one of his pieces.

"Yeah, I saw him in the hallway the day before break started and he was swinging a dead bird around there, too," remarked Fred distractedly. "He must be having trouble with a fox or something. It's a pity he can't just put a charm on the chicken coop. Maybe George and I will have to go down and offer him a hand with some enchantments before term starts again."

"Yeah," said Astoria, feeling a little better at this suggestion. "You should do that. I'm sure he'd appreciate it. He'd never think to ask."

Perhaps it _was_ possible that a fox _had_ killed the bird Hagrid was carrying? That would certainly explain why he had looked so angry...

"Didn't Harry run into Hagrid down Knockturn Alley this summer?" asked George, eyes on the board.

"Yeah, he was looking for flesh-eating slug repellant," agreed Fred "I reckon the man really _could_ use a few handy charms."

"Harry saw Hagrid down Knockturn Alley?" asked Astoria, her spirits plummeting again.

"Yeah," said George. "Remember when we lost Harry and we were looking for him? Well, it turns out Harry came out of Borgin and Burke's floo. Hagrid ended up having to rescue him from a creepy old witch."

"You don't think that's kind of suspicious?" asked Astoria tensely.

"What?" asked Fred, scowling as George's bishop took yet another of his pieces. "The dirty old witch? It's a bit dodgy I guess..."

"No," said Astoria emphatically, "Hagrid being down Knockturn Alley!"

"I dunno," murmured George reasonably. "How many places sell flesh-eating pesticides? Seems logical enough. Come to think of it though, didn't Harry say he saw the Malfoys when he was down there?"

"Yeah!" said Fred, snapping his fingers in recollection. "Lucius was trying to offload a box of Dark Arts stuff on Borgin! Dad thought it must be because of the ministry raids. Talk about suspicious! Someone should be keeping an eye on his kid. What do you reckon that little twerp, Draco is behind the attacks?"

He turned toward Astoria, who shrugged.

In truth, she was reasonably sure that Draco didn't know anything more about who had opened the Chamber of Secrets than she did, but she also could sort of see why the twins would be so quick to suspect him. Draco certainly made no effort to disguise his glee about the whole affair, strutting down corridors with as much haughty swagger as he always had. To avoid an argument, however, Astoria simply sat back in her seat and watched as Fred's last pawn was thrown bodily from the chessboard. Her creeping suspicions about Hagrid sharpened into a sense of alarm.

There was one upshot to her afternoon in the woods. Tracey Davis seemed have found the whole experience to be somewhat bonding and was now actively going out of her way to talk to Astoria. More curiously, perhaps because they had broken the ice by mutually stealing, Tracey seemed determined to go about it by pretending that she and Astoria had always gotten along famously.

"What do you think about Blaise?" Tracey asked the next afternoon.

They were sitting on a set of student couches on the third floor because Astoria could not go to the Slytherin common room to spend time with Daphne. It had been as much of a surprise to Astoria as it had been to her sister when Tracey had caught up with them in the hallway after breakfast and threaded her hands through both their arms, determined to tag along.

"I don't know," said Astoria. "I don't think about him much. He's funny I suppose, in that cruel, observant sort of way."

"He _is_ , isn't he? I think he's rather good looking," Tracey admitted boldly. " _Too_ good looking for me, maybe. His mother is supposed to be famous for her looks."

"Definitely too good looking for you," Astoria agreed, smirking. Daphne made a sound of protest on behalf of her friend so Astoria elaborated. "I think Blaise spends more time grooming than the three of us put together."

Tracey laughed buoyantly. Boys seemed to be a favorite topic of hers despite the way she claimed to disdain them, so she moved on at a rapid pace, tossing out names in a disposable, half invested manner. "What about Miles Bletchley? He likes to talk about you."

"He's a thug," scoffed Astoria thoughtlessly, opening a bag of pistachios that Beatrice had sent Daphne as an early Christmas gift.

"Yes, and he's too ugly for you. You're gorgeous," Tracey paused only to take a handful of nuts from Astoria. "What about you and Theo? He's kind of funny looking, but you two have always seemed awfully close. Does he secretly love you? I bet he does."

Astoria snorted and spit out a shell. "Nah, it's not like that. We're just friends. He fancies some Ravenclaw."

"Oh?" cooed Tracey, her interest suddenly razor sharp. " _Which_ Ravenclaw?"

"I don't know," Astoria lied loyally. "It's just a feeling I've gotten from time to time."

"Well, I don't know about you, but I think Theo would make an awkward boyfriend anyway so maybe it's better that he isn't interested."

This was perhaps true, but Astoria didn't quite have the heart to come right out and say so.

"Do you know Blaise well, then?" Astoria asked, trying to flip around the spotlight. "I mean, do you talk to him a lot?"

"No," Tracey admitted. "I'm always with Pansy and she loves to make an awkward, obvious mess out of things."

Astoria grinned a little at this abuse of Pansy and used her teeth to work open another pistachio. "You ought to get him alone. I think your sense of humor would appeal to him."

"I suppose I can be a bit cutting, as well," said Tracey fairly. "But I'm too thin and I'm bitter. He's probably looking for someone gorgeous and stupid."

"He's stupid then!" said Astoria heartily, refusing to take the conversation especially seriously.

"He probably is," Tracey agreed, smiling wickedly. "My mother always said that women would be better off if we could just date each other. Maybe I'll give being a lesbian a try."

Daphne choked on her pistachio but Astoria laughed loudly as she thumped her sister on the back. "You and Pansy should make a go of it. The whole school would be in an uproar!"

"Pansy's mad about Draco, though," sighed Tracey, perhaps a little _too_ exactly. "I don't think I have the charm to talk her into batting for the other team as long as he's single. You should hear the way she talks about Malfoy's family! You'd think he was a descendant of Merlin himself! I bet she knows his family silver pattern by heart."

Astoria snorted with laughter, not doubting this in the least.

"We should get together and pull off a coup," declared Tracey, her voice lowering conspiratorially. "Astoria, you move in and seduce Draco. Then, when Pansy is moaning about the school all brokenhearted and ready to give up men altogether, _I'll_ make my move."

Daphne had gone slightly splotchy. "That's not funny, Tracey! Pansy is your friend and besides, you wouldn't really trick someone into becoming a lesbian!"

Tracey shrugged rather dispassionately. "I might."

Astoria continued to chuckle to herself, licking salt off of her lips. Tracey peered watchfully.

"You laugh," leered Tracey seriously, "but _I_ think that would work. That's why Pansy hates you so much, you know."

"Because she knows I'm part of a secret plot to turn her into a lesbian?" asked Astoria scornfully.

"Because Malfoy's obsessed with you," snorted Tracey plainly. "He may strut around sneering and talking down to you, but it's no coincidence that he's always showing up wherever you are. If Pansy were really smart, she'd probably just make friends with you, because you don't seem to be interested in him that way."

Astoria snorted at this madness and was surprised to find that Daphne had turned to look at her with similar curiosity coiling beneath her dark eyelashes.

"Come on!" exclaimed Astoria, dismissing the notion as madness. After all, Tracey had thought that Theo was in love as well and this clearly marked her as a poor judge of interest.

"I dunno," said Tracey slyly. "I think if you were to change your tune and be nice to Draco for a change, he'd start singing a whole different song for you."

"What!" Astoria cried, clapping her hands over her ears in mock horror. "Daphne, make her stop!"

"I don't know," said Daphne thoughtfully. "He sort of _does_ watch you a lot, Astoria. But I guess that could just be because he thinks you're the most likely to do something embarrassing."

Astoria laughed throatily, feeling this was a far more likely theory.

"Ok, fine. _Not_ Draco," amended Tracey, smirking to herself. "Who _do_ you fancy then?"

"I don't like anybody in particular," said Astoria, beginning to feel a little overwhelmed by the interest. "Why do _you_ care so much?"

"Because your sister is painfully shy and I'm an angry feminist," said Tracey flatly. "Pansy's obsession gets dull after a while. You're annoyingly good looking _and_ social, so I figure as far as romance goes, you're the best bet around here."

"Sorry to disappoint you," returned Astoria lazily.

"I heard Cormac MacLaggen invited you to his Christmas party," continued Tracey provokingly. " _He's_ rather good looking. Not quite as rich as Draco, but I'm sure his family silver still has a lovely pattern."

"Probably a honey badger wearing tartan," guessed Astoria with a short laugh.

"Cormac asked you out?" asked Daphne slowly. "You never mentioned that!"

"Because he did it in a creepy, rude way right before break," said Astoria. "Has he been _telling_ everyone?"

"No," said Tracey, grinning, "but I heard Draco making fun of the whole thing the other day so I figured it must be true. He seemed to have a lot of details to play with."

Tracey made the same motion with her hand as Cormac had done when he had told Astoria that he would keep her on the guest list.

Astoria rolled her eyes but Daphne put a hand to her mouth, insulted.

"Ew!" Daphne exclaimed. "Did he actually point at you like that?"

"Of course he did," joined a snide, drawling voice and they all looked up to find that Draco, Crabbe and Goyle had paused in passing down the hallway. "MacLaggen may have clout but he's entirely classless."

Tracey turned to Astoria and raised a meaningful eyebrow but Astoria pointedly ignored her, mentally grateful that Malfoy, Crabbe and Goyle had not showed up a moment sooner and heard any more of their conversation.

"Say, Malfoy, what's your family silver pattern?" asked Tracey in an innocent voice.

Astoria shot Tracey an annoyed look of warning but Tracey didn't seem to care.

"My _silver_ pattern?" repeated Malfoy dubiously, his eyes narrowing.

"Yeah," Tracey went on in a high, false falsetto. "See, I'm trying to dredge up a date for Astoria and she seems to think Cormac's silver is beneath her. What did you say you thought it would be, Astoria? A honey badger wearing tartan?"

It struck Astoria that while Tracey could be genuinely funny, there was something unreliable and treacherous about how she chose to express that trait.

Draco had the good grace to look vaguely self-conscious.

"You're trolling for boyfriends based on silver patterns now, are you?" Draco asked, sneering unconvincingly. "I suppose that eliminates Gryffindors in general, being a matter of taste."

"Oh, no," said Astoria hotly. "Tracey's only helping me because she has nothing better to do with her time now that she's decided to give up on boys and become a lesbian."

Tracey shifted uncomfortably. Apparently she did not like the shame shoe half as much when it was on the other foot.

"MacLaggen's family crest is a bear, anyway," sneered Malfoy, somehow overlooking this comment about Tracey's lesbianism,

" _Bears_ in tartan, then," amended Astoria pertly, grinning again despite herself.

"Have you really gone gay?" continued Malfoy insolently, switching his gaze to Tracey.

"Of course she has," announced Astoria, grinning even more widely, "and if someone doesn't swoop in with a proper set of family flatware soon, I'm liable to join her."

"Astoria!" whined Daphne exasperatedly, trying very hard not to smile.

Tracey cackled madly, her head lolling back against the sofa in delight.

"Save us, Malfoy!" Astoria pleaded gravely. "Please save us from a life of lesbianism, we're begging you!"

Malfoy blushed and eyed her the same way that he might eye a raving lunatic, shocked past the point of his usual ability to employ sarcasm. Tracey rolled forward off the couch, snorting unattractively.

"Yes!" Tracey gasped. "Quickly! Describe your family silver to us in great detail! It's the only way!"

Malfoy made a face. "Did you two polish off a second bottle of mead for breakfast?"

"We should have done," misted Tracey longingly, heaving a great breath of air and pulling herself back up to sitting position. "I might have managed to get a better confession out of Astoria that way. As it stands, I've only managed to make her admit that Blaise is rather good looking but apparently he grooms himself too much for her."

Malfoy shot Astoria a hasty, compulsive look and scowled.

"I'm just saying," said Astoria, "there's no way that he doesn't spends ages on himself."

"You would know, Malfoy!" cried Tracey hastily. "You share a dorm with him! How long does it take him to get ready in the morning?"

"More or less than forty-five minutes?" asked Astoria.

"I don't _know_ ," said Draco, annoyed. "I've got better things to do than watch _Zabini_ do his hair in the morning." He glanced sideways at Astoria again. "I suppose you prefer Nott's way, then? The way he wears the same tie for a week? Or is he too groomed for you as well?"

"Poor Theo," Astoria sighed, shaking her head softly. "He's so messy. Some grooming _is_ necessary, but I think I'm too vain to ever date anyone prettier than me and Blaise definitely is. "

"Well, there's no danger of that with Nott," continued Malfoy cruelly.

Tracey cracked up again. "Lord, can you imagine if Astoria and Zabini ever had children?"

"Not really," shot Malfoy snappishly.

"They'd have dark, beautiful, _murderous_ little babies," Tracey insisted.

Astoria actually covered her laughing face to conceal her horror at the very idea.

"If you two are just going to sit around plotting your future children with Zabini, I'll leave you to it," said Malfoy shortly, clearly not enjoying the conversation half as much as they were.

"Who do you suppose is the best looking boy in the school, Astoria?" asked Tracey, glancing at Malfoy shiftily as though she was almost keen to egg him on.

Malfoy paused, torn between annoyance and curiosity.

"I don't know," snorted Astoria, not quite liking the look on Tracey's face, which was full of purposeful manipulation.

"Yes but if you _had_ to pick," said Tracey commandingly.

"Diggory maybe?" admitted Astoria noncommittally.

"Talk about honey badgers in tartan!" sneered Malfoy nastily, his scowl deepening.

"Yeah," agreed Astoria, keen to keep Draco from becoming somehow offended. "Cedric's always running about grinning at everybody like a model schoolboy. He's probably _really_ stupid."

"He is _gorgeous_ though," Tracey sighed.

"He's not _that_ good looking," argued Malfoy, prickling, unable to resist having a go at Hufflepuff's resident pretty boy. "He's an awful seeker."

"You know who you should date, Astoria?" exclaimed Tracey, clearly eager to push Malfoy as far as she possibly could. "You should date Harry Potter. He's famous and you're already in Gryffindor, so it wouldn't exactly be a whole step down for you."

Malfoy looked as though he had been pinched hard and his entire face twisted. "Forget this," he sneered. "Come on Crabbe," he pushed his friend roughly, "we're out of here."

Tracey watched Draco go with a cruel smirk.

"What was that about?" asked Astoria, feeling slightly uncomfortable with the way the conversation had just ended.

"Nothing," said Tracey, smirking to herself privately. "You really _should_ date Harry, though. It would be such a laugh and I think in the end, Malfoy would have to murder you _both_."

0o0

* * *

Poor Draco. I really do abuse him so, but I'm afraid in this case, it was sort of necessary in order to properly introduce Tracey. I know the last two chapters have had a touch of filler going for them, but I needed to add Cormac and Tracey Davis before the third year and now seemed like as good a time as any.

In any case, I'll get the chapter with Christmas day actually in it up before the weekend is out.

Also, for the sake of political correctness (in case I have left _any_ doubt) I certainly mean no offense to lesbians anywhere nor do I wish to suggest that there is _anything_ wrong with identifying this way. My intent was for Tracey and Astoria's conversation to be read as immature, _not_ intolerant.

As always, feel free to drop me a line and tell me what you think! Reviews are incredibly motivating and I love to hear your ideas!


	11. Card Carrying Cupids

Chapter Eleven

Card Carrying Cupids

* * *

0o0

Christmas morning arrived, pale and cold. Astoria awoke without any real desire to move, much less rise, and only the sudden recollection of gifts waiting at the end of her bed was enough to make her sit up and rub her eyes.

Shrugging her blankets down to her waist, she began to inspect her presents, yawning and shivering intermittently.

Her father and Beatrice had sent a single parcel together, all tied up with a large golden bow. Astoria started here, suspecting that it would be the least exciting of the lot. She was not disappointed: enclosed, she found another gift certificate and a cashmere sweater. Soft but not altogether distinguishable from any other sweater that Astoria owned, she removed the tag and pulled it on over her pajamas anyway, relishing the additional warmth.

A long, thin package from Belladonna came next, and Astoria was soon surprised to discover that it contained an antique parasol. Well pleased by such quirkiness but secretly suspicious of hidden messages (perhaps Belladonna thought she was looking a bit too tan?) Astoria laid the parasol aside for further inspection in the spring.

A package of sweets from Theo (made even sweeter when she considered his effort-he loathed candy) and a set of leather bound notebooks from Daphne rounded off the majority of the pile. Lastly, Astoria tore into a small, square package addressed from Aston Mendel. Inside, she found a first edition copy of the book he had been researching that summer in Turkey and a short note: _Flip to back of book jacket..._

Careful to avoid damaging the binding, Astoria let the book fall open and lifted the stack of pages to the left. A tiny squeal of delight caught in the back of her throat almost immediately.

A vacation photograph from the summer before hovered over a brief synopsis of the book's biographical information. It featured Aston in his whitest suit under the blazing Turkish sun, and beside him, windswept and delighted to be included, stood Astoria. He had not just sent her a copy of his research, he had had her face published on the back of it!

"Look at this!" cried Astoria excitedly, thrusting the book at Fred and George the moment she skipped down to the common room.

"A _Mythology of Turkey_?" read Fred out-loud dubiously, inspecting the cover. "Eh. Seems more like Percy's speed, to be honest."

"Fine," Astoria allowed happily, "just look at the back!"

Fred flipped the book open. A slow grin tugged at his lips. "Well, will you look at that!"

"Very cool!" George agreed. "Who's the man in the suit?"

"That's Aston Mendel," said Astoria, taking back _A_ _Mythology of Turkey_ and putting it safely down on the coffee table. "He wrote the book last summer."

"Aston Mendel?" repeated George slowly, tasting the name for a hint of recognition. "I reckon I might've heard of him. He's not really a historian though, is he? I thought he was a foreign politician."

"He is," Astoria clarified. "The book was just for fun. He's interesting like that."

"How do _you_ know the Mendels?" asked George cautiously. "Aren't they sort of a big deal on the continent?"

"Oh, I've always known them," breathed Astoria, waving this aside. "Aston knew my mother when they were kids, I think. He's an old family friend. I see them about once a year..."

"They've got a bit of reputation," Fred pointed out, eyeing the book warily. "Dirty business and all that."

"I don't know. Maybe," admitted Astoria vaguely, uncomfortable with this suggestion, "but if any of those old stories are true, they happened a long time ago. Aston's alright, really."

"Well," said Fred, pulling a lumpy brown package out from under a pile of ripped apart wrapping paper, "we've got a gift for you too. Mind, it doesn't come with critical acclaim."

Astoria laughed nervously, incapable over overlooking the fact that both boys were now sporting brand new Weasley sweaters.

"Happy Christmas, Astoria," Fred cooed. His eyes lit tensely on her chest. "But I see someone _else_ has already thought to buy you a lovely, new sweater!"

"My father sent it," Astoria admitted fearfully, glancing down at the cashmere she was still wearing.

"Isn't _that_ a coincidence!" exclaimed George. He pushed the lumpy brown package on the table in front of her closer.

"Go on," Fred urged her, "open it."

"Maybe later," muttered Astoria evasively.

" _Go on_ ," ground out George, treating his suggestion like a threat. "Have a look."

Astoria sighed and untied the parcel. The sweater inside was just as pink and misshapen as she had feared—perhaps worse.

"The arms are different lengths," observed Astoria, repressing a smirk.

"But there's three of them!" added Fred brightly. "At least one of them is bound to be the right size."

"Uhuh," agreed Astoria, letting go of the string. The paper fell back down, hiding the sweater from view. "Thanks."

"Try it on," George encouraged intensely.

"No," said Astoria stoutly, flat out refusing. "I'll look like I've got udders."

"We insist," leered Fred.

Astoria shifted away from them.

"Grab her arms," declared George, seizing the sweater.

"No!" yelled Astoria, jumping away.

"Yes!" hollered Fred, catching her arms.

Astoria wriggled, knocking over a stack of empty boxes in front of the hearth. She seized an orange and lobbed in the direction of George's head, laughing madly.

"You'll wear your Weasley sweater, and you'll like it! Just like the rest of us!" bellowed George, ducking the flying fruit.

Harry Potter had arrived at the bottom of his dormitory stairs, barefoot and sleepy eyed. Catching on to the commotion, he was soon blinking rapidly in confusion but it was too late for Astoria to call for his assistance. With a final whoop of joy, Fred foisted the sweater down over Astoria's head until it hung limply from her frame like an ill fitting, pink tent.

"Radiant!" declared George, dusting off his hands.

"Now, we'll let you walk about and sit with the Slytherins tonight since Christmas is a time for family," allowed Fred reasonably, "but the sweater stays on. Otherwise, we'll be forcing it back onto you in a jiffy and nobody wants to resort to violence."

"It took us a whole week to knit the damn thing, didn't it? We want to see it properly worn," added George. "We initialed it for you and everything!"

"Yes, I see that," Astoria conceded miserably, scraping a fingernail across the front of her sweater. A shower of yellow flecks to fell to the floor like week old dandruff. "What is this— _paint_?"

"We _tried_ to do it in bobbles," admitted Fred apologetically, "only _they_ were even harder than sleeves."

0o0

Christmas at Hogwarts was a glorious affair from start to finish, even for a person doomed to spend the day in a Weasley sweater. Astoria passed most of the morning with the twins. Together, they toasted a package of sausages over the common room fire and played games of exploding snap as loudly as they wanted because there was nobody left in the tower to disturb except for Percy.

Around noon, Astoria suggested that they go outside and enjoy the snow. As far as the twins were concerned, however, this was nothing more than an excuse to cause colder variations of their regular mischief. After several pleasant hours of cursing snowbanks to collapse onto anyone else who drew near them, the twins' energy was officially spent. Watery nosed and red cheeked, they slouched back to the castle just as the sun began it's chilly dip behind the mountains.

"Where do you suppose Harry, Ron and Hermione have been all day?" George wondered, performing a drying charm on his pants.

Astoria yanked a loose pink thread out of her cuff and shrugged.

"Didn't Percy say he caught Ron in a girl's loo last week?" suggested Fred mischievously. "Maybe they spent Christmas morning with Myrtle..."

The Great Hall had been given decorated to within an inch of its festive life. Great streamers of holly crisscrossing the magical ceiling and a warm, enchanted snow was falling silently from the rafters. Daphne was already sitting at the Slytherin table so Astoria straightened the front of her smock-like shirt bravely and headed in her direction.

"Astoria!" cried Daphne in delight, "Merry—"

She trailed off as she took in Astoria's heinous sweater and messy hair. A few seats down, Malfoy's head twitched up at the sound of her name and Astoria watched as he did an incredulous—almost _comical_ —double take of his own.

"What _is_ that thing?" he demanded rudely, not even bothering to pretend that he hadn't noticed her.

"A sweater," Astoria shrugged, willing herself not to laugh at her own, criminally silly nonchalance.

"Merry Christmas," yawned Tracey Davis, appearing behind Astoria, fresh from a nap. "Merlin, _you_ look like something a kid threw up at the fair."

Malfoy made a face to suggest how deeply he agreed with this statement.

"You should take it off," suggested Daphne uncomfortably, ever conscious of manners. "People _eat_ here."

"I can't," Astoria shrugged. "Not unless you want the Weasley twins to join us."

"Move _over_ , then," sneered Malfoy, becoming curiously resentful the moment she mentioned Fred and George.

By way of retaliation, Astoria reached out and brushed a warm flake of fake snow off of Draco's shoulder with her sleeve. He startled and then, realizing what she had done, jerked away from her with a look of forced revulsion.

"Stop it!" he snapped, not wanting to be the butt end of a joke.

"Thanks for the notebooks, Daphne," said Astoria, switching her focus onto her sister. "They're fantastic."

"I thought you could use them," admitted Daphne. "Especially now that all of your old ones are enchanted. What did you think of the pen?"

"Why are your notebooks enchanted?" asked Tracey at once.

"What pen?" frowned Astoria.

"Oh, no! I must have forgotten to wrap it!" moaned Daphne. "It was a whole stationary set! I'll give you the rest of it after dinner."

"Why is Potter _staring_ over here?" demanded Draco angrily, not at all interested in pens. "Did _he_ help knit that sweater for you, too? Why doesn't he just come over and _sign_ it."

Something about this idea seemed to annoy Draco so deeply that Astoria did not not test his Christmas spirit any further by teasing him. Instead, she glanced toward the Gryffindor table and was surprised when Harry and Ron both hastily looked away to avoid meeting her eye.

"I had a letter from Father this morning," announced Draco to no one in particular.

"Did you?" Astoria prompted him distractedly, still watching the back of Ron and Harry's heads. They were bent close together and whispering furtively. _Suspicious._

"Mhmm," confirmed Malfoy lazily. "The ministry fined Arthur Weasley for that flying car of his. Father's even quoted in the article. He promised to send it by evening post."

"They can't fine Mr. Weasley for that," Astoria argued. "His son is the one who flew it."

"Arthur _bewitched_ it, didn't he?" Draco shot back. "It's the man's _job_ to draw up Muggle Protection acts. Little did anyone know, he's been in the back yard, tinkering away."

"How much did they fine him?" Astoria wondered uncomfortably. Fred and George didn't talk about it much, but she had more than once been given the impression that resources were tight in their home.

"I don't know," shrugged Draco indifferently. "Who _cares?_ More than they can afford, I'm sure—w _hat_?"

The look of pity on Astoria's face goaded him into a full-on scowl.

"Feeling bad for them, are you?" he sneered. "They're an old, Pure-blooded family for God's sake. The _way_ they carry on!"

There was a little too much truth in this to completely ignore but somehow, Astoria could not quite see why Arthur Weasley's hobbies were such a thorn in Draco's side. Didn't he have anything better to complain about?

"And that law Weasley's been helping to draw up is a joke, too," Malfoy continued. "Can you believe the Ministry's actually been conducting raids because of it? Father's livid, of course—I'm surprised he even let them in."

Astoria had _not_ known that the Ministry was conducting raids on private homes, but it certainly seemed to explain some of Malfoy's pent up maliciousness.

"Have they found anything?" asked Astoria.

"Nothing _valuable_ ," Draco sneered distractedly, but then he seemed to remember himself and fell silent.

Harry, Ron and Hermione got up to leave the hall. They shuffled by awkwardly, still shooting dark looks at the Slytherin table. Closer at hand, Daphne pushed her desert away, as well.

"Are you coming?" she asked Astoria. "I'll pop into to my dormitory and grab that pen for you."

Astoria stood up, so Draco and Tracey followed suit.

"Hold on just a moment," said Daphne when they reached the bare, damp stretch of wall that concealed the Slytherin common room. "I'll be back. ' _Pure-blood'._ "The stone door slid open and Daphne darted through followed closely by Tracey, who was cracking her boney back like a xylophone.

"Where have Crabbe and Goyle run off to?" demanded Draco in annoyance, pivoting about to stare at the barren expanse of hallway behind him. Had he only just realized that they were missing?

"You left them in the great hall," supplied Astoria, bewildered that anyone should treat their supposedly _best_ friends so shabbily.

"Oh," Malfoy shrugged, giving off an impression of extreme boredom. "I was going to show them father's letter."

Astoria peered at Draco slyly, beginning to realize how rare it was to find him outside of Crabbe and Goyle's company at Hogwarts. Dull though they were, Crabbe and Goyle were reliably consistent companions—without them, Malfoy had no one to bounce his ongoing stream of insults off of, and his train of speech was surprisingly aimless.

"Go back for them?" Astoria suggested, secretly hoping for an escort out of the dungeons. "I hate walking by myself at night, anyway."

Malfoy smirked, strangely amused by the idea that his presence might rid Astoria of her nervousness. "You're a pure-blood," he drawled. "You're not going to be attacked."

"Maybe not," Astoria shrugged, averting her eyes from the dark labyrinth of passageways that still separated her from the first floor. "Doesn't change the fact that there's a monster lurking somewhere nearby."

Astoria could tell by the slightly discomforted look on Draco's face that the concept of the monster's 'nearness' had never really occurred to him before.

"Fine. But lose the sweater," he scoffed. "Nothing screams 'mudblood' like a Weasley craft project."

Astoria knew this was an insult but she snickered and pulled the lumpy jumper off anyway. Draco leaned back against the wall, as pleased by his own wit as he was by the removal of Fred and George's lingering essence.

Daphne returned, panting slightly. She passed over a small box wrapped in green paper. "Here —I've even wrapped it up."

Now that the exchange had been completed, Draco turned to go.

"Love you, Daph. Merry Christmas," said Astoria, quickly kissing her sister's cheek. Draco dithered, watching this unexpected gesture a little too intently.

The dungeons were large and hard to navigate, particularly at night. Astoria was very glad that Draco knew his way around as well as he did and by the time they reached stairway that led to the entrance hall, they discovered Crabbe and Goyle. They were not alone however; Astoria recognized the voice of Percy Weasley before they had even drawn level with them.

"There you two are!" called Draco, sparing Percy barely a half of a glance. "Have you really been _eating_ all this time? I want to show you something, come with me."

"Astoria!" Percy jolted. "What are you doing down here?"

"What's it to you, Weasley?" sneered Draco at once.

"Saying goodnight to my sister," said Astoria quickly, hoping to keep Percy from puffing himself up like a blow-fish. "Are you going back up to the common room, Percy?"

" _I_ am a school Prefect," said Percy, dashing Astoria's last hope for an escort up to the tower. "As such, I have duties elsewhere."

Crabbe rolled his eyes in a particularly prescient way and glanced at Goyle sarcastically. Astoria frowned. She had never seen Crabbe express any feelings that weren't wrath or hunger.

"Off to bed!" clucked Percy, retreating toward the hall. "I don't want to see any of you out after hours!"

Draco narrowed his eyes. "That stupid Peter Weasley—"

"Percy," corrected Crabbe.

"Yeah, _whatever_ ," shrugged Malfoy. "He's been sneaking around an awful lot lately. He probably thinks they'll make him Head Boy if he catches Slytherin's Heir."

Crabbe and Goyle exchanged a look of obvious anticipation.

" _What_?" demanded Malfoy and it took Astoria a second to realize that he was talking to her.

Something about the dull suspicion on her face must had showed because he was glancing between her and Crabbe. Crabbe stared back at Astoria tensely. Then, Goyle, who was standing to the left of Draco, very slowly and almost pleadingly shook his head back and forth. Astoria froze.

"You're afraid of walking the rest of the castle?" guessed Draco. Dimly, Astoria realized that this was probably his patronizing way of offering to escort her if she begged.

"No," breathed Astoria, rallying herself. The only thing she liked less than a long walk in the dark was the creepy way that Goyle had just signaled to her. "I'm fine."

She stumbled off up the steps, surprisingly jittery from the unexpected jolt of adrenaline. It did not occur to her until she reached the safety of the tower that she had probably acted badly in leaving Malfoy alone. _He_ had helped her out of the dungeons nicely enough; what if Goyle was possessed?

0o0

"Granger is a cat," whispered Theodore nearly a week later, pushing Astoria's potions textbook down onto the table so that he could converse with her in private.

Meanwhile, Snape was striding between desks, handing back homework assignments and smiling dreadfully to himself.

"How do you know?" Astoria whispered back out of the side of her mouth.

Hermione had been in the hospital wing since Christmas day, a coincidence that Astoria had not quite been able shake whenever she remembered Goyle's shenanigans in the entrance hall on the very same night. Half of the school had returned to classes assuming that she had been attacked by Slytherin's monster, but Astoria had it on good authority from the twins that she was merely recuperating from a spell gone badly wrong.

"I saw her," Theo conveyed, dropping his voice even lower as Snape drew nearer to their table. "I stopped by the hospital wing after lunch for a headache—."

"Enough chit-chat, Miss Greengrass," shot Snape curtly, placing her essay face down on the table.

Theodore cleared his throat and had the good grace to look slightly ashamed of this blatant House-bias.

"Whiskers and everything!" he went on the moment Snape had proceeded to the next table. "How's your essay?"

"An 'A' for acceptable," admitted Astoria, trying not to let her disappointment show. "You?"

Theodore hastily began to stash his paper out of sight. Astoria fully leaned over to sneak a glimpse of it.

"You got an Exceeds Expectations!" hissed Astoria, outraged. "I helped you write that essay! Why did _you_ get better marks?"

"Maybe I expressed my opinion more articulately," ventured Theodore airily.

"Silence!" demanded Snape lethally, his eyes flicking back to their table for the last time before a punishment would be issued.

Term had officially recommenced, bringing with it the feeling of a slate wiped clean. No new attacks had occurred over the holiday—a hopeful sign. Madam Pomfrey and Professor Sprout had even begun to talk about how fast the mandrakes were maturing.

"Nice, relaxing break then?" Theo went on, pushing their luck.

"Not really, honestly," Astoria admitted, keeping her eyes down to avoid provoking Snape. "The castle is too haunted these days to be any fun while it's empty."

"Who stayed behind?" Theo asked, "You, Malfoy, Crabbe, Goyle and the Weasleys? I probably would have thrown myself off the north tower."

"That girl, Tracey Davis stayed too," added Astoria. "I got to know her a bit. I don't hate her."

The return of Pansy Parkinson and the rest of the more accessible gang of Slytherin girls seemed to have put an end to Astoria and Tracey's blossoming friendship, but it had been enjoyable it while it lasted. At the end of the day, Astoria was just glad to know that her sister had at least one friend who—although slightly vapid—was not altogether silly.

"She's a nosey newt, is what she is," snorted Theodore.

"A what?" laughed Astoria, staring at Theo incredulously.

"You know, a busy body," Theo explained, blushing slightly. "A gossip. She's always got her nose in everyone else's business."

"I stole a bottle of the teacher's mead with her," admitted Astoria, knowing Theodore would be horrified.

"You _what_?" hissed Theo. "You're lucky she didn't tell the teachers and blame the whole thing on you! I'm sure she's been talking about it in the common room—even Malfoy probably knows by now."

"I expect he does," agreed Astoria, not even attempting to hide her smirk. "He drank it with us."

" _What?_ " Theo breathed

"Five points from Gryffindor, Greengrass!" snapped Snape. "If I hear another word, I'll make it twenty."

Parvati Patil and Lavender Brown turned about in their seats to glare, so Astoria fell silent. When class let out, she latched onto Theo's arm companionably and dragged him off in the direction of her Transfiguration class.

"I've got charms next," spluttered Theo, watching the rest of the Slytherins trickle off in the other direction over his shoulder.

"Be late then," said Astoria firmly.

She wasted no time filling him in. Hagrid and the rooster: ("He _is_ the groundskeeper, Astoria.") Hagrid and Knockturn Alley: ("Everyone goes there, only no one talks about it.") And Crabbe and Goyle's mysterious behavior: ("What?!").

Ironically, it was this third, least concerning story that seemed to strike the strongest chord. To Astoria's surprise, he looked genuinely annoyed with her.

"Crabbe shook his head at you like he was confused?"

"It was Goyle," corrected Astoria, skirting around a pack of third year Hufflepuffs. "No, he shook his head like he wanted me to shut up before I gave him away."

"And you didn't say anything?" demanded Theo.

"I didn't want to be paranoid," argued Astoria, beginning to feel a little defensive.

"Two things that could make a person act like that," insisted Theo seriously. "The imperious curse or impersonation by Polyjuice potion. Do you know how weird and dangerous it would be for a student to have done either?"

"He didn't _look_ dangerous," Astoria stressed. "He looked…"

 _Embarrassed and nervous,_ her mind supplied uncomfortably. _Baleful even._ The more she thought about it, the more familiar his expression seemed to be.

"You're lucky Draco wasn't murdered, that's all I can say," huffed Theo. "Weird things are happening around here lately."

0o0

On the twenty eighth of January, Astoria arrived for breakfast and found four letters with her name on them already waiting for her.

"They're all for you," said Daphne quizzically, eyeing Astoria correspondence with interest.

"Theodore made a sound of irritation and brushed feathers off the bench to sit down.

"Aunt Belladonna," Astoria muttered to herself, reading off addresses as she ticked through the pile.

"One of them is from dad," added Daphne. Then, with a sharp gasp, she reached across the table and stopped Astoria from flipping through her envelopes. "Oh my goodness! It's your birthday! I'd forgotten!"

Theo raised an eyebrow but as Astoria had never told him her birthday before, she did not see any reason to make a fuss.

"It's your birthday, Astoria?" demanded Tracey, coming to a halt on her way down the table. Astoria and Tracey had not spoken once since christmas, but Pansy and Flora were running late so she seemed content to loiter.

"Yes," returned Astoria somewhat formally, annoyed by the way that Tracey always clammed up or refused to meet her eye in Pansy's presence

"Who are the other letters from?" continued Tracey nosily, pointing toward a thick looking envelope sealed with wax.

"None of your business?" suggested Theo under his breath.

"That's the Mendel crest, isn't it?" asked Daphne, pointing toward the letter that had interested Tracey.

It was indeed the Mendel crest, but the handwriting was not Astons: it was his son Maudlin's.

This was somewhat intriguing. Maudlin typically only wrote to Astoria over the holidays. On the rare occasion that he did think to send her a letter out of the blue, it almost always contained a lengthy rant that had nothing to do with her. Overall, he was a lousy corespondent even at the best of times.

"Yeah. It's from Maudlin," allowed Astoria. She held the letter up to her ear. "It isn't ticking. That has to be a good sign."

" _You_ know the Mendels?" sneered Malfoy, who had been obviously been eavesdropping.

"I've known the Mendels _forever_ ," Astoria shot back, unfolding the letter. Inside she found three sheets of parchment in Maudlin's lurid script, all written out in French.

"God, he's even used the _back_ of the pages," she muttered.

"Yes, but _how_ do you know him?" asked Malfoy baldly, eyeing the offending letter alertly.

"His dad knew my mother," Astoria answered vaguely, squinting. "Hold on a second, he always writes in French and his cursive is messy."

"What does he say?" asked Daphne politely, spooning sugar into her earl grey.

"Literally nothing," Astoria confirmed, skimming over his long-winded paragraphs. "Oh—but he's written an award winning essay. _That_ must be what the third sheet of paper is, the blowhard..."

Astoria turned to the last page and a single, golden feather fell out. It landed on the table, catching the sun like still water.

"What's _that_?" asked Daphne perplexedly, picking up the feather.

"Dunno," Astoria admitted, puzzled herself. She glanced back toward the letter. "He doesn't say. Maybe he's taken up poaching?"

"It looks like a phoenix feather," remarked Theo, displaying interest at last.

"Those aren't even _that_ rare," interjected Malfoy unkindly.

"Could be," Astoria shrugged, taking the feather from her sister.

"Does Maudlin go to Beauxbatons?" asked Tracey pertly, unreasonably curious about a person she had never met. "Is he good looking?"

"He doesn't even wish me a happy birthday!" realized Astoria resentfully, skimming the papers a second time to be sure.

"How old is Maudlin?" Tracey pressed. "Has he finished school?"

"He's fifteen," responded Astoria cooly, folding the letter up and stuffing it underneath her plate. "He's fine looking, and yes he goes to Beauxbatons."

Crabbe, meanwhile, was eyeing the golden feather with something akin to childish delight.

"Here," said Astoria. Seized by a whim to be rid the thing, she foisted the feather onto Crabbe. " _You_ can have it."

"Thanks," grunted Crabbe, casting sparkling patterns all over Goyle's robes as he waved the feather around like a wand.

Malfoy watched him with a lazy half sneer for a moment until a darker look crossed his face.

"It's just a feather, Crabbe," he snapped, knocking it back onto the table, bothered by the sight of it.

Astoria wadded up Maudlin's note and turned to her aunt's letter.

 _Dear Astoria,_

 _Today marks the first day of your thirteenth year, my darling, and of the beginning of womanhood..._

"Ug," Astoria groaned, folding this letter up as well.

"Aren't you going to write back?" asked Tracey intently.

"Write who back?" demanded Astoria, surveying her pile of crumpled up birthday wishes.

"Maudlin!" cried Tracey, clearly feeling that the answer was both obvious and exciting.

"Eventually," snapped Astoria, filled with a fierce urge to shock and annoy Tracey as much as possible for being such a fair-weather friend. "It does him good to be ignored from time to time."

Pansy entered the hall but Tracey did not stir; boys, especially rich ones, were apparently her ultimate trump card.

"Why _wouldn't_ you want him to think you're interested in what he has to say?" demanded Tracey shrilly. "His dad practically _owns_ Monaco."

"It's possible Aston might _literally_ own Monaco," Astoria corrected. "I respond to _his_ letters—God knows they're more interesting.'

This was a piece of cruelness that Astoria would not have dared in front of Maudlin himself, but what he could not hear wouldn't hurt him.

"When has Aston Mendel ever written to you in your entire life?" demanded Draco, positively dripping with skepticism.

Astoria seized the fourth letter and turned it over. Much as she had suspected, she found a second Mendel seal.

"Ha!" Astoria laughed. "Most recently today."

She tore the letter open, savoring the look of irritated shock on Draco's face.

Tracey continued to stare at the mail hungrily, but when it became clear that Astoria was not going to tell her anything more, she faded away toward Pansy.

0o0

Astoria had hoped that this was the last she would see of Tracey for several months, but Valentine's day rolled around two weeks later and dashed her assumption to pieces.

Late coming down, Astoria literally had to pause to wipe confetti out of her eyes the moment she thrust open the doors to the great hall. An explosion of lurid pink flowers awaited on the other side of her temporarily obstructed vision; above, an orgy of frilly, lace hearts cascaded from the ceiling. Stranger still were the dozen or so surly looking dwarves standing along the walls. Each dwarf, Astoria noticed, was wearing a set of cupid wings, and together they were busy checking things off of lists, looking very much like a troop of irritant prison wardens.

Theo's thin, embarrassed face stuck out like a sore thumb in the usual Slytherin breakfast crowd.

"What the hell happened in here?" demanded Astoria, perching on the edge of the bench because the table was so rowdy.

"Lockhart happened, that's what," snapped Theodore, glaring at the candy-coated walls.

Beside him, Millicent Bulstrode eyed her confetti-paper eggs miserably. "What a waste of a perfectly useful day," she grumbled.

"What a waste of a perfectly useful breakfast," added Astoria with a smirk, gesturing toward Millicent's ruined eggs. "What's with the dwarves?"

"Astoria!" screeched a demanding, female voice.

Astoria looked up, surprised to see that Tracey was hailing her from her end of the table. Balancing on her thin knees between Pansy and Flora, she looked like nothing but trouble.

"What do you think _she_ wants?" asked Astoria, genuinely baffled by so much suddenly renewed interest. "Can't she make up her mind whether she likes me or not?"

"You're one of the pretty people," explained Theo glumly. "It's valentines day—you have utility again."

Astoria scoffed but a look around the hall sort of confirmed his point: the gossips were alive with frivolous energy. The outcasts and slumping scholars, meanwhile, had scooted to the ends of their tables, intentionally trying to avoid eye contact as though they found the whole scene to be vaguely shameful.

"Astoria!" screamed Flora harshly, annoyed by the lack of response. Astoria flinched.

"What?" asked Astoria, seeing nothing else for it.

"Happy Valentine's day, Astoria!" called Tracey, eyes shining with mischief. "What do you think of the decor?"

Unlike Pansy and Flora, Tracey did not appear to be blushing or giggling. Instead, she was genuinely enjoying the scene in a level-headed, sociopathic sense.

"Feeling romantic this morning, Greengrass?" heckled Blaise, turning about in his seat as well.

"You know, I'm _not?_ " Astoria held up a hand to catch a few miniature hearts. "But I have a _feeling_ that resistance is futile."

"Yes," agreed Tracey, her eyes dancing mischievously, "romance is rather like a viking warrior today."

Marcus Flint leered toothily. On Blaise's other side sat Draco Malfoy, who was clearly trying and failing to find the whole spectacle to be more humorously beneath him than it was annoying. A bit of confetti stuck to his robes; he twitched it off so sharply that it might as well have been a live bee.

Pansy cleared her throat. "Us girls have made a pact to share our valentines," she announced in a high, coy voice. "We thought you might want to join us."

Astoria tried hard not to snort. "I'm _not_ sending anybody a valentine by dwarf."

"It's not just _sent_ valentines," explained Pansy keenly, "it's _received_ ones as well."

"Why would I want to do that?" asked Astoria, resisting the urge to remind her that they had never been friends.

"So that we'll know if a boy sends more than one of us a note, of course!" trilled Flora, letting loose a high-pitched giggle.

"Or if someone sends anything particularly lewd," added Tracey hopefully.

"You _want_ to be sent a valentine by a dwarf?" Astoria demanded, unable to see sense in this plan.

"So you're not interested, then?" shot Pansy, her tone vaguely hostile and _very_ accusatory. "Why so secretive? Have you got a crush you were hoping to hear from?"

Draco, Blaise and Marcus were all watching her now and Astoria realized she had unwittingly walked straight into a trap. She couldn't very well refuse Pansy now without looking like she was hiding something.

"Fine," Astoria gave in at last, wishing she had stayed with Theo and not allowed herself to let Tracey entice her into such an aggravating situation. Pansy smiled, placated. "But I doubt anyone will send be something."

"Yes they will," insisted Tracey, flashing grin that should have been outlawed. "Ten galleons says you'll spend all day dodging cupids."

What was most incredible about this statement was that, in the end, Tracey turned out to be quite right. Astoria had barely made it out of the entrance hall before she was besieged.

"Signed, sealed and delivered," stated the dwarf gruffly, handing Astoria a scroll.

Theodore read along over Astoria's shoulder:

 _"Roses are red, Violets are blue,_

 _If I wanted a shag you'd certainly do."_

"Well that's classy," wheezed Theodore, laughing despite himself. "Look, it isn't even signed!"

"Probably some first year," muttered Astoria, rolling the scroll back up.

"Bet it was MacLaggen," jeered Theo.

But this theory was proven to be incorrect a few hours later when Astoria received a second, slightly less rude note and a single flower that Cormac had signed his name to.

"Hmm," chucked Tracey, who stopped in the hallway to witness the delivery in person. "I'm disappointed. I thought the card would be tartan…"

Astoria chuckled and rallied herself, thinking that receiving two moderately embarrassing valentines must be better than not receiving any at all.

A box of chocolates from Lee Jordan came next, and they almost would have been a nice gesture if someone had not already opened the container to remove the toffees (although to be fair, Astoria could not totally rule out the dwarf who had delivered it). Even worse was an excruciatingly sweet, poorly worded note from a secret admirer that Astoria could not help but feel had a touch of Neville Longbottom's style about it.

"I'm not sitting with you at lunch," insisted Theo stubbornly as they made their way back down the marble staircase. "You're embarrassing."

"Good thing I never sit at the Slytherin table for lunch, anyway, isn't it?" said Astoria retaliated hotly, warm around the ears. "You _do_ realize I'm going to have to hand these over to Pansy later?"

"Ha!" burst Theodore exuberantly.

"It's like she knew all of the creeps were going to dredge themselves up for me," Astoria continued self-pityingly.

"I think she had something a little more precise in mind," murmured Theo in a low voice. "Like checking _who_ is sending you valentines, for example."

"Why does she care who sends me valentines?" asked Astoria irritably, resisting the urge to hide herself behind a suit of armor as another cupid went trolling by. "This is a smear campaign against my respectable name!"

"Whatever you say," laughed Theodore darkly, peeling off to sit with Millicent Bulstrode, who had not been bothered once by the sulky, winged messengers.

The worst was still yet to come. Astoria's afternoon double potions lesson was interrupted by a particularly sullen, pushy looking dwarf clutching pan pipes.

"I have a valentine for an Astoria Greengrass," the dwarf bit out in a gravelly voice that would not have been out of place in homeless chain smoker. He propped the door open with one of his sandaled feet.

The class went silent, perhaps in anticipation of how Snape would react. Astoria, who had been balancing on the back legs of her chair let the front ones drop to the ground loudly.

Snape swallowed hard and for a moment Astoria thought she would be rescued. But then, with a wave of his hand, he indicated for the dwarf to proceed quickly.

"Which one of you is Astoria?" demanded the dwarf stoutly, eyeing the collected students with small, hostile eyes.

 _Oh, God..._

"She's over here!" yelled Tracey, pointing toward Astoria's mortified head.

"You've got to be _kidding_ me," muttered Draco Malfoy coldly somewhere behind her.

The dwarf wobbled across the room to stand in front of Snape's desk. He blew on his pan pipes once to set the mood and then, to Astoria's horror, he began to sing:

 _When it comes to Astoria, I haven't a shot,_

 _Where'er she goes, she's looked at a lot_

 _But whenever she'd pass,_

 _That delectable lass_

 _The front of my pants did advance a whole lot._

There was a long, heavy silence punctuated only by Astoria's own, stunned laughter.

"Out," ordered Snape and the dwarf removed himself from the front of the classroom as quickly as he had appeared without another dungeon door closed again with a dull bang. Astoria buried her face in her arms to collect herself and then peered behind her.

Pansy was tomato red and choking with silent laughter, thrilled by Astoria's humiliation. Astoria pointed past her toward Theodore and mouthed: " _You_?"

Theo shook his head and mouthed back, " _Are you insane_?"

Astoria scanned the room for more candidates. Her eyes lit on Draco for a moment but he looked foul tempered and annoyed. Then, without having to give it another thought, Astoria realized exactly who had sent the singing valentine.

They were already pointing and laughing at her from the Gryffindor table when class let out.

"Where did you get it?" demanded George, coming up for air. "Where there people around?"

Astoria bit her lip. "In the middle of _potions_ class."

Fred threw his hands up in the air as though he had scored in quidditch and hooted. Astoria, who had had about enough of the whole holiday, shook her head and wondered off to a quieter stretch of table.

"I got a singing valentine too," perked up Harry, who had been watching her sheepishly. "If that makes you feel any better."

It didn't, because Astoria had just recognized the look on his face as being the same one she had seen Goyle make after christmas.

Checking quickly to see if anyone else was sitting nearby, Astoria leaned forward.

"Harry, you didn't disguise yourself as Goyle so that you could sneak into the Slytherin common room on Christmas did you?" she asked.

Harry stared at her in disbelief. "I—who _told_ you that?"

"No one," Astoria reassured him.

"Then how did you know?" asked Harry, clearly disconcerted.

"Because you made the same face when you were disguised as Goyle," said Astoria. "I assume Ron was Crabbe?"

"Look," Harry muttered, chewing on the side of his mouth. "I thought it was Malfoy doing the attacks. Ron and Hermione helped me come up with a plan to get him alone so we could interrogate without him realizing that it was us. Only he didn't know anything. Please don't say anything."

"I won't tell anyone," promised Astoria, thankful to have solved at least one mystery even if she didn't believe for a second that the idea had been all Harry's. "Even I could have told you it wasn't Draco, though."

"Yeah," said Harry. "We know that _now_. In any case, you can't exactly blame me for suspecting him."

"I guess not," admitted Astoria, her thoughts shifting back onto Hagrid and his dead rooster. Hadn't she been toying with the idea of telling someone for weeks? Well here it was: the perfect opportunity.

"Listen," said Astoria, making up her mind—if Harry was trying to find the Heir of Slytherin, she might as well give him a hand. "I saw Hagrid in the woods a few weeks ago. He was swinging a dead rooster around. I don't know if you've heard, but the chamber was opened once before. It was about fifty years ago and I don't know how old Hagrid is, but I'm guessing that sort of tracks. I know he's your friend, but he's also got a real thing for monsters. "

For a long moment, Harry didn't say a word.

"I wouldn't _normally_ say anything," insisted Astoria awkwardly.

"No, I know—it's ok," Harry mumbled at last. "Really. Don't worry about it. Someone else basically suggested the same thing to me earlier tonight."

0o0

Beyond tired and desperate for the solitary comfort of her own bed, Astoria climbed the steps after dinner one at a time, mulling over what she had just done.

As sure as she was that Hagrid was capable of accidentally letting a monster loose in the castle, she was equally certain that he wouldn't have wanted it to hurt anybody. Slytherin's monster on the other hand—whatever sort of creature it was—sounded like more of a servant than a wild animal. How many creatures were capable of following elaborate commands? Perhaps Hagrid had nothing to do with it at all?

"There you are, Greengrass!" It was Flora and she was all alone. "Going to bed? As _if_! Come on, Pansy, Tracey and your sister are in the library!"

She took hold of Astoria's arm and pulled her up the steps.

At seven o'clock at night, the library was nearly deserted but for Pansy's group of Slytherin girls, Marcus Flint and Blaise Zabini who was leaning against the table. As Astoria drew nearer, she caught a glimpse of Malfoy's sleek blonde hair hidden by one of the window seats with his feet propped up against the wall rudely.

"Found her trying to sneak off to bed," said Flora gayly. "Look, Astoria; even your sister got candy!"

Daphne grinned and offered her a candy heart "I found them in my bag. Whoever it was didn't used a dwarf."

"They have my vote then," laughed Astoria, sitting on the table top.

"Thanks for bringing cupid to class today, Greengrass," leered Blaise smugly. "Did all of your valentines come with a musical accompaniment?"

Draco sat up properly in the window seat and sneered, "I still can't believe the teachers actually let those things roam the school all day!"

"It was all Lockhart," scoffed Tracey, speaking to Draco but looking at Blaise. "The other teachers only went along with it. Did you _see_ Snape's face this morning when Lockhart suggested we ask him how to make a love potion?"

"Mudbloods are being attacked all over the school," Draco insisted disdainfully, "there's no way Lockhart got a pack of _dwarves_ in without Dumbledore approving. I bet the headmaster was all for it, the crazy old bag! He probably charmed the confetti himself."

Astoria laughed. This had not occurred to her, but now that Draco had said it, she thought he was probably right.

"The whole thing was so tacky," agreed Pansy, siding with Draco immediately. "What _else_ did you get, Astoria? We've already heard the singing valentine."

"Nothing really," Astoria shrugged, pawing through her bag. "A box of chocolates and a couple of anonymous notes."

"Anonymous?" asked Flora abrasively, shifting to peer into her bag.

"Cormac sent her a flower," said Tracey provokingly, "and _he_ signed his name."

"A flower?" sneered Malfoy contemptuously, his interest sufficiently gained. " _Thats_ original."

"Cormac MacLaggen?" repeated Pansy keenly. "Isn't his dad on the Wizengamot?"

"Yes," said Tracey, her eyes sparkling maliciously in a way that seemed to suggest a private manipulation. "The flower came with a card from a florist too, so he was probably planning on sending it to Astoria even if Lockhart hadn't hired the dwarves."

Malfoy stood up, stretching his arms irritably. Pansy's gaze shifted toward him, lightning fast. "It's getting late, isn't it?"

"It's only seven o'clock," snapped Malfoy waspishly.

"He's just in a bad mood," hinted Tracey, who seemed to possess a real capacity for stirring others without ever leaving her seat. "Didn't any of you boys get into the spirit at all today? None of you sent anything?"

" _I_ didn't," sneered Draco.

Blaise chuckled to himself.

"You lot didn't have to use the dwarves you know," said Tracey. "There was nothing stopping you from sending valentines by hand. Nothing at all."

Tracey had finally gone far enough to make Pansy scowl at her and Astoria began to see what button Tracey was pushing; neither Tracey nor Pansy had gotten a valentine from the boy they had wanted and both Draco and Blaise stood accused of disinterest.

Marcus smirked and spread his hands, "Well, _I_ sent you ladies valentines."

Draco and Blaise both turned curiously towards Flint.

" _You_ sent that?" asked Tracey incredulously, pulling a crumpled piece of parchment out of her school bag. " _Roses are red, Violets are blue. Your friends all said no but how about you_?"

Blaise raised an eyebrow, his languid features casually appreciative of this wittiness.

"I got one of those as well, " said Astoria. "Did they all have a rude 'roses are red' motif?"

"Why stray from a classic?" leered Marcus. "You should consider yourself lucky, Greengrass. You're the only Gryffindor I sent one to."

0o0

* * *

Well, this was a frivolous chapter! I reread the Valentines day part in the book recently though and I wasn't able to resist the urge to do something with the 'friendly, card carrying cupids'. They were just too ridiculous to be ignored but I promise to upload some content containing real plot soon!

On another note (and please, this is not a plea for punishment) I don't usually work with a beta (I'm very lazy about this) and while I do typically do go over a chapter for grammar and typos before posting, I am able to recognize that I'm sometimes guilty of doing a poor job editing my own writing. More often than not, something about the fact that I know what a sentence is _supposed_ to say tricks my brain into sliding right over errors that would obvious to me f someone else had written them. Has anybody been finding that they are frequently getting tripped up by poorly constructed/edited paragraphs because I have a few lovely friends that I'm sure would not mind polishing over these chapters before posting. Just let me know!

I'll put up the next chapter later in the week!


	12. The Sacking Of Albus Dumbledore

Chapter Twelve

The Sacking of Albus Dumbledore

* * *

0o0

The easter holidays arrived, ushering in a bout of wet weather that turned the snow still blanketing the grounds into an icy soup. Inside the castle, without any classes to attend, Astoria and Theo attempted to choose their new subjects for third year over a thermos of coffee. From where they were sitting—in an alcove near the astronomy tower—the storm seemed to rattle the windows with a greater strength.

"Dunno about divination," said Theo, his long nose almost touching the list of new subjects. Outside, rain continued to beat at the windows despondently. "Isn't that all parlor tricks? Tea leaves and palm lines?"

"Not if you're a Seer," Astoria pointed out, rubbing the arms of the faded golden armchair she was sitting in, wondering vaguely how long it had been since anyone else had sat in it. By the look of things, it had been years since anybody else had used this distant, wind swept nook for studying and there were water rings on the small round table they had piled their leaflets on that no house-elf had even attempted to remove.

"What do you reckon would happen if I opened that?" asked Theo, nodding toward the battered iron window latch that was holding the slanting rain out. "I could probably smoke up here and no one would know. This is practically the belfry."

"I think we'd both end up drenched and plastered with damp ash," admitted Astoria, hoping that Theodore would not attempt no such thing. As a precaution, she lifted her feet up and sat on them for warmth.

The space was small and cramped but Astoria could already tell it would become a regular hideout of Theo's. It was everything that he was: moody, remote and slightly careworn. The smells of damp wood and old fabric reminded Astoria of an interesting childhood attic hideaway, and on the rare occasion that Astoria had borrowed an article of Theodore's clothing, his sweaters had a tendency to do the same thing.

"What about Arithmancy, then?" pressed Theo, giving up on the idea of tampering with the window. "That's numbers. It's properly studious. No one will say it's a soft option."

"Aunt Belladonna wants me to take it," Astoria admitted, thinking of the last letter she had received from home. "It was the only subject she made any comment on. I suppose it'll be easier if I just sign up for it without a fight.

"Alright," said Theo, making a check. "I'll take it with you. It sounds alright."

"We should do Care of Magical Creatures," suggested Astoria, this time with slightly more excitement.

"That's Kettleburn, isn't it?" asked Theo, furrowing his brow. "I don't know how much I like the fact that he's only got about three fingers left. Sounds like we'd be risking limbs."

"Exactly!" Astoria agreed. "It's bound to be interesting!."

Theo made a face and muttered something about 'Gryffindors' but checked off Care of Magical Creatures on his parchment anyway. "Fine, there's loads of rare creatures that I wouldn't mind learning about but if I sign up for this, _you_ have to sign up for Ancient Runes with me."

"Ancient Runes?" asked Astoria, pulling the sheet towards her. "Sure, I don't see why not. It's probably a lot of translating—that's the sort of thing I'm actually good at."

"That's us full then," said Theo.

Neither of them had even mentioned Muggle Studies, preferring to skirt around this listing rather than admit that both of their families would call it an unnecessary, soft, or even _ridiculous_ option.

Astoria stared out of the window at the rain-soaked landscape; a blur of watery brown and green. Out on the quidditch pitch, she could just make out several flying black dots braving the storm.

"I bet that's Wood," said Astoria, taking a small sip of coffee from the thermos lid.

"Probably," Theo agreed, "but I don't see what good practicing will do if his players can't see three inches in front of their faces."

The next match was scheduled for Saturday but Fred and George, busy working on their enchanted cloaks, did not seem particularly eager to take any bets.

"Save the gambling for the final," George had suggested the night before. "People will bet more with the cup in the mix."

This meant that Astoria would be free to enjoy the upcoming match as an impartial agent—something she had not had the pleasure of doing since her first year.

"I wrote dad last week," said Theo, interrupting her thoughts. His was voice offhand but steady, filled with determination. "I asked him what he thought of the Chamber of Secrets business."

Astoria did not turn away from the window but inclined her head toward him eagerly.

"You mean like advice?" Astoria asked. "'Keep your head down' sort of stuff or…"

"My dad's a bit older than Lucius," admitted Theo, "and honestly, I was sick of getting all my information through Draco."

"So what did he say?" said Astoria, surprised that Theo had not thought to ask his father sooner, considering Mr. Nott's knowledge about the strange and the supernatural.

"Some old folk tale stuff, which _was_ interesting but…" Theo lowered his voice, "do you remember that thing you said about Hagrid. The thing I brushed off?"

"Yeah," said Astoria, suddenly several degrees chillier.

"Well, Hagrid and my dad are about the same age, maybe only a year apart," explained Theodore. "Dad says that Hagrid was expelled the same year the Chamber was last opened."

Astoria gaped.

"I know," frowned Theo, "but the monster _killed_ someone. You would think that the Heir would have been imprisoned, wouldn't you?"

"Not if it was an accident or a mistake!" Astoria spewed exasperatedly. "Maybe Dumbledore felt bad for Hagrid!"

"Well, if that's true, then Dumbledore knows it's Hagrid now! So why hasn't he done anything?" demanded Theo.

This idea calmed Astoria slightly. Dumbledore might be known for his questionable staff appointments, but Astoria did not really believe that he would allow Hagrid to petrify students a second time around.

"Either Dumbledore's done something in private to check Hagrid, and _that's_ why the attacks have stopped," continued Theo, "or else Hagrid accidentally taught someone else how to open the Chamber —someone Dumbledore wouldn't dare expel. Somebody like Harry Potter."

"You're being paranoid," decided Astoria. "How could anyone 'accidentally' go on a murderous rampage?"

0o0

Astoria maintained this sense of fickle hope until Saturday when, walking down to the quidditch pitch with Daphne, she was cut off by a throng of murmuring students heading in the wrong direction.

"What's wrong?" asked Daphne, displaying her bloodhound's alertness to trouble. "Do you think the stands are full?"

"Maybe," murmured Astoria doubtfully, searching the crowd for a face that she recognized. In truth, there was something alarming about so much dark muttering and she doubted it had to do with a full-stadium. Fred and George were supposed to be playing in the match, however, and Theodore was probably in the library, safely slumbering beneath a pile of old newspapers.

Then, under a sixth year boy's elbow, Astoria caught a glimpse of Professor Mcgonagall that did away with Daphne's mundane theory altogether. Astoria could not remember ever seeing her look so frantic; clutching a purple megaphone, several long locks of hair had sprung loose from Professor Mcgonagall's military-inspired bun. The effect was slightly panic inducing.

"Come on," said Astoria, now certain that something very bad had happened.

She pulled on her sister's elbow but Daphne dug her feet into the grass, confused. "What's going on?" she demanded, her eyes round and un-grasping as she tripped over a dent in the lawn.

"Another attack, obviously," drawled a snide, recognizable voice. Malfoy, Crabbe and Goyle were loitering near the back of the stands. All three of them looked amused and perfectly unconcerned.

"How do you know?" demanded Astoria coldly, prickling with a rarely employed sense of injustice. It was one thing to be a pure-blood and to have a certain unworried view about the Chamber of Secrets—this she could have tolerated. But surely was another thing entirely to take such tremendous pleasure in the misery of others?

"Obvious, isn't it?" returned Malfoy lazily, shooting Mcgonagall a very condescending look. "What else would they cancel a quidditch match for? Just when everyone was starting to relax, some mudblood's been attacked."

Daphne looked to Astoria, hoping for some kind of confirmation. Astoria, for her part however, could not tear her eyes off of Malfoy.

Perhaps it was because she _too_ had thought that they had seen the last off the attacks, but blood was pounding in her ears. Something about the easy carelessness of Draco's features struck her as nearly criminal. All of a sudden, Astoria was fighting a strange and unexpected desire to wrestle Draco to the ground and smack him all over his pale face. Surely _that_ would be enough to force some concern into him?

" _What_?" asked Malfoy quickly, his smirk failing a little under her intense gaze.

"Nothing," Astoria bit back tightly, wisely deciding to avoid a fist fight with Lucius Malfoy's son.

"Hah!" cried Malfoy in breathless delight, pointing toward Mcgonagall.

Unwittingly, Astoria's eyes turned to follow his. Professor Mcgonagall had pulled Harry Potter away form the rest of the Gryffindor team; Astoria watched as Harry's mouth drooped with shock and began to register fear.

"Do you think that means it was _Granger_?" asked Draco gleefully. Crabbe and Goyle both guffawed sycophantically.

This new twist in an already unpleasant story was nearly enough to make Astoria feel sick. She had never been great friends with Hermione, but they _had_ shared a dormitory together, had woken to the sound of her alarm clock for years. What if she was _dead_? And for what? Simply because her parents were muggles? This seemed not just unnecessary, but downright cruel.

A wetly unpleasant breeze stirred Astoria's hair, but she hardly noticed; her limbs were numb with revelation.

Whether or not pure-bloods were superior to muggle-borns (a puzzle Astoria had never quite been able to bring herself to form a solid opinion on) did not entirely matter. Perhaps being a pure-blood _did_ have its advantages, but didn't that make even more unacceptable to hurt others simply because they were weaker? Draco might be able to remove himself from the truth of this enough to find the idea of Hermione being attacked funny, but Astoria could not, and she was done listening to him.

"Come on, Daphne," said Astoria stiffly, certain that she was going to do or say something that she would regret if she did not move.

Malfoy peered warily at her out of the corner of his eye, clearly irritated by her attitude.

"What's with you two?" he sneered, but Daphne seemed almost as confused by Astoria's sudden coldness as he did.

"This is insanity!" Astoria snapped, feeling her inner turmoil seeking a crack through which to vent itself. "You think it's funny that a monster is slowly picking off children? We'll, I've had enough!"

"You've had enough?" repeated Daphne in a skeptical voice.

"Yeah," Astoria snarled, letting go of her sister's arm. "I've had _enough_. You stay here with Malfoy and plot the rise of the pure-blood race if you want, but I'm out!"

Malfoy blinked and a dull flush crept into his face.

"Astoria!" Daphne called hastily after her, trying to be reasonable. But Astoria had already turned around and was marching back up the wet lawn. A squelching sound behind her warned Astoria that Daphne was attempting to follow her, so she picked up her pace.

"What are you going to do?" breathed Malfoy, his tone angry and sarcastic. "Join forces with Peter Weasley and hunt the monster down yourself?"

Astoria turned, surprised to find that Daphne was still standing at the foot of the hill with Crabbe and Goyle, flabbergasted by her outburst. It was Draco who was chasing her.

"Stop following me!" snapped Astoria. "It's none of your business!"

"Yeah?" insisted Malfoy with a red-faced scowl. "Well, that monster probably eats _blood traitors_ just as willingly as mudbloods! Just so you know!"

"Well bully for the monster!" snapped Astoria, sounding much less concerned by this notion than she actually felt. "Now run off and tell all of your Slytherin mates to start gunning for me."

They had reached the steps. With a swiftness of foot that her sister never would have been able to manage, Draco blocked her from the door with his shoulder.

"Have you literally lost your mind?" he sneered, his eyes nearly slits of annoyance.

"No," Astoria spat back savagely, attempting to push past him.

"What, this is some kind of Gryffindor urge to get eaten?" demanded Malfoy, becoming more confused and disgusted by the second. "Why do you care about Granger? You're not even _friends_ with her!"

"Get out of my way, Draco!" said Astoria dangerously.

Astoria was no longer entirely sure why she was so angry, but she was certain it was a mixture of the way that Draco had sneered at Mcgonagall and the way that he was blocking her now, impeding her ability to escape into the castle with his shoulder. If he didn't move soon, she was going to _trample_ him.

Draco seemed to spot a trace of this emotion on Astoria's face because he took a small, self-preserving step backward.

"You're a pureblood, Astoria!" he insisted hotly. "Just keep your nose out of it. You _don't_ even care, you're just looking for a reason to get into trouble so you can _annoy_ your aunt."

Astoria pushed Draco as hard as she could. Stunned and unprepared, Draco stumbled on the doorstep but managed to keep his feet.

Still seething, Astoria pushed him again, his comment about Belladonna driving her past the point of usual wrath. This time Draco managed to bring his arm up to block her but not so fast that Astoria's blow wasn't stronger. When Astoria raised a hand to properly slap him, he finally staggered backwards and out of reach.

"Are you _insane_?" Malfoy stammered, his face so red and surprised that for a moment he forgot to look offended. Instead, he looked rather like a little boy who had just been hit by his mother for no reason.

Astoria glared at him, surprised and appalled to find that Draco's look of flinching shame only seemed to feed her monstrous anger rather than soothe it.

"Get out of the way, then!" she snapped.

"Fine," Draco muttered at last, moving aside. His hand jerked up to the place Astoria's fingers had grazed, his face betraying a look of something close to mortification.

Astoria stormed past. The second she was out of his sight, she began to run.

It was obvious before she even reached the tower that hitting Draco had been mistake. In fact, a horrible sense of dread seemed to be warning her that it was a mistake she might be forced to pay for. Still, her anger had not yet run its course and she was quickly able to come to her own defense.

She would not have hit him if he had just _moved_. _Why_ had he continued to stand there when she was so clearly on the verge of murdering him?

Astoria paused to catch her breath when she reached the portrait of the Fat Lady. Between gasps, she slowly became aware of the fact that she had been in a great rush to get to her common room that she had not paused to think what she would do when she got there. Aimless and trapped in a loop of her own anger, Astoria let herself in and sunk into a seat by the fire.

She had no solid plan, but it seemed to Astoria that Harry Potter had spent a good chunk of the year trying to hunt the Heir of Slytherin down. Perhaps she should mention her suspicions about Hagrid again, just in case?

0o0

"I can't believe this," murmured Fred Weasley.

The last rays of bleak sunlight were beginning to set. The twins were still in their quidditch robes, and there was mud all over the carpet at their feet.

"Hermione's been petrified _and_ we're out of the running for the cup," George joined in somberly.

"At least Hermione's alive," added Astoria. "It's incredible, when you think about it. Slytherin's monster wants to _kill_ its victims not stun them."

"I hadn't thought of it that way before," said George tensely, a shadow passing over his face. "Do you think it's making whoever's behind these attacks angry? That he hasn't managed to kill anybody yet, I mean?"

"Probably," said Astoria truthfully, thinking of how loudly and stupidly she had insisted her scorn for the Heir of Slytherin in front of Malfoy earlier: _That monster probably eats blood traitors just as willingly as mudbloods._

Astoria shivered _._ Surely Draco had complained at length about her speech in his own common room. She was probably an official enemy of the Heir and she hadn't even had a chance to talk to Harry yet.

The portrait hole opened. Harry and Ron stepped through, looking ashen faced. The twins motioned toward them eagerly.

"Well," said Ron heavily, sitting down on a vacant foot rest, "we saw her."

"How does she look?" asked Fred, brushing a bit of lint off of his brother's shirt in a more tender way than Astoria was used to seeing him do.

"Not good," said Ron hollowly. "All cold and stoney like the rest of them. The funny thing is, she had just had a break through about the Chamber before the game. She rushed off for the library and didn't tell us. The next thing we know, she's been petrified. It's like the Heir knew that she was onto him or something..."

"It wasn't just Hermione," said Harry, for some reason looking at Percy out of the corner of his eye. "It was that Ravenclaw prefect, as well. Penelope."

"Poor Perce," murmured Fred, glancing at his older brother, who really _did_ look pale and nervous. "Must be hard on him. I reckon he thought being a prefect made him immortal."

"Come on," said George, clapping his brother on the back. "Let's go cheer him up."

Both twins heaved themselves out of their seats, determined. Harry and Ron watched as the twins crossed over to Percy, who was sitting by himself near the fire.

"Bed, then?" suggested Ron weakly but Astoria would not let Harry leave before she had her say. If she had basically declared herself against the monster that morning, she wanted to make it count. Particularly if she really did end up eaten for it.

"Harry, do you remember that thing we were talking about the other night at dinner?" Astoria asked, catching Harry's eye awkwardly as he made to stand.

"Er, yeah," said Harry, dropping back into his seat. "You mean about Hagrid?"

Ron paused, looking slightly harassed. This seemed to be his reaction to most females: a frustrated sense of intrusion followed by annoyance.

"Well, I was talking to Theodore the other day," Astoria went on, "and he said that his dad told him Hagrid was expelled the same year the Chamber of Secrets was opened."

" _Theodore_?" repeated Ron snottily. "You mean that weird Nott boy?"

"Yes," said Astoria, not even bothering to look at Ron. "I'm _not_ saying it's _definitely_ Hagrid. I just think that if you're looking for clues, Hagrid obviously knows something. Even if he _was_ framed last time."

Harry seemed to consider this thoughtfully. Ron sighed, eyeing direction of his dormitory staircase with rude longing.

"Yeah," muttered Harry at last. "I think you're right. I was really hoping we wouldn't have to talk to him about it, but it's starting to look like we've got to."

"When?" asked Astoria. "You can't do it during the day—he's got work. Plus, you and I might not be the only ones who know that Hagrid's got a secret."

"Yeah," agreed Harry. "We'll have to go at night."

"We could use one of Fred and George's enchanted cloaks?" Astoria suggested. "They become visible again after a few hours, but it might be enough time to get us down to his house and then back up to the castle."

"We won't need those," said Harry confidently.

"And who say's _you're_ coming?" added Ron hotly.

Astoria turned toward Harry, suddenly unsure of herself.

"She can come," said Harry hastily, not wishing to witness a fight. "She tried to get me to go see Hagrid weeks ago. Lets just meet in the entrance hall tomorrow night. Do you think you can manage that?"

"What time?" asked Astoria, hating the entire plot, but not quite willing to look like a fair-weather Gryffindor in order to avoid it.

"Let's say at about eleven," said Harry. "The halls will be empty by then."

"That's after hours," Astoria pointed out doubtfully. "The teachers'll be on high alert after today."

"Stay in the tower then," snapped Ron.

"No," said Astoria waspishly. "I'll be there. It might take me a minute though, so don't leave without me."

0o0

By the next morning however, it was beginning to become clear just how difficult crossing the castle would be, especially after dark.

The school had changed overnight. Filch was no longer sulking about the second floor corridor, but properly patrolling the halls again. Students were now being ushered from class to class by a chaperoning teacher and all free time had been limited to the library and house common rooms.

"This is like a fascist regime," said Theo mournfully at lunch. "I was going to go back to that nook near the divination tower this afternoon. Now I'm stuck in the dungeons. Where are _you_ going?"

Astoria had made to edge around him and continue on to the Gryffindor table, but Theo was scowling at her so angrily that she paused.

"Are you not allowed to sit with me anymore?" Theodore demanded. "The teacher's say you have to sit in your corner?"

"No," frowned Astoria, slightly taken aback. "I never eat lunch with you."

"Our _freedom_ is under attack, Astoria," spat Theo spitefully. "Rebel with me."

Astoria's eyes slid nervously down the benches toward Draco, but she sat anyway.

"Our freedom is only under attack because one of the students is trying to _kill_ people," Astoria reminded him tightly.

"Not _all of_ the people," countered Theodore, displaying a certain level of annoyance. "I'm a pure-blood. Nobody is attacking me and I want to study where it's ventilated and damp!"

Astoria rolled her eyes and helped herself to a bowl of lentil soup, keeping her sight trained carefully on Theo. "Just study where you want, if you're so serious about it."

"I would but I can't get caught in the hallways," said Theo. "I don't want everybody thinking _I'm_ the Heir."

"Then stop complaining," insisted Astoria, trying to ignore the furtive looks that Draco was giving her out of the corner of his eye. Surely he would not stand up and accuse her of blood traitorousness in front of the watchful Slytherin lunch crew?

Draco grabbed Crabbe by the shirt front and leaned close enough to whisper something unpleasant to him.

" _Why_ do you keep watching Malfoy?" asked Theo, his eyes following hers stealthy.

"I'm not," Astoria insisted, blushing slightly.

"He's watching _you,_ " said Theo and there was a trace of annoyance in his voice. "Why does he keep looking over here?"

"Dunno," said Astoria vaguely before adding, "is he glaring?"

"No," said Theo, unhappily. "He looks sulky and resentful, though. Do I even _want_ to know?"

"There's nothing _to_ know," said Astoria, taking far longer than was necessary to swallow her soup. "I got into a fight with him yesterday."

"About what?" asked Theo, his face still suspicious and displeased.

"Nothing," said Astoria tightly. "Keep your voice down and _stop_ looking over at him!"

"Ill stop looking if you tell me why _he_ looks so weird," insisted Theo, attempting to strike a bargain.

" _Fine_ ," Astoria hastily hissed. Malfoy stood up and Crabbe and Goyle followed suit. Astoria's whole body relaxed when they left the hall, heedless to the teaches new rule about supervision in the corridors.

"You just went pale," observed Theo, staring at her unkindly.

"I ran into Draco outside the quidditch pitch yesterday and told him off for being so gleeful about all the attacks," said Astoria. "Everyone had just found out about Hermione, and I was in a foul temper."

"So what?" said Theo. "You _offended_ him? His majesty can deal with it."

"Well, I didn't just leave it there," said Astoria uncomfortably. "I told him I thought the Chamber of Secrets was ridiculous and that I was firmly against the Heir for harassing the populace."

Theo's mouth became a weary line, reminding her forcibly of Snape. "How very Gryffindor-ish of you."

It took all of Astoria's love of shocking people to go on.

"Obviously he wasn't pleased and he wouldn't _get out of my way_ ," said Astoria bitterly, "so I hit him."

"You hit on him?" cried Theo, his voice thick with disgust.

"No," argued Astoria flatly. "I _hit_ him. As in literally. Several times and then I sort of slapped him once in the face."

Astoria mimed a wild slapping gesture.

Theo sat back in his chair, thoroughly deflated. For a moment, Astoria was certain that he would disown her for such a bout of stupidity. Then, to her shock, he began to laugh. Slowly at first and then loudly.

"What are you laughing at?" Astoria hissed, smacking him in the arm. "It's not funny! The more I think about it the more obvious it is that I shouldn't have done it! Now he's going to tell everybody what I said and I'll end up monster bait."

Theo wiped tears of mirth from the corners of his eyes. "He's not going to tell anybody that you hit him, Greengrass, you silly little girl."

Astoria didn't know whether to be more offended or surprised. "Of course he will!" Astoria pressed. "I was _so_ insulting."

"Exactly," Theo choked. "You think he's going to tell Marcus Flint that he was beaten up by the prettiest girl in his year? A Gryffindor, too? Your secret's safe, he'll take it with him to his grave."

Astoria had not thought of things this way. Now that Theodore suggested it, however, it seemed promisingly possible.

"So you don't think everyone knows?" Astoria asked, glancing down the row toward Miles Bletchley, who was playing table tennis with a balled up piece of parchment.

" _Nobody_ knows," said Theo emphatically. "I'd bet my life on it."

"Then what was he whispering to Crabbe just now?" asked Astoria stubbornly.

"I don't know," choked Theo, still hiccuping slightly. "Anything he could think of that would get him _out_ of the hall? Merlin! You actually slapped his face? Do you know how long I've wanted to do that?"

"I only sort of slapped him," Astoria backtracked. "I'd already pushed him twice, so at that point he was ducking and I only clipped him."

Theo collapsed into a new fit of laughter. "What did he _do_? Did he threaten to curse you?"

"No," said Astoria, starting to feel a little badly herself. "He just stood there looking stunned. Then muttered something at me, so I left."

"He let you walk away?" asked Theo, his smile faltering. "I thought for sure he must have made a run for it like a little Nancy. Especially without Crabbe or Goyle there."

"No," confirmed Astoria. "I'm the villain of this piece. I smacked him and then left him there."

Theo wiped his mouth with his hand, trying to hide his grin. "Well, I hate to say this but _he's_ not going to let the matter go."

"I thought you said he'd keep quiet?" hissed Astoria.

"Yeah, he'll keep quiet," Theodore assured her, "but he'll be resentful and angry. Make no mistake, he'll probably try to get back at you some other way."

"You don't think he'll just forget about it?" asked Astoria.

"No," scoffed Theo, dismissing this theory with a quirk of his head. "Malfoy's resentful by nature and he clings to a grudge like an angry little kid. Look at the way he is with Potter. And that's all because Potter wouldn't be his friend on the train in first year!"

"Great, that's just what I need—a grudge," muttered Astoria darkly. "Do you think I should apologize?"

"What would you even say?" demanded Theo. "Sorry I called you a racist and then hit you?"

"I don't know," Astoria cringed. "I could probably just tell him that I was being _unreasonable_ —he's not very smart about girls."

"Yeah, well," said Theo, tossing his napkin onto his plate, "good luck with that. Personally, I expect you'll be enemies from here on out."

Astoria didn't like the way Theo smiled at this idea any better than she liked the sentiment: as though the idea of Astoria and Draco's enmity promised some kind of relief for him. Truthfully, she herself felt rather the opposite. Granted, she was tired of listening to Draco idolize the Heir of Slytherin, but she was not yet committed to becoming his sworn enemy.

0o0

Astoria's nerves, which had been properly frazzled since the day before, only continued to stretch themselves thinner with anticipation of sneaking across the castle by moonlight. The grave expression on Professor Flitwick's face as he chaperoned them to their last period History of Magic class did nothing to assuage her mounting tension.

"Hey," whispered Harry in a low voice as they lined up outside of class.

"Hey," returned Astoria, her mouth very dry.

"Are you sure you want to come with us tonight?"

"Yes," Astoria reassured him, trying not to sound positively out of breath at the thought.

"Ok, well, lets meet at ten o'clock instead," said Harry. His eyes moved toward the front of the line nervously. "I don't think the teachers will be patrolling the halls as diligently if we go earlier."

"Yeah, ok," Astoria agreed, loathing the idea that her potential expulsion had been moved up an hour.

Ron gave Harry a sudden warning shove. Draco Malfoy had been exciting the History of Magic classroom, but he had frozen at the sight of the three of them whispering. Harry stopped talking and Malfoy continued walking, but not without shooting them a look of knowing hatefulness.

"How much did he hear?" asked Astoria urgently.

"Dunno," said Ron with a crease between his eyes. "Enough by the look of it."

"Maybe I _shouldn't_ come," said Astoria, clutching her notebook anxiously. It would be bad enough if Harry and Ron were caught, but adding Malfoy into the mix spelled a real fiasco.

"Chickening out, are you?" asked Ron.

Astoria hesitated, unable to think of way to express her feeling of foreboding about the whole affair without sounding ridiculous or full of herself. Truthfully, she wasn't sure if mattered how much Malfoy had heard—surely he must have some idea of what Astoria was attempting to do and was likely to be bitter about it.

"I'm _not_ chickening out," insisted Astoria at last, fighting against every warning sign that her body knew how to send her.

"See you in the entrance hall at ten, then," said Ron as the line began to shuffle forward.

Astoria skipped dinner that evening because she was too tense to eat. This meant that she could not go to common room either, mostly because she suspected that leaving it again without anyone noticing was nearly impossible. Instead, Astoria followed her feet to the nook that she and Theodore had discovered by the divination tower.

It was dark and suitably dingy enough to suit Astoria's mood there. She curled up in an armchair and pulled her legs close to her chest, watching as the sun slowly set on the other side of the leaded window. Shadows began to creep across the grounds. Finally, at eight thirty, Astoria lit a tiny lumos against the gathering blackness that surrounded her.

When the moon began to rise at a quarter past nine, she stood up and extinguished her wand, prepared for her task at last. Nothing could be worse then continuing on by herself in such treacherously silent solitude.

She made it down three flights of stairs before she heard her first noise: a faint, tinny banging coming from the corridor in front of her. Creeping to the end of the hall, she soon discovered Peeves stuffing gum inside a knight's helmut.

Thankful to know where the poltergeist was, Astoria doubled back and slipped down a long dark passageway hidden behind a tapestry.

She was mentally congratulating herself on her own stealthiness when the sound of another person, this time walking briskly down the corridor in her direction, made her freeze. Still behind the tapestry, Astoria was hidden from view only as long as this approaching stranger did not decide to use the shortcut she was occupying.

Her pulse hammered itself out against the stone behind her as she discerned the sound of Filch's characteristic wheezing draw nearer. When his panting drew level with the tapestry, Astoria closed her eyes. And then—miracle of miracles!—Filch continued past her, rustling the bottom of the tapestry.

She held still for several stunned and breathless seconds, waiting for him to clear the hallway before bounding out from behind the tapestry. Immediately, she ran headlong into another human being with enough force to make her teeth rattle.

"What the—?" hissed a stunned, unhappy voice.

Astoria didn't even need to look to know who it was she had just rammed into. It was Draco Malfoy and, to Astoria's mounting terror, Filch's wheezing was still audible—perhaps less than a hallway removed.

Draco's sneer slipped off of his face before returning with double the original vengeance. His eyes darted in the direction of Filch's muttering voice, perhaps calculating how far the caretaker had managed to slip to away.

"Don't!" Astoria begged, still listening to Filch's lurching walk, made desperate by the idea of Draco calling him back again.

" _Seriously_?" Draco hissed, moved to distraction.

"What?" Astoria gasped, unsure what he was even referring to.

"You're trying to sneak out with them?" Draco sneered.

"With who?" asked Astoria quickly.

"With _Potter_!" Malfoy spat cruelly. "Do you think I'm stupid? I _saw_ you two _whispering_ together."

"I wasn't whispering," Astoria insisted, lying through her teeth.

What if they did worse than expel her? What if they suspected that Astoria was the Heir of Slytherin and took her someplace for questioning?

"Don't, Draco. _Please_ don't!" she squawked manically, surprising even herself.

"Don't _what_?" Draco breathed, his gaze flicking softly back over his shoulder. "Call Filch back? Why _shouldn't_ I?"

"Because you'll get in trouble as well," shot Astoria, hoping against hope that Draco did not have a legitimate reason to be in the hallway.

"No I won't," Draco jeered. "I was just _with_ Filch. My father will be on the grounds tonight and I wanted to send him a message."

Draco's eyes were like twin chips of unpredictable cruelty, but he still had not called Filch back. Perhaps he had only been waiting for her to give him a reason not to, however, because when Astoria had nothing left to say to defend herself, he sneered nastily and turned his head as if to shout.

Losing her head completely, Astoria grabbed the front of his shirt and attempted to pull him down the opposite stretch of corridor.

What was it Tracey had said over Christmas break about Draco? _I think if you were to change your tune and be nice to him for a change, he'd start singing a whole different song._ Astoria had no idea what she was doing, but she sensed that even a poor attempt at channeling whatever intensity she sometimes felt directed at her from Draco would be better than remaining silent.

"Please don't," Astoria whispered, employing a voice that was much softer and more fragile then she was used to using around him. Draco paused, unnerved by her change of tone. "I wasn't sneaking around. I'll go back to bed. Please don't call Filch."

 _If only she hadn't shoved him._

"What are you _doing_ , then?" demanded Malfoy resentfully, thrown by the look on her face. "You can't tell me you and Potter weren't planning _something_. Where is he anyway? He's obviously not _here_ making sure you don't get expelled."

"I don't know what you're talking about. You're just mad because I hit you," said Astoria, shifting the subject away from Harry. She bit her lip and leaned in; a shameless maneuver that would have made Belladonna _gag_ for its lack of subtlety. "If you let me go, I promise to never hit you ever again. I didn't even _mean_ to do it the first time. Not _really_."

Much to Astoria's surprise, Draco did _not_ roll his eyes at her unskillful, clumsy flirting. Instead, to her increasing wonder, he flushed slightly pink in the dim light of the corridor.

" _Funny_ ," he snapped twitchily, his eyes glued on her uncertainly, unable to resist the vaguely pleading tone of her voice.

"No, it's not," said Astoria earnestly, edging closer still. She knew that it was dangerous to talk about hitting him with Filch still so near, but she could sense that an apology was smarter, never mind what Theodore had said. "I shouldn't have been so rude to you, you were only trying to give me sensible advice."

"Switched tunes have you?" remarked Draco, still looking a little warm. "I don't suppose that has anything to do with the fact that the whole school is so tense I could probably have you expelled for wandering the corridors."

"Don't have me expelled, Draco," said Astoria docilely, smirking despite herself at the foolishness of it. Something strange and devious—something that had been lying dormant inside of her—was finally bubbling up through her chest and it was not hard to detect an unsavory taste of Belladonna in it.

Malfoy's sneer slid nervously off of his face. Dimly, he seemed to notice that a switch was taking place, one in which Astoria had stolen the upper hand.

"Stop it," said Draco commandingly, although what 'it' was, even Malfoy did not seem to know.

"Stop what?" asked Astoria pertly. "Promising only to touch you nicely from here on out?"

Malfoy definitely colored this time and his haughty exterior deteriorated so completely that it was replaced by a look of uncertainty.

"I mean, I _could_ keep hitting you, I suppose," Astoria continued teasingly, "but only if you want me to."

"Why would I _want_ you to hit me?" asked Draco sharply.

"I don't know," said Astoria innocently, feeling all of the wickedness she was trying to keep out of her smirk leak into her eyes. "Maybe you like that sort of thing."

"I _don't_ ," Malfoy spluttered.

It was possible that Malfoy would have actually been more comfortable with a threat or a bribe; both of these tactics were probably more familiar to him, but Astoria suspected that, without the presence of his usual male companions around, her being soft and afraid was a far more lethal weapon.

"Fine," said Astoria, dropping all pretense, preying on the fact that they were alone and Malfoy's ego was massive. "I'm sorry I hit you. But we're friends, right? Please don't hand me over to Filch. He's already up a whole floor, anyway."

Astoria had never once claimed to be Draco's friend before and she was slightly surprised when he did not try to deny it the moment the words had left her mouth.

"Do you know what I would do to Crabbe if _he_ slapped me?" demanded Malfoy at last, sneering bitterly.

"Nothing?" Astoria suggested. "He's twelve feet tall and one try would probably knock your head clean head off."

"Where were you _going_?" Draco spat at last, unable to let it go. "What would _Potter_ want with you in the middle of the night?"

"I told you," Astoria lied, not wishing to implicate Harry or Ron. "I wasn't meeting Harry. Why would I do that? I have no idea where he is right now."

Malfoy narrowed his eyes suspiciously but in the end, either because he actually believed her or only because he wanted to, he finally shrugged. "Fine, just go."

Astoria hesitated, fighting off a surge of guilt for using Draco so illy. "Where did I end up hitting you, anyway?" she asked, dithering slightly.

"The side of my face, Greengrass," said Draco flatly. "Where were you _aiming_?"

"I wasn't," Astoria muttered. Draco froze as she reached up and gently tilted his face just enough to catch the light of the torches, wishing to confirm that she had not left a mark. She did not recall hitting him very hard, but the idea was niggling at her just the same.

"You didn't bruise," she said at last, pulling her hand back. A queer and uncomfortable warmth was settling in her stomach—the same swooping feeling she sometimes got when she knew she was going to get away with an unpleasant lie.

A sudden swooshing sound, one similar to water rushing through a narrow space, made her head snap toward the end of the hall in alarm. Draco let out a heavy breath that Astoria had not realized he had been holding and turned as well.

Astoria tensed, searching for the sound. It had been several minutes since Draco had been with Filch and even _he_ ought not to be in the corridor anymore.

They heard it again: a slithering sound that reminded Astoria of mud sliding over rock.

"What is that?" whispered Astoria. She had never seen a teacher or a ghost slide down a hallway...

Malfoy remained mute, his eyes on the ceiling, his body rigid. "I don't know," he said at last. "Creaky plumbing, I guess..."

"We should go," said Astoria. The skin on the back of her arms was starting to break out into goosebumps.

Malfoy sneered but jerked his head toward the tapestry she had come out of. "Don't forget, this means you owe me."

Astoria shot him an appreciative glance and disappeared behind the heavy fabric. She paused on the steps and the new silence of the hall pressed in on her eardrums like heavy water.

She was still halfway between Gryffindor Tower and the Entrance Hall. Neither of her destinations, (Harry or the Fat Lady) were even remotely close. A quick glance at her watch told her that she was very late in meeting Harry and Ron and that they had likely left without her. The only thing more embarrassing than looking as though she had been too afraid to sneak out to meet them was the very real fear that she now felt when confronted with five floors of solid darkness.

Astoria half-wondered how far toward the dungeons Draco had gone. It was a very funny thing, but for all of Draco's cruel bravado and delight over the pain and suffering of muggle-borns, Astoria was relatively certain that she was far more likely to convince _him_ than Harry to agree to a foolish trek across the castle because she was afraid.

This was a character trait that Astoria did not give Draco enough credit for. Now, standing in the gloomy darkness, she was predisposed to give it to him.

Suddenly the slithering sound was back, this time much closer than it had been before.

Astoria's vision danced with terror but it was so black in the secret passageway that she couldn't see more than a foot in front of her. Stumbling, she tripped forward and reached out for something — _anything_ —to give her purchase. The unnatural slithering grew louder until the source might have been in the same stairway with her. Astoria gave up on moving altogether. She ducked her head and squeezed her eyes shut.

It was more than just slithering, she realized. It was as though a voice was speaking to her, and while its language was ancient and unfamiliar, its purpose was very clear; it wanted nothing more than to rip the flesh from her bones.

Then, as quickly as the voice had come, it was suddenly gone. For a long moment Astoria remained on the floor with her face pressed against the dirty stone steps. It was only the recollection of her wand that gave her the strength to lift her head. " _Lumos_ ," she whispered, beyond terrified of what illumination might reveal.

Astoria blinked in the pale light, the edges of her vision blurred by tears. The hallway was empty.

0o0

When Astoria woke the next morning her eyes were crusty and raw from a lack of gentle sleep. The dormitory was empty; a rarity on a Saturday. Astoria's eyes skimmed the room until they fell on Hermione's made-up, unruffled bed and remained there for a long while.

As it was a weekend, there was hardly any reason not to sleep in, but already her mind was buzzing with anxiety. Astoria kicked her sweaty feet out from under her blankets and she could tell without touching her hair that it was a horror-story of tangles.

The common room was nearly deserted when she finally made her way down. Fred and George were bent over the same notebook by the fire with a quill poised in both of their right hands.

"Can't do it like that," George insisted as Astoria came up behind them. "That'll just make them flicker more before they go out."

"What flickers?" asked Astoria, slumping against the back of Fred's chair.

"Blimey!" jolted George, his hand flashing forward to cover the pages in front of him before realizing that it was only her.

"The invisibility cloaks," explained Fred gravely. "We're trying to give them a longer shelf life."

"Seems like a responsible idea with the way things are headed," said George. "I reckon we wont even charge for them, we'll just hand them out to people we who know don't come from wizarding families."

"There was another attack?" asked Astoria tensely, picking up on their gloomy energy.

"No," said Fred. "You haven't heard?"

"Heard what?" asked Astoria.

"Dumbledore's been forced to step down," said Fred humorlessly. "He's not even in the castle. Even worse, Hagrid's been arrested."

"What?" Astoria exclaimed, thinking of how Harry and Ron had ventured down to Hagrid's cabin the night before. Had they been caught out of bed or had the cabin already been empty?

"Lucius Malfoy," added Fred grimly, feeling that this pronouncement needed no further explanation.

"Apparently he was here last night. He had some document signed by the other school governors calling for Dumbledore's dismissal," said George. "Then, Fudge showed up and took Hagrid into custody, but not before Hagrid basically accused Lucius of bribing the other school governors to oust Dumbledore."

"How do you know all of this?" asked Astoria, aghast.

"Harry and Ron were there," said Fred quietly.

"I was supposed to go with them," Astoria admitted. "Only I ran into Draco. I was lucky to get away from him without being arrested myself."

"What time did you run into Draco?" asked Fred with a suspicious frown. "What was he doing out of bed?"

"Palling around with Filch. He knew his father was coming," explained Astoria, putting two and two together. "He must have known Hagrid was going to be arrested."

"Well, you're bloody lucky the teachers didn't catch you," said George, looking more serious than Astoria had ever seen him. "I reckon it's going to be a regular witch hunt now. They'll do anything to make these attacks stop."

"I heard something last night coming back up to the tower," said Astoria, still shivery from the memory of the chilling voice.

"Like what?" asked Fred.

"Like a voice," said Astoria, aware that what she wanted to express rang as slightly insane. "Speaking in a cold, cruel language."

Fred and George both blinked at her, appalled.

"You shouldn't have been walking around after dark," said Fred hoarsely.

"Hang on, Harry he thinks he's been hearing voices too," interrupted George intensely. "He says that _it_ says it wants to kill. Is that what you heard?"

"No," said Astoria. "I couldn't understand what it was saying. It wasn't speaking _words_ exactly, but it sounded angry. I'm sure it knew I was there."

0o0

Astoria spent a large part of the afternoon alone in the library, trying to study but mostly staring out at the dewy, wet grounds. Birds in a variety of colors had taken up nesting rights and were hopping about on branches in the bushes under the window, eating and squabbling loudly.

By noon a thunderstorm had drawn its dark curtains over the castle and forced the birds into hiding. The only sound Astoria could hear after that was the pinging of water on leaves and muffled rain falling into the spongey grass.

Theo wandered in after the rain started; his entrance was accompanied by a terrific clap of thunder. Astoria waved enthusiastically at him through the intense neon haze of nearby lightning.

Theodore slouched over and took a seat in the hidden alcove they nearly always occupied, his bootleg thermos of coffee clanging conspicuously against the desk. Astoria cast a weary eye for Madam Pince but the sound of the storm seemed to hidden the thermos's knocking.

"So, you've heard about Dumbledore, then?" Theo asked, taking a furtive sip of coffee before pushing it under the table at her.

Astoria nodded her confirmation. "This coffee's good," she remarked, recapping it.

"I got it from the kitchens," Theo confessed. "You said they were behind the painting of the bowl of fruit so I thought I should have a look for myself."

"That explains why it's still hot," Astoria smirked, thinking dully of the lukewarm after-breakfast fare sitting in the hall.

"I don't know what Draco's dad think's he's playing at," muttered Theodore over a roll of thunder. "I mean, it's not that I'm such a fan of Dumbledore myself. But with him gone, well, I think they'll probably end up having to close the school."

As panicked as this notion made her, Astoria could not help but feel that Theodore was right.

"I think I heard Slytherin's monster last night," Astoria confessed.

Theo, who had been biting his fingernails, paused with his thumb still at his lips, the nail half-severed. "Sorry?"

"Yeah," Astoria continued. "I heard something. It sounded inhuman."

Theo swallowed slowly. "Like growling?" he asked.

"No," said Astoria, "like hissing. Or maybe Latin?"

Theo's face immediately turn a turn toward the analytical. "What kind of hissing? Like a spitting sound or—"

"No," Astoria shook her head. "More disembodied than that. I couldn't tell where it was coming from."

"Well obviously not," said Theo. "Maybe you just imagined it. What were you doing out of bed roaming the halls?"

"I didn't imagine it," insisted Astoria. "I just don't think it was interested in me."

"Hmm," said Theo, pulling off the rest of his thumbnail.

"Stop that, it's gross." Astoria made a face and blew the nail off the table.

She was just considering telling the whole tale when they heard muffled voices coming from behind the bookshelf that concealed their table.

"He won't be gone for long, I bet," said the clear, disinterested voice of Blaise Zabini. "Dumbledore will be back. He's a plague that way. With all these attacks, I'm surprised your dad even managed to get him out of the building."

"That's precisely _how_ father forced him out," said Draco snidely.

A fork of lightning illuminated both of their shapes through the spaces between books. Theo and Astoria exchanged looks. The polite thing to do would be to cough and declare themselves, but they were both curious and Theo's natural instinct was almost always to duck.

"That and the death threats he must have sent Madam Bones and Augusta Longbottom to get them to sign that letter," jeered Blaise dismissively. "'They've stood behind Dumbledore since the war."

"Maybe they think he's getting old," said Malfoy defensively. "They've both got family at Hogwarts. Maybe it was too much to risk with the Heir of Slytherin on the loose."

Astoria was about to clear her throat when a third voice was added to the mix.

"Draco! Blaise!" called Pansy ecstatically.

Theo shot Astoria a look, clearly not wishing to endure Pansy. He held a finger up to his lips, his long eyelashes fluttering in the storm-dark space between them.

"Parkinson," Blaise greeted her calmly.

"I heard all about it at breakfast!" cried Pansy breathlessly, her shadow blocking some of the light filtering through the bookcase. "Did your dad really sack Dumbledore, Draco?"

"Draco's dad _can't_ sack Dumbledore," corrected Blaise condescendingly. "He's only a school Governor."

"He just as much as sacked him," argued Draco. "He's been made to leave, hasn't he?"

"Ooh," cooed Pansy. "How?"

"Death threats," laughed Blaise dangerously and Astoria could almost hear the smirk in his tone.

"All the governors signed a letter," Draco clarified irritably.

"I wonder what the Gryffindors will have to say about this!" Pansy sang excitedly.

"Half of them will probably be lining up to leave," said Draco in a self satisfied voice. "I'm sure Potter's heartbroken. First Granger and now Dumbledore?"

"I wonder what Greengrass will have to say about it," Pansy continued in a testing voice.

Astoria felt her pulse quicken at the mention of her name. Somehow, knowing that they were talking about her made staying quiet feel quite a bit more like actual spying.

"Why would she care that Dumbledore's gone?" sneered Draco reflexively. "Her mother was a Lestrange, it's not like she's in any danger."

"No," said Pansy, but the tone of her voice was definitely cooler, "but she _is_ a Gryffindor. Her opinion is probably warped by all of the Weasleys she hangs around with. I bet she signs whatever petition they draw up because she misses her muggle roommates."

Astoria blinked, stunned by this unexpected ferocity. Theo grinned into his fingers and silently spit out another nail. Astoria stared down at the moon-shaped ring, repulsed and unable to chastise him.

"She will not," scoffed Malfoy scathingly. "Nobody could can speak for her _friends,_ but Greengrass isn't stupid at least."

Theo raised an eyebrow at Astoria questioningly.

"How do you know?" asked Pansy resentfully. "Every time the Chamber of Secrets comes up she gets moody. I swear, sometimes I think she's going to end up just like Potter. She may have been born a pure-blood and she may be _pretty,_ but that doesn't mean she won't turn out as big of a blood traitor as the rest of the Weasley boys."

"She does seem rather piqued lately," allowed Blaise lazily, obviously enjoying this breakdown of Astoria's likelihood of turning out 'wrong'.

"She's probably just sick of having Nott hanging on her all the time trying to talk about it," muttered Malfoy cruelly, making excuses for her. "What do they even do together? I bet he harps on about the Chamber of Secrets all day like it's something out of a philosophy textbook."

Blaise chuckled and Theo's already somber face turned sour.

"Lets do lunch, Draco," suggested Blaise in precisely the same haughty, uninterested way that Astoria's aunt Belladonna sometimes talked about meals.

"Oh," said Pansy quickly, and her shadow pivoted, "if you're going that way—"

They moved away from the shelves and Astoria listened as their fading footsteps turned into rain-riddled silence.

"Lousy gits," seethed Theo. "As _if_ I make you moody..." he trailed off petulantly, glancing at her over his pile of fingernails.

"No," Astoria laughed almost lovingly, "of course you don't. But if you spit another thumbnail at me, I may give you up completely."

0o0

* * *

So, there was actual plot in this one. I'm faintly proud of myself!

Anyway, reviews are always a treat!


	13. The Country Club

Chapter Thirteen

The Country Club

 _AN: The first chunk of this chapter should really have just been attached to the last chapter. Most of this is about the summer before third year and Sirius Black, but I've tacked on the finish for Chamber of Secrets in the beginning. Sorry if the flow is all funky._

* * *

0o0

The week before their originally slated exams, Professor Mcgonagall announced at breakfast that they would proceed with end of the year tests as scheduled.

"Only at Hogwarts," Theodore muttered to himself darkly over a cauldron full of shrinking solution a few hours later. "I really thought that after Dumbledore went, the whole system would break down and we'd end up home a month early."

"I don't suppose _I_ care about the exams," Malfoy drawled, picking up on their conversation from a table away. "It's not as though _my_ studying has been interrupted."

But Malfoy seemed to be a minority where this was concerned. While Theodore might be the only person to have let his Charms homework slide in order to catch up on his knowledge of obscure Goblin military affairs, he was certainly not the only one who had let his studying suffer.

"This is _dreadful_ ," admitted Tracey Davis. "I'm behind on everything. I won't pass anything."

"I could help you study?" suggested Daphne primly, chopping up her fuzzy caterpillars.

"Why bother?" Tracey sighed dramatically, her eyes falling onto Astoria and sticking there.

Astoria measured out a portion of shrivel fig juice and ignored her.

Not everybody was busy sweating their exams however. Some people were optimistically looking forward to the revival of the petrified students and the school's inevitable return to normality.

"What do you think the students will say when they wake up?" Lavender wondered at lunch.

The news that the mandrake restorative draught was nearly finished had been announced at breakfast.

"What if they don't know who attacked them?" asked Parvati somewhat fearfully. "What if no one ever catches the Heir?"

Astoria tried to tune this talk out. She too would be relived when the ordeal was over, but something about the rapidly approaching end of the attacks seemed to invite all manner of last minute tragedies.

"I wonder if Hermione will tell us what being petrified feels like?" added Lavender excitedly.

Astoria privately suspected that the experience of being petrified could not be any more interesting than sleeping, but she did not say so.

"Do you think they'll let Dumbledore come back once everyone has been revived?" asked Parvati. "What do you think, Astoria?"

Astoria blinked, startled out of her own private reverie by the sound of her name. "What? Yeah. I think Dumbledore will come back."

"Isn't your aunt on the board of governors, though?" insisted Lavender.

"No," said Astoria, "and the last time I checked she had no plans to join either."

"Oh," said Lavender, undeterred. "Well, what do the Slytherins think? They keep pretty close tabs on that sort of thing, don't they? _They're_ not great Dumbledore supporters."

She shrugged so Lavender, annoyed by the lack of information, returned her attention back onto Parvati until the bell rang.

Astoria was standing behind Dean Thomas and Seamus Finnegan in the line for History of Magic when Professor Mcgonagall's magically amplified voice filled the air.

"All students are to return to their house dormitories at once! All teachers return to the staffroom. Immediately, please."

At first, the hallway fell into a terrible silence. Then, the hum of buzzing speculation burst wide open like an angry hive of bees.

"Do you think they've cured everybody and figured out who the Heir of Slytherin is?" asked Neville Longbottom hopefully.

"I doubt it," muttered Astoria darkly as the crowd began to pull itself roughly in several different directions.

"Gryffindors, this way!" called Percy Weasley flagging them forward.

"Come on, Neville!" said Astoria shuffling around a troop of harassed looking Ravenclaw third years. "Let's get back to the common room."

They passed the second year Slytherins on the fourth floor and Astoria successfully managed to catch Theodore's eye. She slipped away from Neville as discreetly as she could.

"What's happened?" she hissed, ducking low next to Theodore so that Percy would not see that Astoria had ceased to follow him.

"There's been another message written on the wall," Theodore informed her grimly.

"What did it say?" asked Astoria, conscious of the fact that Neville's cloak had disappeared around the corner. "Quickly! I have to go—"

"It said 'Her skeleton will lie in the Chamber forever,'" intoned Theodore quietly.

"Whose skeleton?" whispered Astoria sharply

Theodore shifted uncomfortably.

"Who?" Astoria pressed tensely.

"Well, they're all saying it's Ginny Weasley."

0o0

It was the worst evening Astoria had ever spent at Hogwarts. Nobody was allowed to leave the tower and the Weasley's grief lay heavily over everything like a funeral shroud.

"They'll just have to go in and get her," Lee Jordan kept repeating. "Ginny's not dead. The students who were attacked will be able to help the teachers find the chamber. They'll go and get her back."

This was not reassuring to anybody, however. There was simply no reason why the students who had been petrified would know how to find the Chamber of Secrets. Fred and George were inconsolable and after a time, they broke away to be by themselves with Ron and Harry by the hearth.

"Oh, man," said Lee, burying his head in his hands. "This is the worst. She can't be dead, can she? She's a pure-blood."

Astoria had no answers for him.

Professor Mcgonagall stopped by around six o'clock to inform the entire house that they would all be leaving by the train the next morning. Dinner was served late in buffet style against the wall near the windows that overlooked the forest and Hagrid's empty cabin. Astoria hated every mouthful of this last supper, and when it was done, she took herself away from the heat of the fire and went up to her dormitory.

Everything here was quiet and familiar, but Astoria could find no peace in her bed or the familiar smell of its furnishings knowing that it might be the last time she ever saw them. Two beds away, where Parvati slept, Astoria could hear the faintest sounds of muffled crying.

Astoria climbed under her blankets fully dressed, fighting against the sore feeling in the back of her throat that insisted that she too would like nothing better then to weep.

For a long time, she lay very still, waiting for morning. Eventually Parvati ceased to cry and the room fell still, but Astoria could not force herself to relax. A horrible storm of emotions was wreaking chaos within her chest. What if she never saw Hogwarts again? What if Astoria was sent to Beauxbatons? It was very likely that she would be, as her father had gone there. Would she ever see Theodore again? What about Fred or George—or even Draco? The countless acquaintances she had made outside of her home; had all of it been for nothing?

At last, angry and devastated, Astoria struggled toward the end of her bed and opened her trunk. When she had been a very little girl, Astoria had been keen on keeping journals. She had not had many friends before Hogwarts, after all, and so many of her feelings had been alarming to her sister that she had picked up the habit as a coping mechanism. Even now, she felt a similar urge stirring within her, but it was not a diary entry that she wanted to write.

 _Dear Aunt Belladonna,_ Astoria wrote, her hand shaking slightly.

 _I'll be coming home tomorrow, as I'm sure you have been already informed. Where I am coming home 'to' still remains a mystery, however. I no longer know if I live with you or my father. I can only assume it will be you at the station waiting for me, just like the omen of dark tidings that you truly are._

Astoria paused, wondering if she would ever have the guts to send the letter she was composing.

 _I am sure it does not make you sad to know that a first year girl has been captured by the Heir of Slytherin. I say this because I am not convinced that you have feelings. Even now, you are probably busy making plans for me and giving no thought to the fact that a family may have lost a child. The girl is presumed dead. It is my greatest fear that I will someday think the way you do._

Presumed dead. Astoria stared at this sentence for so long that it began to blur and lose its shape. It took one of her own tears falling onto the letter with a silent _splat!_ to make Astoria blink and realize that she was crying. Giving up on writing, Astoria held herself, purging her body of some of its aching sadness.

Eventually, so tried that she could not think properly, she fell asleep.

0o0

Morning light shone brightly through the gap in her bed curtains, rousing Astoria from a deep slumber.

The sound of movement seemed to be coming from all around her and it was a mark of how solidly she had been sleeping that it had not woken her sooner. Assuming that this was the last minute scramble of preparing trunks for departure, Astoria groggily dragged herself out of bed.

One look at the dormitory was enough to plunge Astoria into a state of confusion. Trunks were not packed; they were open and messy as usual. There were no random clothes or books heaped on beds. Parvati and Lavender were both rattling about in the stairwell.

Astoria dressed quickly, trading only her skirt and her tights in a hasty attempt to look groomed and still reach the common room as quickly as possible. She hadn't even finished dragging her messy hair into a pony tail as she stumbled down the stairs.

The common room was an explosion of sight and sound. There were no traveling cases or tearful farewells and nobody was was embracing somberly. In fact, Percy Weasley was drinking a bottle of butterbeer…

Astoria froze and rubbed the sleep from her face, certain she had not seen this correctly. She had never known Percy touch anything stronger than pumpkin juice...

She was still blinking stupidly when someone caught her around the middle and lifted her clean up off of the floor.

"What's happening?" Astoria spluttered, staring at the side of Fred Weasley's face in bewilderment.

"The Heir of Slytherin was caught!" Fred roared.

"Ginny?" Astoria insisted, trying in vain to put her feet back on the ground as Fred pulled her up and down cheerfully.

"Alive and well in the hospital wing! The Chamber's closed and all of the students who were petrified have been revived! Lockhart's been sacked and Dumbledore is back!"

"What!?" Astoria shrieked throwing her arms around Fred mid-bob. "How?"

George pressed a bottle of butterbeer into her hand and Astoria took it without thinking, hardly able to process so many good things in one sentence.

"Lucius Malfoy's been forced off the board of governors," added George, who looked as though he too could barely contain his happiness. "An order's been sent to bail Hagrid from Azkaban and exams have been canceled!"

Astoria screamed and threw her hands up in the air, covering them all in layer of foaming butterbeer. "How did this happen?"

"Harry," said Fred, his look of joy taking on another note of pride and thankfulness. "He and Ron went down into the Chamber of Secrets last night—they figured it out somehow. Harry brought back Ginny."

"Who was the Heir of Slytherin, then?" asked Astoria, tightening her fingers around the neck of her butterbeer bottle.

"Well," said George, "that's where this all gets a little confusing."

They took their time explaining what they knew, energetically consuming butterbeer and fingers sandwiches. To Astoria's surprise, Percy never once reprimanded either of his brothers for raiding the kitchens or demanded that they keep their voices down.

Ginny had been tricked by Lord Voldemort and he had used her to open the Chamber of Secrets. Then, in order to keep Ginny from telling anybody what was happening to her, he had brought her into the Chamber to die, which explained why she had been taken despite her blood status. Harry had gone down to retrieve Ginny and had fought the monster (a basilisk). Lord Voldemort and had once again been preventing from making a triumphant return.

"A basilisk!" Astoria exclaimed, feeling the pieces come together.

"What about the basilisk?" asked Fred, grinning at the expression on her face.

"That hissing voice I heard! That's why I couldn't understand it but Harry _could_. He's a parselmouth!"

George gaped at this but pretty soon it became just another detail in a series of details that came together to form an incredible story; a story that had miraculously avoided a tragic ending.

0o0

The rest of term passed in a blur of sunshine and glorious well being. Everything had been fixed overnight in a way that only ever seemed to happen in fairy tales. The castle, no longer held hostage by a monster, began to come back to life. Without exams to take in June, the last few weeks were something like a glorious vacation. Only Draco (who seemed to view his father's removal from the Board of Governors as an insult) seemed to be able to resist the general spirit of happiness.

By the time Astoria began to back her trunk for real, she was such a different state of mind from the last time she had contemplated doing so that she didn't even mind folding up her sweaters and burying them under her pile of Lockhart books.

"Those'll be the first things to go when I get home," Hermione insisted, dumping her once well-loved set of Lockhart books into the bottom of her trunk.

It was only as Astoria was emptying her bedside of stray earrings and quills that she remembered the half-letter she had composed to Belladonna on the night the school was expected to be closed. Astoria unfolded the letter carefully, almost as though it might be poisonous and read it again, experiencing a ghost of the same dread she had felt writing it the first time.

For a moment, it was as though the warm sun streaming in the windows had gone behind a sudden cloud. But behind her, Astoria could hear the sound of Lavender humming as she collected socks from under the bed. A decidedly normal noise. She closed the letter again and buried it deeper than her copy of _Magical Me_ , grateful for the luxury of being able to forget her grief.

It was a letter that did not need to be sent. Perhaps someday, Astoria reflected wearily, but not yet.

0o0

A hearty summer storm rattled the windows of Astoria's attic bedroom. Three floors below, the roses in her aunt's garden were wet and tattered; heads bobbing in a pool of water that had been growing steadily wider for two days.

Theodore was stretched out on the floor with his feet against one wall and his head against another, smoking one of Belladonna's expensive cigarettes and exhaling out the window. Belladonna had been gone all morning and Theodore's smoking habits had grown steadily more lazy and languorous the longer she remained away.

"This rain is bollocks," said Theo, eyeing the sheet of water outside. "Wish we could go out into the garden."

Astoria, who was busy curling and brushing out her hair in the mirror on her dressing table, cast him a withering look. Theo's moods changed according to whatever it was that he could not have. If it had been sunny, he would have complained about the heat and insisted they sulk about in the attic.

Theo continued to sprawl and Astoria's eyes wandered from his long nose to the spindly ankles. He had had another growth spurt and it seemed as though an additional foot had been added to his already lanky frame. Theo had never looked more like a spider than he did currently with his feet propped up above his head.

"Your pants are too short," Astoria jibbed, yanking on the cuff near his socks and grinning.

Theo made a undignified little squealing sound and pulled his socks up to prevent her from touching his legs.

"I can't buy them fast enough," he admitted, holding his cigarette between his teeth as he yanked on fabric.

"You'll be a giant soon," Astoria smirked, returning to her hair. "A big, snarky giant."

"And you'll be a trophy wife in a wig. Lay off your hair for a bit, will you?" insisted Theo, rolling onto his stomach as though he hoped the view from behind might give his short pants an air of greater dignity.

Astoria smiled but continued on sweeping back tendrils of hair from the front of her face and fastening them with bobby pins. Her father was taking Astoria to a late afternoon lunch and had promised to bring Daphne as well. Astoria had hardly left Belladonna's house for the first full month of break, and any excursion into the public was a prospect she greeted desperately.

"Fine," she declared the moment she did not think any more improvements would take. "I'll go like this, but if Amos Diggory spots me and tries to cart me off for tea, I'm going to assume that I look like a goat and it will be entirely your fault, sir."

Theo cast her a quick, moody look. "As if that would _ever_ happen. You wake up prettier then half of the witches in London do after a visit to the salon."

Astoria smiled appreciatively but Theo continued to gaze at her almost accusingly until she finally caught his eye in the mirror. "What?"

"Nothing," said Theo resentfully. "It's not fair though, you know," he added after a moment, talking into the carpet. "Summer rolls around, I get even uglier and lankier and you just get more nice looking. As if we needed to be any _more_ different."

"You're not lanky, you're tall," insisted Astoria. "That's a proper masculine trait in my book."

Theo snorted. Two floors below, they both heard the sound of the front door closing.

"That's your aunt, isn't it?" asked Theo, standing up to throw the cigarette over Astoria's window frame. "She must be back."

"I assume so," said Astoria. "That or a gang of inept robbers."

"Send me an owl tomorrow?" asked Theo, pulling his pant cuffs down as far as they would reach because they were struggling back up toward his calves.

"Are you going?" asked Astoria. "I was looking forward to your comments down there while I did my make up."

Theo grinned and yanked one of her buoyant curls before taking a fistful of floo powder and heading for the fireplace in the storage room.

Astoria turned back toward the mirror, studying the shape of her own face expectantly. It was funny what a point Theodore always made of pointing out their differences in looks. He always seemed very keen to insist that she was pretty, but Astoria had a harder time seeing this than he did.

She was pale, too pale perhaps; she had not spent enough time outside, preferring to sulk in the attic. Still, Astoria was beginning to find something unreasonably intriguing about getting to know her own features. From certain angles, she found that she could appear soft. From others, she was able to coax a glimmer of Belladonna into her expression; cold and lovely. It was as though there was more than one person lurking behind her face and this struck her as a slightly more menacing idea than having legs that grew too long too fast.

Still, it was a vain game to play, sitting about and staring at herself in the mirror, especially now that Theo had left. Astoria got up and slipped on the pair of shoes she wanted to wear for lunch and went to meet her Aunt in the foyer.

Belladonna was still standing near the door and holding a shopping bag when Astoria came into view. At her feet, Bonky was bobbing and bowing and doing his best to remove Belladonna's cloak and collect her bag at the same time.

"You look lovely today, darling," called her aunt distractedly when Astoria reached the last stair. "Is there an occasion?"

"Not really," Astoria shrugged.

Belladonna finally managed to extricate herself from Bonky, so Astoria moved in to have a look at the mail. She shifted a letter aside and read the Daily Prophet headline silently. _BLACK STILL AT LARGE._

"They haven't caught him yet?" asked Astoria, flashing the newsprint at Belladonna.

"What?" murmured Belladonna, brushing down the front of her robes. "Oh, no. They've even begun to air warnings on muggle newscast now, I hear."

Astoria dropped the paper back on the table, disturbing a bouquet of roses that had been cut before the rain had started.

She did not like the idea of a prisoner escaping from Azkaban. It was bad enough that anyone was ever sent to Azkaban at all, but Astoria rather liked to think that, once a person had been sentenced, they were obligated to stay there. She had spent her entire childhood fighting a battle between wishing her mother had never been imprisoned and being afraid of what would happen if that fact ever changed. She did not like having a daily reminder that wizarding prison existed sent to her door.

"Where have you been all morning?" Astoria asked at last, tearing her eyes away from Sirius Black's moving photograph.

"Oh, nowhere in particular," said Belladonna placidly. "I ought never to have left. It's simply dreadful out."

As if on cue, the wind blew roughly against the windows and Astoria smelled the scent of wet grass and crushed flower petals on the air that blew in under the door.

"Have you had lunch?" asked Belladonna, collecting the mail that Astoria had been shifting through from the table.

"No," said Astoria. "Dad is supposed to be taking Daphne and I out in about an hour."

"Is he?" asked Belladonna, suddenly less distracted. "You never mentioned—where is he taking you?"

"The Club, probably," Astoria answered truthfully, knowing her aunt would sneer.

'The Club' was her father's newest conquest. After years of only ever entering The Club's hallowed halls after being asked to dinner as the guest of an actual member, (usually because he had recently drawn up a client's will or had talked a youngest son out of an unpromising business venture) Astoria's father was finally being sponsored for membership by Tiberius McLaggen.

Aunt Belladonna said nothing. She pursed her lips as though it were on the tip of her tongue to say something comical, but then she seemed to think the better of it.

"He's been sponsored by Tiberius, hasn't he?" she asked keenly. "Tiberius's wife is something of a bonbon."

"Yes," Astoria agreed, not altogether liking the fact that Belladonna's sharp mind had moved so quickly from her father and Tiberius McLaggen to her father and Tiberius's wife.

"Well, the best of luck to them all," Belladonna sighed. "But Tiberius has a son, doesn't he? Nearly your age?"

"Cormac," Astoria supplied, not altogether wishing to discuss the MacLaggens any further. "He'll be a fourth year this fall."

"Do you know him well?" Belladonna asked, motioning with her hand toward the small, floral patterned sitting room where Bonky was laying out a simple tea.

"Not really," returned Astoria, taking care not to shrug or look overly disinterested. The truth was, Astoria _knew_ Cormac, but found him pompous, vaguely rude and altogether uninteresting. She did not want Belladonna to become fixed on him in any way just because he was rich and a pure-blood. "He's in Gryffindor."

"Is he?" asked Belladonna and Astoria could tell that she found this to be news worthy of noting. "What sort of boy is he?"

Belladonna poured them both tea and Astoria's eyes followed the ethereal mist of steam that rose from their cups until it dissipated

"Loud," said Astoria carefully, "a little rude and very forceful. His head is shaped exactly like a shoe box, though. It's almost fascinating."

"Ah," said Belladonna with a wry grin, gently stirring sugar into her cup, "he takes after his father then."

0o0

At precisely ten past two, Astoria's father arrived in a blustering hurry, late but magnificently well groomed with Daphne bobbing along in tow.

"So sorry, darling," said George fondly, planting a kiss on Astoria's forehead. "Things always turn out mad the _exact_ minute before one is about to leave the house, don't you think?"

Astoria smiled warmly at Daphne and fixed the bow her sister had tied into her hair so that it was no longer drooping.

"After years of tardiness, George, you might have learned to schedule time for that 'madness' into your day calendar," called out Belladonna by way of a greeting.

"Bella," hailed George jauntily, purposefully overlooking her rudeness in the way that he always did.

Astoria's father was the only person that Astoria had ever heard call her aunt 'Bella' and she suspected that he did it just to annoy her. It was Astoria's personal theory that, years ago, when her father had first realized that he was no match for Belladonna's barbed tongue, he had made the decision to counter her ire by being willfully annoying and misunderstanding instead. It was one of the most effective methods Astoria had ever seen employed against her aunt, and even as she watched, Belladonna's smile thinned.

"Shall we be going, girls?" asked George, raking a hand through his wavy, still-brown hair. There was always a youthfully vibrancy about George Greengrass. Despite the precise, unyielding nature of his job as a lawyer, his face always seemed to express a desire for dilettantism.

"You'll be back for dinner, I suppose?" asked Belladonna pointedly.

"Oh yes," said George, ushering both girls toward the fire. "Or ten minutes after, if you like."

They stepped out of the next floo into a glorious blur of sunshine. The rain that had hung so heavily over Belladonna's house showed no signs of appearing over the long, sprawling green lawns that Astoria could just see through the sets of tall windows. A pleasant, balmy summer heat seemed to hang heavily over the well ventilated sitting room they had entered and the long white drapes that hung around the french doors were lifting softly in the breeze.

"A drink then," said George, checking his wrist watch, "and then we'll see if they can have us seated."

There were two elderly gentleman a few feet away, talking privately on a velvet upholstered sofa. Astoria had only taken two steps behind her father toward the bar before one of them called out, "George!"

"Macmillian!" cried Astoria's father, stopping short and beaming, "and Bertie too, how are you?"

Daphne dithered behind Astoria so as to visually minimize herself as much as possible from these two strangers.

"Busy, old chap," answered Mr. Macmillian pompously, reminding Astoria irresistibly of his son Ernie. "You've heard, of course, about the new orders concerning the dementors?"

"I _had_ heard something about it," said George. "Of course, in my line of work, I have actually _seen_ Azkaban. Dreadful things, dementors—but _you_ must know what the ministry plans to do with them until they capture Sirius Black. Don't you head the committee for the control of dangerous creatures?"

Mr. Macmillian was clearly eager to launch himself wholeheartedly into what would likely be a long winded diatribe about the ministry's plan to capture Sirius Black, but Bertie had spotted Astoria and Daphne.

"Who are these two lovely creatures, George?" interrupted Bertie before Macmillian could properly begin.

"Oh," exclaimed George, looking as surprised as Bertie when he glanced at them. "My daughters, Astoria and Daphne."

" _Your_ daughters?" exclaimed Bertie, his eyes particularly focused on Astoria. "Surely not!"

"I'm afraid so," said George, flashing his most winning, straight toothed smile.

"Are we interrupting?" asked Mr. Macmillian. "This can wait until after your lunch—"

"Actually," said George and Astoria's hopes for a pleasant afternoon began to crumble, "I was just about to have a drink. Why don't you go on, girls? Explore the grounds for a moment and we'll meet up for an early supper."

Daphne looked as though she would rather be force fed poison than wander about a country club she did not belong to. Astoria seized her hand, not wanting to suffer the indignity of having to beg their father not to leave them in front of strangers.

"Where do you want us to meet you?" asked Astoria, staring into her father's eyes, hoping to at least privately shame him before they were abandoned.

Mr. Macmillian was waving at a waiter, who had appeared out of nowhere. "A scotch for me —you Bertie? Ah yes, two scotches! George?"

"Gin and tonic," said George pleasantly, his eyes on the waiter. "I'll be here girls," he said at last, distractedly.

Before Astoria had to watch him sit down, she turned to face the set of French doors that overlooked a patio and pulled her sister along. They walked wordlessly across the golden parquet floor and Daphne's hand tightened in Astoria's.

"Where are we going to go?" muttered Daphne unhappily.

"The bar," said Astoria firmly, feeling faintly vengeful.

The bar was still within sight of their father and Mr. Macmillian, but the presence of a large potted plant coupled with George's relative disinterest in either of his children made Astoria feel safe enough to lean across the white clothed surface and attract the attention of the nearest server. For once, Daphne kept her peace and did not chastise her.

The bartender, a pimply faced boy of about nineteen, gave her a long, mournful glance and quickly averted his eyes.

"Could I have a gin and tonic please?" asked Astoria, taking a savage pleasure in ordering her father's own drink.

"Are you of age?" the boy asked dubiously, his hand dithering over one of the bottles.

"Of course," said Astoria, smiling her most confidant and winning smile for him.

The boy blushed and seemed to know that she was not telling the truth but after a second of hesitation he fetched a glass, perhaps wishing to avoid a scene.

"Name?" he asked.

"Sorry?" said Astoria.

"Name?" the boy repeated, looking faintly embarrassed. "So I can put it on your tab."

Oh," said Astoria. She was not certain if her father, whose membership had not yet been approved, would have a tab already in place. Perhaps he had been planning to buy their lunch with cash? A darker thought crossed her mind. Perhaps George had been planning to have dinner with Mr. Macmillian and Bertie all along and had not planned on paying at all.

"Macmillian," said Astoria stoutly, earning her first gasp of disapproval from Daphne.

"He won't ever know the difference," Astoria whispered as the boy went to write this down into a ledger near the liquor bottles. "Come on."

Astoria's eyes, which had been scanning the lounge with interest, suddenly stopped as she spotted a glimpse of white-blonde hair in an armchair directly across from them. It was Draco Malfoy and he was alone, flicking through a newspaper on the table in front of him and looking bored. Everything about his casually annoyed posture seemed to say 'waiting' and as if to prove this, he flipped the newspaper shut sneeringly and slouched back against the velvet cushions he was siting on. Astoria looked away the moment he looked up.

"Shall we go outside in a minute?" asked Astoria, turning back toward her sister without acknowledging Malfoy at all.

"I suppose," said Daphne, "but I think it's a golf course."

"Well, what then?" asked Astoria. "We have to do something. We can't just lurk around waiting for dad to finish."

"Since when are you two members here?" asked a drawling, skeptical voice.

Draco, evidently having nothing left to do with his newspaper, had crossed the room and was standing at the corner of the bar. His pale arrogant face was almost unchanged since May.

"Dad just applied for membership," said Daphne brightly, seizing the moment as an attempt to legitimize themselves.

"Mhmm," said Astoria.

"Oh, I thought your aunt must be a member, Astoria. I've seen her here before," admitted Draco lazily, his eyes on Astoria's glass. "I doubt they'll take your father. No one ever wants to sponsor. They're very exclusive, of course. Did they _serve_ you?"

At that moment, the bartender put Astoria's glass down in front of her. Draco eyed it appraisingly. Perhaps it had never occurred to him that the staff might serve him liquor before. He attempted to get the bartenders attention, but the boy had turned away again. Draco leaned across the bar and made a snapping motion. "Make it two."

The bartender nodded, his blush deepening and Astoria couldn't help but pity him.

"Dad _is_ sponsored, actually," said Daphne primly.

"Is that so?" scoffed Draco, raising a rather condescending eyebrow.

"Yes," said Astoria, who had had about enough of Malfoy's snideness. "Tiberius McLaggen's gotten him in so they can have a place to sneak off and get drunk together without their wives."

The bartender returned and Astoria thanked him because she was almost certain that Draco would not.

True to form, Malfoy took his drink without casting the boy behind the bar another glance and sneered, "McLaggen? Well thats rich. Has he taught you his highland fling, yet?"

Astoria laughed boldly, moved by the terrific image that this question inspired.

"That'll be on Macmillian as well?" asked the bartender nervously, nodding toward Draco's drink.

"Mine's on Malfoy," said Draco sharply, obviously keen to make the difference known. "Why are you here with the _Macmillans_?"

"Oh, can't you put them both on Malfoy?" asked Daphne desperately; a rare public display on her part. "We're _not_ here with the Macmillans!"

Astoria smirked wickedly and the bartender blanched, his eyes twitching back toward her in confusion. "Neither of you are with the Macmillians?"

"No, I am," said Astoria, smiling mischievously before adding under her breath, "even if he doesn't know it."

"What, did you case a list of members?" sneered Draco, making a face, as though he could not decide whether he found this distasteful or vaguely genius. "You can put them on mine if Daphne has one. That'll be a laugh."

Daphne clearly did not want the drink, as perhaps Draco already knew, but she rushed to accept it anyway, glad that they were, at the very least, no longer stealing.

"What is there to do here other than hide from relatives behind potted plants?" asked Astoria once the bartender had skirted off, clearly relieved to be away from them.

Malfoy shrugged and his eyes flicked back across the room to a set of doors that he had been sitting near. Astoria guessed that he was waiting for his father and would not want to stray far.

"There's the hall of portraits, I suppose" Draco suggested, surprising Astoria slightly. "No one ever goes down there."

The hall of portraits was aptly named as it was a long corridor, thickly carpeted and lined with hanging pictures of ancient club members. A dignified sort of silence seemed to hang here and Astoria could not even make out the sound of her shoes against the floor because the rugs were so thick.

Draco continued along the hall as though he had walked it many times, moving swiftly beneath the gaze of bearded wizards wearing monocles and top hats until he came to a set of doors that opened up onto a rather professional looking library all done up in oak. Draco did not enter this room, however, but turned and followed the hallway for a few more feet until it came to an abrupt stop in a small deserted alcove sporting the same sort of furniture as the lounge. These couches were set underneath such a spectacular window that everything was dazzled by sunlight.

Astoria immediately cast herself across the couch, propping her knees up on the armrest to keep her dressy heels from pricking the velvet. She heard the sound of Malfoy's feet dropping heavily onto the polished wooden table across from her. There was a swish followed by a thwack out on the green as someone hit a ball off a tee. Astoria turned her eyes back toward Daphne, who was still standing uncomfortably.

"Do you want to sit down?" asked Astoria, making to sit up and make room.

"What if dad comes looking for us?" asked Daphne..

"He won't," said Astoria bitterly, sipping on her gin. "He's too busy discussing dementors with Macmillian."

"Oh yeah," said Draco slowly. "Father says they'll be patrolling hogsmeade until they find Black— _if_ they find Black, of course. The man broke out of Azkaban so he's obviously going to give them a hard chase."

"Why Hogsmeade?" asked Astoria, finishing her drink and fishing the soaked cucumber from the bottom of the glass. "Do they think he's interested in the school?"

"They think he's interested in _Potter_ , of course," said Draco snidely. " _Precious Potter's_ in danger again so the government's taking precautions to make sure they don't have a dead _hero_ on their hands."

"Why would Sirius Black care about Harry?" asked Astoria, not quite able to connect the dots. "Because he was a Death Eater, they just assume—"

"Because Sirius Black turned over the Potters to the Dark Lord," explained Draco, his look of nonchalance slightly marred by the way he was peering at Astoria to see what her reaction would be. "Then, of course, the Dark Lord fell. I suppose they think Black will try to avenge his master. Wish he _would_ …"

"What?" Astoria gaped, blinking at this influx of unexpected information.

"Yeah," drawled Draco, clearly enjoying being the center of attention as he always did, even if it meant having to talk about Harry. "Of course, Fudge is so embarrassed that Black managed to escape prison in the first place that he'd do anything to capture him before he kills again."

"How do you know that?" Astoria asked.

"About Fudge?" asked Draco haughtily. "He and father are close."

"About Harry's parents," Astoria clarified.

"Oh," said Draco, trying to recollect. "I suppose Father must have told me. It's not public knowledge, of course, but I think everybody in the know at the time probably heard. Apparently Black and Potter's dad were old school friends before Black became a Death Eater, so it was a betrayal of the highest order. You know how Black was caught?"

Astoria raised her glass to her lips and came away with nothing but ice. "Yeah, something about blowing up a street full of muggles."

"Your drink is gone and I don't even want mine," said Daphne. "We should go find dad."

"Give Astoria yours," commanded Draco so quickly that she almost wondering if he had expected this might happen. "Anyway, it wasn't _just_ a sidewalk full of muggles he killed— _they_ were just collateral damage. He was actually dueling a man called Peter Pettigrew. Pettigrew was another one of Potter's old school friends, and he had hunted Black down for revenge."

Astoria took her sister's drink without looking at her, listening to Draco's story so intently that she almost spilled it. "Did he kill Peter then, Black?"

"Yeah," said Draco, savoring the tale. "The only part of Pettigrew they found was a finger."

"I'm going to go check on dad and make sure he isn't looking for us," said Daphne, who did not seem to enjoy stories about people being blown up or reduced to single remaining digits.

"So how did Sirius Black know where the Potters were in the first place?" asked Astoria, watching as her sister turned and strode back down the hall of portraits.

"It's like I said," said Draco, stretching out as long as he could in his armchair. "He and Potter were friends at school, weren't they? Potter Sr. was probably just as stupid as his son. He must have _told_ Black where his hiding place was and then Black turned them over."

"So Black was an undercover Death Eater?" Astoria asked. "Until the street duel, at least?"

" _All_ Death Eaters are undercover, Astoria," said Draco condescendingly. " _You_ should know that. For the most part, Death Eaters weren't even supposed to recognize each other. It was the best way to avoid detection. Of course, Sirius Black still managed to surprise everyone. He was supposed to be working for Dumbledore, you know."

Astoria slumped back on the couch, thinking this over. She could feel Draco's eyes on the side of her face as she contemplated what it would feel like to know that the man who had betrayed her parents to their deaths was on the loose again.

"Want to know something even more incredible?" asked Draco.

Astoria could tell at once that whatever it was he was about to tell her was calculated to shock her and was probably not something Lucius would want his son sharing.

"Father says Black had it in so close with the Potters that they actually named him their son's _godfather,_ " Draco continued smugly.

"Sirius Black is Harry Potter's godfather?" asked Astoria, a lick of dull shock caressing her insides.

"Goes to show you, doesn't it?" said Malfoy, finishing the end of his drink. "So, of course, the school will be on lockdown again. Can't have 'The Boy Who Lived' getting murdered by an escaped convict."

Astoria was beginning to feel the gin she had drunk. Something about the idea of Harry being hunted down by a lunatic fresh from Azkaban made her feel rather ill. Why did everything always seem to happen to Harry?

She closed her eyes and rested her head against the sofa cushions, letting the sunlight pouring in from the wide window warm her thighs and the side of her hand that was resting on the table near Malfoy's shoes. "I'm sure Harry will be fine."

Malfoy snorted but Astoria still did not open her eyes. The lack of sound in this part of the building was slightly muffled and very soothing...

"It's going to make our Hogsmeade trips this year ridiculously unpleasant, I can tell you that much," said Malfoy peevishly. "We'll probably have to pass by an entire guard of dementors just to get to main street."

"Mhmm," Astoria agreed. A small breeze blew a lock of her hair across her face.

"Are you falling asleep?" sneered Malfoy, perhaps feeling that this was an insult to his story-telling abilities.

"No," said Astoria calmly.

"I suppose your Father and MacLaggen will come looking for you?" asked Draco by way of a clipped warning. "It's probably Cormac's dream to find you unconscious though, isn't it?"

"Not with my father present, surely?" Astoria smirked, opening her eyes and sitting up. Draco's sneer had deepened into a scowl so Astoria went on, "Father's off drinking with a bunch of middle aged lawmakers. It'll be _dark_ before he'll tear himself away to find me unless Daphne interrupts and she's too civil for that sort of thing. As for McLaggen, I haven't seen him since school, so I suppose I'm at liberty to sleep all I like. Where's _your_ father, anyway?"

"In a meeting with the heads of St. Mungo's," said Draco, who seemed slightly cheered by the news that McLaggen wasn't lurking nearby. "Something about donations. Father always says it pays to keep them in his pocket. I know Fudge is on the same board. _Thats_ probably why he does it every other year."

Sometimes the words that came out of Draco's mouth amazed Astoria. It was as though he was capable of completely forgetting who he was talking to.

"That's funny," said Astoria, smirking perversely, " _my_ aunt always says that it pays to be married. I assume that's why she does it every other year, as well."

Draco did not seem to be able to decide whether or not she was joking so Astoria laughed into the bottom of her second drink as a clue.

"Come on," said Astoria, standing up at last. "I want to go look at the hall of portraits."

" _Why_?" asked Malfoy.

"I want to see if Cormac's got a great boxy uncle hanging on the wall," insisted Astoria, giggling meaninglessly. "Someone with a great big, bushy beard."

The hallway was as silent as when they had left and bizarrely still; even the clocks did not dare to chime the hour. Astoria teetered back a few paces to have a look at an old greying wizard wearing a pince-nez and debated taking off her heels, which were beginning to hurt her feet.

"Can you imagine how silly we're all going to look about a hundred years?" asked Astoria, frowning at the portrait in front of her.

"I suppose," said Malfoy, his pale eyes fixed on Astoria instead of the painting as she rocked back, perhaps afraid that she might trip in her shoes and call down the wrath of the distant librarian upon on them.

"Oh, look," said Astoria, spotting another picture of a severe looking blonde man shaking hands with a politician. Even in a black and white photograph, the resemblance between Draco and the man in the picture was striking.

"That's my grandfather," said Malfoy at once and his tone instantly became haughtier. "Abraxas. I got my middle name from him."

Astoria quirked an eyebrow and watched as Draco's grandfather shook hands over and over again with the man next to him.

"Your father does something smarter with his hair, I think," commented Astoria slyly, tilting her head, "or maybe he just has more of it. Your grandfather lived in a cruel age of formal styling."

"What does that even mean?" asked Draco, leaning against the wall and watching her. Astoria began to suspect that he had never had any interest in the hanging pictures at all and had only followed her to avoid having to sit by himself.

"That your father has rather stylish hair and your grandfather does not," said Astoria, smirking to herself before kicking off one of her shoes. Standing in them was becoming an effort and there was nobody around to offend. Astoria leaned against Malfoy, who was already braced against the wall for balance, and undid the second shoe's strap.

"You like my father's _hair_?" asked Draco self consciously while Astoria clung to his arm, finally managing to pull the second shoe off.

The feeling of her stocking feet firmly planted on the floor did wonders for her sense of well being. "Yes," said Astoria. "It's always so cheerfully villainous."

"He's got the same hair I have," sneered Malfoy, sounding almost resentful.

"You wear it differently," Astoria insisted.

Daphne reentered the hall and Astoria could tell by the look on her face that she had not been able to speak to their father. She was returning defeated.

"Dad?" asked Astoria, knowing what the answer would be.

"He's still with Mr. Macmillan," Daphne confirmed. "Draco's dad is looking for him, though."

"Oh yeah," said Malfoy, suddenly alert. Astoria took the empty glass from his hand instinctively as he passed, afraid he was going to walk back into the waiting room with it.

Astoria gazed at her sister and shrugged.

0o0

It was nearly nine o'clock at night by the time Astoria finally took the floo back to her aunt's house. The back of her head ached dully from napping with Daphne on the couch near the club library and no matter how often she rubbed it, she could not seem to knead the tension out. She and her sister had not eaten until nearly seven o'clock at night—a later lunch than even she might have expected.

Belladonna was still awake in the living room. Despite Astoria's brewing headache, she teetered toward her aunt awkwardly. The lamps had all been turned down and a faint haze of cigar smoke clung just at eye level, floating like a thick, sweet smelling dream. Astoria heaved herself into a chair across from her Belladonna, her eyes on the still smoldering cigar sitting in the silver ashtray.

Belladonna did not smoke cigars and there were _two_ lowball classes on the coffee table. Only one of them had the faint trace of lipstick around the rim that marked it as her aunt's. Belladonna looked up from a letter that she was reading, her fingers were clutching a thin red wine glass. She was alone but Astoria could not help but feel as though she had just walked into the scene of an intimate romance that had only just concluded.

Astoria reached out to snub the still smoking cigar and her wrist appeared oddly pale in the dim light. "You don't smoke cigars," she observed. "Who have you had dinner with?"

"An old friend," said Belladonna lightly, her almond shaped eyes barred and unreadable. "He's moved to the continent of course. He was only in town for the one night."

Astoria promptly pulled her shoes off again and sniffed what was left of a brown liquor at the bottom of a crystal decanter. "You've broken out the good stuff for him."

Belladonna arched one eyebrow gracefully. "Nothing slips past you, it seems."

"Don't they notice, men?" asked Astoria, experiencing an odd, uncomfortable irritation over the fact that her aunt felt such a need to coerce in order to please. "Don't they notice that you've broke out the best liquor in the cabinet for them? Do you really have to try so hard?"

Belladonna laughed, but the sound was like the chiming of bells and it contained no real warmth. "Seduction is an art, darling, and like art, it is often incomplete, crude or simple. In the right hands, however, it can be a thing of complexity, or beauty." Astoria leaned back in the chair, feeling heavy headed and slightly feverish.

"As with art," Belladonna continued, surprising Astoria slightly, "I think you'll also find that it is often at its most _memorable_ when it is slightly... disturbing."

Astoria shivered, but whether this was the effect of aunt's words or simply because of the choking haze of the cigar, she did not know.

"How was your dinner with the fools and the thieves?" Belladonna asked, sipping her wine.

"Long," Astoria admitted, wiping mascara from underneath her eyes, positive that it must have smudged while she had slept under the warm sun. "Father ran into Mr. Macmillian about five minutes after we arrived and continued talking with him until the sun was nearly setting."

"I thought so," smirked Belladonna, sounding more than just a little satisfied.

"The ministry is sending Dementors to Hogsmeade," Astoria continued, choosing to ignore the satisfaction that her father's ill-care always seemed to give her aunt. "To protect Harry Potter."

Belladonna did not seem to react to this news with surprise, although she did raise an eye at Astoria's phrasing. "Is that the way Macmillian put it?" Belladonna asked keenly.

"No," Astoria admitted. "He only said that the ministry was considering sanctioning a move to quarter half of the Azkaban guard."

"And who was talking about Harry Potter? Or have you simply drawn your own conclusions?"

"Draco Malfoy mentioned it," said Astoria lightly, wishing she had said nothing because admitting this made her feel almost as though she had been caught with a secret. "He seems to think Black has a grudge against Harry Potter. He said something about Sirius Black and Harry's dad being school friends."

Belladonna sucked on her teeth for a moment, thinking. "For a family with so many secrets, one would think Lucius would have taught his son a little discretion."

"I think Draco probably _can_ keep a secret," said Astoria fairly, "only he can never resist bragging. Honestly, I was curious."

Belladonna chuckled darkly. "Go to bed duckling, you look as though you've been hit by a storm."

Astoria blinked her stinging eyes slowly and then did as Belladonna said, walking the two flights of stairs to the attic slowly, the shoes in her hand banging against the banister.

* * *

More smoking, more drinking. I'm a terrible author, I know. I'll drown flamey reviews with my child-corrupting tears and feel bad about myself. Really, I will.

On a side note, ten points to Slytherin for anyone who noticed the Hot Fuzz inspired "great big bushy beard" and twenty points to Slytherin for anyone who read it out loud in Inspector Frank Butterman's voice. You are my kind of person and I salute you. For anyone who has not witnessed this magical moment in cinema, I suggest youtube. The clip is only eleven seconds and it makes me laugh every. single. time.

I'll have the next chapter up before Sunday if I can!


	14. Dementors Aboard the Hogwarts Express

Chapter Fourteen

Dementors Aboard the Hogwarts Express

* * *

0o0

The next morning dawned bright and sunny. A clingy humidity lingered near the eaves; the byproduct of three day's worth of rain being slowly burned away. The effect—far from pleasant—was rather like being forced to wake up inside of a fish bowl. Astoria kicked everything except her sheets off of the bed and tried to sleep on, but the bright chirping of birds and the moist buzzing of bees in the garden roused her before noon.

There was a letter from Theo waiting for her on the foyer table when she went downstairs. Astoria opened it standing up in the middle of the room.

 _Astoria,_

 _The rain has stopped and the world is moist and glorious!_

Astoria paused, certain that she must have misread. But no, there they were, in Theo's lurid handwriting, the words: ' _the world is moist and glorious!'._ She opened her mouth and squealed with silent delight.

 _Come visit me around lunchtime. I've been in the garden since sunrise._

 _Theo._

Eager to learn what had turned Theodore Nott loose and poetic, Astoria skipped the breakfast she had been on her way to pillage from the kitchen and instead went back to her room. Here, she put on the thinest sundress she could find (even her hair was sticking to her neck) and a pair of rubber boots before making her way through the floo.

Theo was sitting near the sunken garden in his backyard. Astoria had been here once before, on the occasion that she had met Theodore's father—Mr. Nott, suspicious that Astoria might be a muggle, had threatened to murder her. The garden seemed to have changed greatly with the season, however.

The old well was now perspiring green moss and heavy climbing hydrangeas hung off the half-broken statuary. Theo looked up from his book as she approached, his eyes bleary from hours of mulling over small text.

"Hello," said Astoria jauntily, wet to her knees from the overgrown lawn that surrounded the sunken sitting area. Even as she watched, a butterfly flew by, stopping for a moment to perch on a wet leaf before fluttering off toward the forest.

"Hello," called Theo, closing his book and stretching his long, thin arms. His back cracked like ice in warm water when he arched it and Astoria tried not to wince.

"What are you reading?" Astoria asked, turning the book in his hands over to reveal the title. It was the complete words of Lord Byron. Theo blushed and turned it over again. At his feet, a copy of _Broken Balls: When Fortunes Turn Foul_ lay flat against the stones. Astoria chose to focus on the least embarrassing of the two.

"I thought we weren't taking Divination?" she said, pointing toward the book at his feet.

"We're not," said Theo promptly, "but take _Broken Balls_ home with you anyway. It's scintillating reading. Worthy of even Lockhart's approval."

"Ah," remarked Astoria sagely, "now _that_ is praise."

They both grinned at each other. Astoria sat down on one of the drier looking stones and extended her rubber clad feet.

"How was your lunch?" asked Theo, his face lighter and less lined than it normally was, especially when confronted by so much natural beauty. Astoria wondered if the sunshine had finally gotten to him.

"Lunch was typical," Astoria sighed. "Father forgot all about us ten seconds after we got there. I ended up drinking gin and napping in a forgotten corner."

"Ah, the country club," sighed Theo, snickering. "Millicent said she might come over today."

"Did she?"

Astoria had not yet been able to make up her mind about Millicent Bulstrode. On the one hand, she knew that Theo found something redeeming about her personality because he did not seek out anybody that he was not fond of. On the other hand, however, Millicent's hitherto unproven intrigue seemed to degrade to nothing but grunts and moody eyelash batting in Astoria's presence.

"She doesn't like me, you know," said Astoria airily, watching his expression.

Theo shrugged. "She just doesn't trust you."

"I've never done _anything_ to Millicent," Astoria argued tensely.

"No, I suppose not," said Theo, "but Millie's never had a very easy time of it. Between her parents and the other Slytherins at school, it's a miracle she hasn't thrown herself off a building. It's not easy being shy _and_ ugly, you know. Take it from me."

"You're _not_ ugly, Theo," said Astoria, suffering a pang of annoyance at these words. "You're funny and wise and I don't know what I would do without you."

Theo laughed. "You'd find another dark, witty academic I suppose. A Ravenclaw might do. As for Millicent, she doesn't take to people easily. Did you know that Malfoy charmed Millie's face onto a copy of _Holidays with Hags_ and then gave it to her as Christmas gift last year?"

Astoria had not known this, although it did not surprise her.

"She should have turned around and stuck _him_ on the cover of _Voyages with Vampires_ , the pale little twit," snapped Astoria, tracing a line in the mud between the stones with her boot.

"Yes, well, maybe that's what _you_ would have done," said Theo slowly, attempting to explain with great care. " _You_ can get away with that sort of thing because you're pretty and you have friends. People _care_ about what you say when you speak. For someone like Millicent, that would have been tantamount to social suicide."

"No," argued Astoria, suddenly angry. "The difference is that _I_ don't care what other people say about me. Millicent needs to grow a pair and be her own boss, if you want to know what I think."

"You don't care what people think because people are already predisposed to think well of you," said Theo, his tone shifting to become slightly cutting. "Good looks and charm tend to have that effect on people. Besides, the whole thing is a joke anyway because Draco wouldn't stick your face on a copy of _Holidays with Hags_ in the first place, would he? It's a moot point."

Astoria pulled her damp hair away from her face and piled it heavily on top of her head. "What about ' _Year with a Yeti'_?" she suggested, feeling the thick frizz under her fingers and grinning.

"Fat chance," sneered Theodore snidely. "Your book is called, ' _I'm Using My Hand but I'm Thinking of You'."_

"What's _that_ supposed to mean?" asked Astoria sharply, but before Theo could reply, a loud and catastrophic bang from somewhere nearby caused all of the birds in the trees to leap into the air, squawking riotously.

"What was that?" Astoria gasped, bringing her hands up to her ears.

Another terrific bang echoed off of the side of Theo's house and a distant tree limb was blasted apart.

" _Dad_ ," sighed Theo moodily.

Behind the front of the house was a long, uneven lawn bordered by an out of control shrubbery. A brick terrace abutted a set of open doors, forming the backdrop against which Mr. Nott and an aged elf were standing.

Astoria paused, taking in the sight because she had never been behind the Notts' house before. Then, suddenly, Theodore pulled her up against the gutter without so much as a warning.

"PULL!" roared Mr. Nott and the tiny old elf, quivering as though he was carrying a very heavy weight, triggered a mechanism. A flying clay disk leapt into the sky. With another deafening bang, it exploded into pieces that showered down onto the clumping grass like powdery comets.

"Merlin's balls, father!" hollered Theo and Mr. Nott paused in reloading what looked like a double barreled muggle war weapon. The tiny old elf jumped heartily and released a second clay discus by accident.

Swearing fervently, Mr. Nott swung the shinning stick upward with enough momentum to make it click ominously and took aim.

BANG!

Astoria was prepared this time; her hands were already clapped over her ears when the disk exploded.

"We are ON the lawn!" Theo yelled, stalking forward as the sound receded into a whooshing echo.

"Were you?" asked Mr. Nott over the clattering of shells falling to the ground.

"Hello, Mr. Nott!" called Astoria merrily. "Beautiful day, isn't it?"

"Eh?" growled Mr. Nott. "If _you_ say so."

The quivering elf sunk to his knees and Astoria began to understand that the loud noises were probably as unnerving to him as they were to Theodore.

"ON the lawn, father," Theo insisted angrily. "You could have shot Astoria!"

"What did you bring her to the backyard for, then?" asked Mr. Nott cantankerously. "Closer range?"

"What are you shooting, anyway?" asked Astoria curiously, stepping out from behind an irate Theodore and examining the rod in Mr. Nott's hands.

"Skeet shooting," grumbled Mr. Nott. "Muggles get to blast things apart, so I figured, why can't I?"

The front doorbell rang and Mr. Nott froze.

"That'll probably be Millicent," snapped Theodore irritably, charging past his father into the house and muttering. "Always ringing the front door bell... doesn't realize there is a lunatic with a _gun_ behind it!"

Mr. Nott handed the gun to the elf, who took it gratefully before collapsing under its weight.

"Here," Astoria volunteered, prying the weapon from the elf's horrified fingers, "let me."

Astoria followed Mr. Nott into the darkness of his formal living room, holding the gun over one shoulder. There were several nice couches and a tea table made over with a lace doily in this room, but a quick look told Astoria that it had been unused for years. A thick coating of dust covered everything from the mantel piece, on which an old clock ticked, to the victorian lamp shades. Mr. Nott barreled through as though the room itself made him itch under his skin and stopped in the front hall.

Millicent peered around Theodore from the open door.

"Damn the blasted bell! If you ever ring that thing again, I'll rip your fingers off!" bellowed Mr. Nott threateningly.

"Hi, Millicent!" called Astoria, hoisting the heavy shotgun up a bit higher.

Millicent blinked, but for the first time, it seemed to be out of shock rather than sulking dislike.

"Tea!" grumbled Mr. Nott violently, remembering himself. The elf at Astoria's feet disappeared with a small crack.

"Sod tea," mumbled Theo, but Millicent pushed past him and made for Mr. Nott's study.

The study was just as bizarre and unlikely as Astoria remembered it; dark, shrouded and populated with a collection of the most unlikely books imaginable. A rack of antlers had been installed on the wall over one of the shelves and there was now a candy bowl filled with what looked alarmingly like shark teeth, but the space was otherwise comfortingly familiar.

"You've decided on Arithmancy then?" rumbled Mr. Nott over his tea, making what Astoria assumed passed for his idea of small talk. "Blasted, _cunting_ subject! Perfect for small-handed Nancies and people with narrow minds."

"Yes. Arithmancy," Astoria persisted. "Also Ancient Runes and Care of Magical Creatures."

"Ancient Runes, eh?" Mr. Nott scratched his whiskery chin. "Now _that_ you might like."

Theo made an emphatic face into his tea cup.

"I thought the same thing, actually," Astoria agreed, ignoring Theo's looks of resentment. "I enjoy translating. So does Theo." Astoria glanced at her friend pointedly. "Don't you, Theo? What about _you_ Millicent?"

Neither Theo nor Millicent seemed to want to say a single word to her, however, so Astoria added cream to her tea and gestured sharply toward the rack of antlers hanging on the wall with her spoon. "What a _great_ rack of antlers, sir."

"Nabbed 'em off of a Wolpertinger," exclaimed Mr. Nott in his gravelly baritone.

"Fan- _tastic_!" replied Astoria crisply, slamming her spoon down, wishing all the while that Theodore would stop ignoring her.

"Aren't Wolpertingers nearly extinct?" snapped Theo waspishly.

"And aren't they just rabbits with horns?" Millicent prodded further.

"They've also got WINGS!" cried Mr. Nott, holding out his hands to indicate a wing span, smiling in a manic way that was generally reserved for villains in children's books.

"But do they fly?" Astoria instigated, gazing up at the dark ceiling, "or are their fuzzy little rabbit bodies too heavy to get off of the ground? What do _you_ think, Theodore?"

Theodore hissed.

"You know," mused Mr. Nott conversationally, "I'm not actually sure. Usually, I just point a gun at them and they _scamper_!"

Theo put his cup down and cleared his throat.

"You know what, _yes_ , Astoria. I also like to translate."

Astoria smiled at Theodore through narrowed eyes.

"You'll find a lot about Runes in Gobbledegook," continued Mr. Nott, turning rather serious. "Theodore said you read the book I sent you."

"Yes," said Astoria.

"I'll send you home with a few more."

Millicent continued to stare at Astoria, her expression unreadable.

After tea, Mr. Nott turned them loose into the garden again. As he showed no signs of recollecting his gun and joining them, Astoria felt confident enough to sprawl out on the low prickling grass to listen to the hum of insects drone by.

The dew had mostly evaporated and while the air still smelled moist and earthy, Astoria's hair had ceased to plaster itself against her neck. A few feet away, a bush wobbled and a low, naughty snickering sound emanated from the roots.

"You've got gnomes, again," stated Millicent, staring in the direction of the noise.

"Yeah, I know," said Theo. "I think dad secretly likes them. He thinks they keep muggles off the grounds. I just let them be."

Astoria, whose aunt wouldn't let a gnome within twenty feet of their garden without drowning it, thought this was very sensible.

"I've always thought they were rather cute," Astoria offered, causing Millicent to stare at her blandly. "Sort of like rogue, drunk babies."

Theo snorted at this description, the sound turning into a laugh as the gnome in the shrubs peered through the greenery at them coyly; its bald, flat face wrinkled at the sight of them.

"What about the idea of a rogue, drunk baby appeals to you, exactly?" asked Millicent.

Astoria turned her head slightly, surprised that Millicent had spoken to her, let alone posed a question.

"What _doesn't_?" she smirked, secretly pleased to have been included.

0o0

"I've always wanted a cat," sighed Daphne dreamily a few weeks later, playing with the tassels on a decorative throw pillow in Belladonna's foyer. "I wonder if mum and dad will let me get one? I've made top marks in all my exams."

" _Shh_!" Astoria whispered urgently, craning her ear toward the closed living room door. "I'm trying to listen."

Behind those oak doors, Aunt Belladonna was having a discussion with someone in the fireplace. A heated discussion, too —every now and then, her aunt's voice raised past a civil octave and became clear enough to understand.

"Why do you care?" asked Daphne. "She obviously wants to be private."

" _Nothing_ is private in this house," Astoria hissed back darkly, her head still cocked. "If she can set Bonky on _me_ to keep tabs, then _I_ can eavesdrop on her floo conversations!"

"Two wrongs don't make a right," sang Daphne, still fingering the tassel on the pillow. "How much longer do you think she'll _be_? I can't wait to get to Diagon Alley."

Astoria, Daphne and Belladonna were supposed to have left for London to do their school shopping almost an hour ago. It was quite unlike Belladonna to allow a floo call to make them all late, and Astoria was anxious with curiosity.

"Dunno," returned Astoria, paling slightly because whatever Belladonna had just said had sounded suspiciously like 'lying underneath you'. She really did not know if she would be able to stomach another of her aunt's dreaded marriages so late in life.

There was a long moment of silence. The hallway clock ticked; its swinging pendulum moving back and forth regularly. Finally, Astoria heard the sounds of her aunt's shoes approaching.

The living room door was suddenly flung open. Belladonna drew a breath as if to call for them, then noticed that both sisters were already sitting on the love seat near the front door.

"Oh," remarked Belladonna, her face darkening considerably as she observed Astoria's near proximity. "There you are. I thought I told you to wait for me outside."

"You did," said Astoria sharply. "Nearly an hour ago. It's hot out."

For a moment, Belladonna looked slightly flustered. Then, she motioned for them to get up. "Come along," she said tightly. "We've wasted enough time already this morning."

" _You've_ wasted time, you mean," Astoria mumbled, following Daphne into the living room. Despite the heat, a fire was still burning hot in the grate.

"When we get to Diagon Alley, who is going where?" asked Belladonna clearly, opening the mantelpiece snuff box that contained their floo powder.

"Aren't we all staying together?" asked Daphne in confusion. "I thought that with Sirius Black on the loose..."

"Nonsense," Belladonna snorted. "What does the likes of Sirius Black want with two pure-blooded, well dressed girls? A ransom? Bah! I couldn't pay it."

Daphne stared at Astoria in shock, but this announcement did not take Astoria by surprise.

"Are you going to the tailor, then?" asked Astoria crisply.

"It was my plan to start there," admitted Belladonna. "Will you girls be able to manage your books without me?"

"I expect so," said Astoria, almost glad not to have her aunt swooping about them as they walked.

At the Leaky Cauldron they separated; Belladonna bound for Madam Malkin's, and Astoria professing a desire to visit Flourish and Blotts.

The moment her aunt was out of sight, Astoria undid all of the buttons on her blazer, exposing the thin silk slip she had tucked into her skirt underneath. It was well and truly blazing out and the idea of Belladonna lecturing her about propriety was enough to make her angry. Astoria exhaled and ran her fingers through her hair.

"Where to, then?" she asked, wishing she had thought to bring sunglasses to cut down on the hazy glare of the shop fronts.

"You look very like your aunt right now," commented Daphne absently and Astoria promptly cleared her throat and began down the cobblestone street, subtly redoing one of her buttons.

They went to the apothecary first so that Daphne could ogle the cats. Astoria stood a little behind her sister as she _ooh-ed_ and _aah-ed_ at the felines lined up in small cages against the walls.

"How mad do you think dad would be?" asked Daphne, her voice turning very serious as one of the kittens swiped at her hands through his wicker bars.

"He probably wouldn't even notice," said Astoria truthfully, tilting her head to look at one of the barn cats near the floor. "You should just get one. If he asks, tell him that he said it was alright when we all had dinner. Lord knows he was drunk enough—he'll never even know that he didn't agree."

"Astoria!" Daphne chastised, giggling a little anyway as the kitten began to purr. "How much money do you have on you?"

Astoria raised an eyebrow, surprised by this act of rebellion on her sister's part. "Enough to buy a cat," she conceded.

Several minutes later, clutching a wicker basket containing one kitten, Astoria and Daphne reentered the street.

"Shall we get our books, then?" asked Astoria while Daphne simpered and poked her fingers into the basket. "I _did_ tell my aunt that was where we would be."

Daphne, who had already purchased the only thing she cared about, agreed. So they set off through the burning heat toward Flourish and Blotts.

The shop was surprisingly busy when they entered. A small crowd had gathered around a cage near the front windows containing what Astoria first thought was a family of raccoons. A moment's worth of observation later, however, it became clear that the furry, writhing things inside the cage were _books_ and not animals at all.

Nervous about what the small queue of Hogwarts-aged students in front of this cage suggested, Astoria consulted her booklist. A volume listed as ' _The Monster Book Of Monsters'_ caught her eye immediately _._

"Back up, now, _back up!"_ the irritable shop keeper yelled at the surrounding crowd of students. "I've been _bitten_ already this morning, give me room!"

People jimmied backward to give this harassed manager enough space to put on his gloves.

"I don't know why we have to buy one of those," muttered Neville Longbottom miserably a few feet away. "It's going to rip _all_ of my new robes to shreds."

" _Enough_ ," tutted Augusta Longbottom, shooting her grandson a quelling look. "The list says you need a copy, so we'll be buying one with the rest of your class."

Neville sulked, continuing to eye the books—which had begun to shred each other—gloomily.

"Why don't I just pop over to the outfitters across the street and fetch a belt?" suggested Augusta a little nervously, disliking the sound as a dozen books began ripping a tattier copy in half. "A _belt_ will do the trick. Yes sir."

Astoria made room for Augusta Longbottom to press by toward the street.

"Afraid of the biting books, Longbottom?" jeered a drawling, delighted voice. Draco Malfoy elbowed his way through the crowd the moment Augusta disappeared. "Did you really just send your _Grandmother_ off to buy a belt to keep you safe? God, it's like you aren't even a wizard!"

Neville quivered with shame. Freshly aware of how alone he was, he tried very hard not to look at Malfoy, who was leering at him maliciously.

A few of the students ahead collected their thrashing textbooks and sprinted toward the checkout, making room for Astoria and Daphne to edge forward.

"Draco," came a second, colder voice that Astoria recognized as belonging to Lucius Malfoy. "Come along."

Neville grew even paler. His eyes flicked toward the doors hopefully, plainly desperate to spot his grandmother pushing her way back through them.

"Coming Father," called Malfoy lazily, his eyes still on Neville. "Look Longbottom, I think it's _your_ turn."

It was true. The shopkeeper was pointing at Neville and gesturing for him to come forward. Neville tried to shake his head but it was no use.

"Come on, boy," said the manager irritably, brandishing a long stick at the _Monster Books of Monsters._ "Keep the line moving forward!"

Draco stepped back, watching Neville excitedly. Behind him, two elderly gentleman parted without being asked to make way for Lucius. At Lucius's feet bobbed a small, over-burdened house elf.

"Go on, Longbottom," Draco drawled cruelly, only slightly checked by the presence of his father, who appeared tolerant if not bored, "we don't have all day."

Astoria had seen enough. Shrugging past a group of little boys who were all staring at the _Monster Book of Monsters'_ cage and murmuring enthusiastically, she managed to wriggle in behind Draco.

"Hi, Neville!" Astoria called merrily, daring him to follow her example and let her rescue him.

Draco visibly startled and Astoria was very gratified to see that he appeared slightly flustered.

"Draco," continued Astoria civilly, acknowledging him with a hard look.

"Astoria," Draco jerked back quickly, trying to hide the way his body had stiffened guiltily at the sound of her voice. Lucius, who missed nothing, glanced between Astoria and his son with a barely palpable interest. The last time Astoria had seen Mr. Malfoy in a shop she had managed to amuse him, but she had never given him cause to search her expression before.

"Next in line!" called the manager desperately.

"Was that you, Malfoy?" asked Astoria, bracing herself. She moved forward just enough to block Neville's cowering form from Draco's line of sight.

"I thought I'd let Longbottom go first," suggested Draco, who had recovered just enough to work up a faint sneer.

"That's awfully nice of you," said Astoria firmly. "You should pick your buddy Goyle up an abacus while the mood lasts. I heard he's taking Arithmancy with you this year, and I think we _both_ know what happens when he tries to count past ten."

Malfoy went slightly pink.

"Don't, Astoria," mumbled Neville nervously. "It's ok."

"Tell you what Neville," continued Astoria, gesturing over her shoulder. "Why don't you go help my sister hold her cat. It looks like it's a bit heavy for her."

"I—really?" stuttered Neville gratefully.

"Sure," Astoria shrugged stubbornly. "I'll get your book."

Neville shuffled past with a furtive, fearful glance in the Malfoys direction. Knowing what she had to do next, Astoria turned her eyes away from Draco and nodded slightly to Lucius, willing her legs not to feel like jelly. "Mr. Malfoy."

"Miss Greengrass," returned Lucius civilly, surprising Astoria by remembering her name.

"What was _that_?" demanded Draco twitchily, annoyed to have been checked in front of his father. "Are you mad that I insulted your pet-loser?"

Across the room, Neville had taken the cat basket from a very confused looking Daphne. He was now holding it diligently with both hands, giving every appearance of modeling a comically faithful butler.

"No," Astoria muttered, crossing her hands across her chest, suddenly remembering how thin and clingy her shirt was. She _really_ should have redone the buttons on her blazer before entering the shop...

Across the room, Neville nearly dropped the cat basket and Daphne had to dive forward to prevent it from hitting the ground.

"Good," sneered Malfoy. "You could _do_ better."

"Next!" shrilled the manager, nursing a brand new cut across his forearm. "For God's sake, _next_!"

"That's you," said Astoria pointed out bluntly.

"Go," commanded Mr. Malfoy, pushing his elf forward. "I'll be settling the bill, Draco. Don't dally."

The moment Lucius had begun to walk across the shop, Draco grew looser and more irritable.

"You're not doing him any favors, you know," Draco pressed nastily. "If the strong come out on top in life, then Longbottom's the bottom of the barrel. It's almost kinder to let him get used to being stepped on now."

"Lovely," Astoria snorted lightly, keen to purchase her books and be out of this impossible shop.

"What are you going to do now, anyway? As if _two_ biting books weren't bad enough now you have to carry three," sneered Malfoy, pointing out the obvious. " _Honestly_ , who assigns a book that wants to rip its owner to pieces?"

"You know what," brightened Astoria, spotting Percy Weasley near the used books aisle, "I find that when I'm not allowed to use my own wand, someone else will almost always lend me theirs. Percy!"

Percy Weasley looked up. Recognizing her, he dropped his battered paperback into the discount bin and offered a rather pompous hand shake.

"You're a seventh year, right Perce?" asked Astoria, determined to make it out of the shop without losing an ear.

"Yes, yes," said Percy boisterously. "I don't know if Fred and George have told you the news, but I've been made Head Boy!"

"Excellent, you're legal!" exclaimed Astoria, ignoring Draco's snort of derision. "You can help me enchant these books to stay closed."

Fifteen minutes later, Astoria, Daphne, and Neville carrying one basket all stumbled back out into the alley, very glad to be out of the bookshop.

"Why did you send Neville Longbottom to hold my cat?" hissed Daphne out of the side of her mouth, blatantly annoyed despite the fact the Neville was still standing beside them.

"Because he was having trouble with his book," argued Astoria angrily, annoyed by her sister's lack of common compassion.

"It was Malfoy," explained Neville sadly. "He was trying to make me take the book with my bare hands."

"So you got into a fight with Malfoy _and_ sent one of your Gryffindor friends to drop my pet?" asked Daphne waspishly.

Astoria stared at her sister, seeing her for the first time in a new and unkind light.

"She's right," muttered Neville. "I'm sorry! I didn't mean to get you in trouble. Malfoy's dad was there and everything—"

"You got in a fight with Draco in front of _Mr. Malfoy_ over Neville Longbottom?" sneered Daphne, appalled. "Well, thats just _perfect_ , Astoria! Can't you ever go out in public without insulting someone—or, or trying to get drunk or—"

"That's my Gran," said Neville miserably. "Thanks again, Astoria."

"I'm sorry!" snapped Astoria, watching Neville cross the street with his shoulders hunched. "It wasn't as bad as Neville made it sound! There was no _actual_ fighting."

"Oh," said Daphne hotly. "No _actual_ fighting. You mean you didn't get into a public brawl? What a _relief_!"

"Are you serious right now?" spluttered Astoria, fighting down a strange sense of dread.

" _This_ is why Pansy doesn't like you, you know," Daphne went on, fixing the top of her basket shakily, "because you're always sticking your nose where it doesn't belong or intentionally being unpleasant."

"Oh _please_!" Astoria snarled. "Draco is _permanently_ intentionally unpleasant and she likes _him_ well enough."

"Yeah, well, maybe that should be your second clue," sniffed Daphne coldly.

"Let's just drop it, ok?" said Astoria, feeling very stung. "You've got your books. I didn't rile Draco up enough enough to start any blood feuds. I'm sure he'll forget about it."

Daphne let out a sharp gust of air and they walked the whole way to Madam Malkin's in silence.

0o0

Things were still not as they should be between the sisters by the first of September, although Astoria could not exactly say why.

Perhaps the problem was that, on some basic level, Astoria felt that all of the things her sister had complained about were traits that came naturally to her; things she could not change, even if she tried. This, coupled with the fact that they had not exchanged more than the briefest of letters since their fight meant there was a definite strain in the air between them as they boarded the train. None of Astoria's smiles or casual stabs at conversation seemed to be able to cut through it.

Ten minutes after the train had left the station, Daphne wandered off in search of Pansy and for the first times ever, Astoria was not sorry to watch her go.

A light rain began to pick up, washing the windows with an eerie, inky tint. At a loss, Astoria purchased a back of droobles and chewed her way thoughtfully down the hall in search of Theodore. Theodore, however, was no where to be found and after several hours, she began to suspect he was either hiding out in a luggage compartment or had failed to turn up in time to catch the train. Realizing that this was the longest she had ever ridden on the Hogwarts express alone, Astoria stopped over in Fred and George compartment feeling thoroughly sorry for herself.

"Queen Maeve again," said Fred, flipping over a chocolate frog card and frowning. "They must have printed about a million of her. You ever notice she'll turn up on one out of every five of these?"

Astoria shrugged as rain continued to fall, spattering the windows with wet soot.

"Her and Wendelin the Weird," Lee agreed. "Those two are the _worst_."

Astoria spat out the piece of gum she had been chewing and stuffed it back in its wrapper.

"Hah, gross!" said George delightedly, watching Astoria throw the gum wrapper onto a stack of newspapers and magazines in one of the seats.

Astoria's gaze shifted from the droobles wrapper to the newspaper under it. Once again found herself staring into the eyes of the escaped convict Sirius Black. Unbidden, words came back to her in Malfoy's lazy tenor: ' _Father says Black had it in so close with the Potters that they actually named him their son's godfather.'_

Astoria shook her head to dislodge her shiver. It was a very strange sensation to know that she was staring into the face of the man who would have killed Harry Potter as a baby. She pushed the gum wrapper onto the floor and tried to get a better look at the picture, but Sirius Black did not seem to want to look into the camera.

"I can't eat another one of these," groaned George, flicking another chocolate frog card into his pile. "Astoria, you want one?"

Astoria looked up distractedly. At that moment, with a loud creaking of breaks, the train began to shudder and slow its pace.

"Are we already there?" frowned Fred, getting up to peer out the window.

"We can't be," scoffed George, checking his watch. "We've got another hour to go. What's going on out there?"

Astoria stood up to peer through the window as well, but she could not make heads or tails out of the commotion in the darkness below. All of the lamps went out as the train came to a final jerking stop.

"What the hell?" muttered Lee nervously. With a great shifting of chocolate frog wrappers, Astoria heard him stand up.

"Looks like someone is boarding the train," warned Fred sharply, his profile just visible against the window. "More than one person, maybe. It looks like they're wearing cloaks. I can't _see_ —"

The compartment door snapped open and there was a sudden scuffle at the doorway.

"Move it," snapped Draco Malfoy's voice harshly, and Astoria could tell by his tone that he was nervous. "Out of the way, Crabbe!"

There was another bumping sound as someone else, probably Goyle, blundered into the wall.

"Oy," yelled George sharply. "This is our compartment!"

"As if I _care_ , Weasley," sneered Malfoy tensely, his voice still coming from the direction of the doorway.

"What's happening?" demanded Astoria, somewhat infected by Draco's obvious fear.

"Greengrass?" Malfoy's voice cut keenly into the darkness. "How many people are in here?"

The soft sound of movement in the hall made everyone fall silent. A gust of wind made the door to the compartment rattle.

Draco jerked away from it with an intake of breath and collided with Astoria, who did not even have the strength to be angry. It was as though the room had gone suddenly cold. Her breathing was becoming irregular and strange; a panting, feverish gasping.

The door rattled again. To Astoria's horror, someone was unlocking it from the outside. It slid open slowly—almost _soundlessly_. The sound of Draco and Fred panting fearfully on either side filled Astoria's ears. Was _she_ breathing that hard? It certainly did feel like she was...

Only she must be. Astoria was beginning to feel alarmingly ill—dreadfully ill, as though she might _die_. Whatever was in the room with them was clearly evil and Astoria wanted to be as far away from it as possible. She pushed backwards against the wall instinctually. Somewhere close by, she heard Draco whimper.

An inhuman, rattling breath rent the air and suddenly Astoria knew absolute dread.

She reached out for something, _anything_ to keep her from falling and managed to find a person's arm. The shock of human warmth was enough to make her choke. It meant that the cold wasn't real cold at all—it was coming from inside her. She really _was_ dying and it felt _terrible_.

 _Lucrezia had been pregnant with Astoria when they had sentenced her to life in Azkaban. Was it possible that her mother had murdered with Astoria already inside her?_ _Yes, that seemed right..._

How had this cruel, life-twisting thought never occurred to her before?

Astoria stumbled sideways, clinging to the arm that she had caught, trying not to fall to her knees. The thing in the doorway continued to rattle softly, drawing toward it a little bit of Astoria's sanity. She felt herself thrash, forcing the person that the arm was attached to in front of her.

 _Please, let someone else stand in front of her..._

 _Astoria's uncle Alfred had taught her how to add columns of numbers, but then he had died of a heart attack in his sleep. A peaceful way to die, Belladonna had remarked at the wake. Belladonna had lost so many other husbands that Astoria had assumed she knew best._

 _They had spent all morning the day before Alfred died picking Doll's Eye, a pale white berry that grew behind their lilac trees._

" _Put them in the basket, Astoria," Belladonna said, watching Astoria carefully. "Three of these will put a man to sleep, you know, but feed him six and he'll never wake up."_

 _Uncle Alfred had never woken up and Astoria had spent the night wishing that she hadn't helped pick berries. Why had her aunt let her help pick the berries?_

Astoria felt her knees touch the floor as she slid downward. Her face pressed against someone's leg —the same person holding her arm. They were trying to pull her back up, but it was no use. She could not move. Astoria was giving up, all she wanted was for the terror to cease.

Then, the door closed with a click and some of Astoria's senses seemed to come back to her. It was still dark as night, but she could make out the feeling of fabric against the side of her face. There were tears on her cheeks.

"Blimey," muttered George in a voice rent with sorrow. "Was that a—"

"Astoria?" snapped Draco intently, his tone almost desperate. He dragged on her arm, either to pull her back up or to confirm that she had not died. Astoria's face was probably pressed against his thigh, and it was a mark of how much her insides hurt that she could not even bring herself to care.

The warmth was returning but it did not seem to be able to penetrate her skin.

"What's wrong?" asked George, sensing the disturbance.

Draco stumbled and Astoria reached up and grabbed his his shirt, trying to find balance, desperate not to be left alone in the pitch black horror-scape that was her mind.

The lights flickered back on. Astoria was staring at the window through blurred eyes. Behind her, Crabbe was curled up against one of the seats and shivering.

Weakly, Astoria tried to move her head. Somehow, she must have yanked Draco around to stand between herself and the door because he was still holding her arm at a very awkward angle, and _that_ seemed to be the only thing keeping her from hitting the floor.

"Hey!" hollered George, finding a little of his strength in order to come to Astoria's defense. "You let go of her, Malfoy!"

"Let _go_ of her _?"_ Malfoy repeated sneeringly. "Why don't you just hit her head _for_ her, Weasley?"

"I'm fine," Astoria mumbled, surprised by how far away her voice sounded. "Everybody stop."

Astoria stiffened as George grabbed her and pulled upward. She flinched away from him uncertainly, loathing any sensation that was not utter stillness. Malfoy had still not relinquished his grip on her other arm. He jerked Astoria away from George the moment she had her weight on both feet.

"Don't—" Astoria mumbled, pulled herself away from him as well.

For a moment, it looked as though Draco was going to say something retaliatory but the pale, haggard look on her face seemed to make him hold his tongue. Astoria raised a trembling hand to her eyes and her fingers came away wet.

"Did you just faint?" asked Malfoy in disbelief.

"No," said Astoria, still gasping. "I just couldn't _breathe_..."

"It was a dementor," explained Fred darkly. "That's what came on the train. That's why everything got so cold."

Crabbe was still blinking stupidly. He had not moved an inch and did not appear ready to, either.

"Dumbledore never would have let the Dementors search the train!" declared Lee. "This was a sneak attack!"

"Says who?" sneered Malfoy, still peering at Astoria as though he was privately afraid that she was about to go mad. There was a distant rumble as the train started up again; a creaking of pistons as they pushed forward.

"You should sit down, Astoria," said Fred gently. "You look a little shaky."

In truth, Astoria was trembling violently, but another thought had finally occurred to her. "I should find my sister."

"She's in one of the back compartments," Draco supplied. " _Get up_ , Crabbe."

Crabbe's eyes were wide with confusion and horror. The fact that the lights had come back on and the train had begun to move did not seem to be reaching him. Astoria reached out and gently removed her old gum wrapper from the sleeve of his robe. Crabbe blinked at her. He made a strange, strangled sound as he got to his feet.

The hallway was pandemonium. All along the aisle, doors were open and students —some grim faced, some queasy—were congregating and interrogating each other. Astoria stepped around Ernie Macmillian, who was gesturing fiercely, and almost lost her footing. She was forced to lean against a mercifully closed compartment window to ward off her dizziness.

Draco led the way by right, but it seemed to be Goyle who was doing most of the elbowing. Crabbe walked in single file behind Astoria, his eyes on the floor and his face strained.

Astoria spotted her sister's worried face through the glass window of her compartment before the door was even opened.

"Draco!" exclaimed Pansy ecstatically, catching sight of him. "Where _have_ you been? The _craziest_ things just happened! Our compartment was searched!"

"By the dementors you mean? That happened all over the train," Malfoy informed her lazily.

Some of the enthusiasm drained out of Pansy's face as she took in the number of people in their party and counted past three. Her eyes fell on Astoria, standing between Crabbe and Goyle, and her expression changed quickly from surprise to hard displeasure. "Oh, you brought the other Greengrass."

"Astoria!" cried Daphne in a strangled voice, standing up immediately.

"Are you ok?" Astoria asked, reaching for her sister and pulling her nearer to inspect her face. Daphne looked pale but otherwise untouched. Better, in fact, than Astoria did.

"I'm fine," Daphne murmured, extracting herself from Astoria's grasp. "Just a little rattled."

"You look like you've seen a ghost, Astoria," observed Pansy unkindly, eyeing her smudged makeup. "Did the scary dementors make you _cry_?"

Draco slung himself into an empty seat and promptly helped himself to someone else's cauldron cake. Astoria waited to see if he was going to mention her near fainting spell, but it seemed that he had not been listening well enough to spot the opportunity.

"Tracey didn't hold up so well either," Flora sing-songed and Astoria finally noticed Tracey: she was sitting in the corner with her head between her knees.

"What were dementors doing on the train, anyway?" demanded Pansy loudly. "There are _students_ on here."

"Looking for Sirius Black, obviously," drawled Draco, polishing off the cake. "I suppose they wanted to make sure he wasn't being smuggled into Hogsmeade. As if he'd have to take the _train_ to get there!"

"But why would Sirius Black want to go to Hogsmeade?" insisted Pansy stupidly, provoking the suspicion that she was only going out of her way to provide an opportunity for Draco to talk.

Astoria tuned them out and focused on her still shaking limbs. Her knees were knocking loosely and a cold clammy sweat still clung to her forehead. Slowly, she sank into the empty seat beside Draco. A part of her knew that this would probably provoke Pansy, but Astoria was past caring. If she did not sit of her own violation, she would soon collapse.

This was literally the last place she wanted to be when she was feeling ill and confused: Pansy's Parkinson's compartment. The trouble was, she was not sure that she had the mental strength to get up and pursue more pleasant company.

"Bloody dementors," moaned Tracey, heaving a great breath at last. She raised her head and reached for a water bottle that had fallen underneath one of the seats. "Awful things."

"We were playing cards when the lamps went out," continued Pansy dramatically. "No one had any idea what was going on. Flora thought we had _broken down_."

"I was in the hallway," supplied Draco, who seemed much improved by the chocolate cauldron cake he had just consumed. "Crabbe and I actually saw them get on the train."

He shifted his legs slightly so that he filled up his seat and half of Astoria's comfortably. Astoria tilted away, afraid of making any further contact with his body in her weakened state—an act that would surely bring down Pansy's irrational ire.

"Ooh," crowed Flora energetically. "Creepy! I thought it must be a mechanical problem, but then Tracey dropped her card hand and started to hyperventilate."

Tracey shot Flora a penetrating, hateful look. Astoria felt for her immediately.

"They made me feel ill too, Tracey," she offered.

" _Ill_?" sneered Malfoy quickly, his eyes flicking onto her face. "I thought you were having some kind of a fit."

"Were you in the hallway too, Astoria?" asked Pansy coldly.

"No," said Astoria, taking a small amount of pleasure in distancing herself from Draco's tale. "Draco barged into my compartment when the lights went off."

"Good thing, too," Malfoy sneered awkwardly, "since you were so keen to have a swooning fit."

"She _swooned_?" repeated Flora vapidly. "You mean she fainted like a princess?"

"I didn't swoon," Astoria clarified at once.

"You couldn't _stand,_ " Malfoy insisted, looking as though the memory made him slightly uncomfortable.

"Who's been swooning?" asked Blaise Zabini, sliding the compartment door open. "Not you, Draco?"

Draco scowled at the dig. Blaise bullied a still stunned looking Crabbe out of the way in order to fit into the compartment. To Astoria's surprise and delight, Blaise was followed in by a very rumpled and agitated Theo.

"Theodore!"

Theo did a double take, evidently surprised to have found her in the very lap of Slytherin third year territory. "Astoria? I've been looking all over for you!"

"Until the dementors came on board," corrected Blaise smoothly. "After that you spent spent about an hour in the bathroom looking for your courage."

"Yes, thank you, Zabini," said Theo irritably before snapping back on track. "Really though, where have you been? Nobody knew. I even checked with those Weasleys you run around with and they said you left with Malfoy to find your sister. Did you see the dementors?"

Realizing that there were no free seats, Blaise quirked an eyebrow and leaned against the wall

"I looked for _you_ all morning," countered Astoria, chaffing a little at Theo's accusatory tone. "Yes, I saw the dementors, but since then I've had my hands full between all the swooning and trying to remain elusive. Where have _you_ been?"

"I've been looking for you!" retorted Theo in annoyance.

Blaise chuckled softly. "Let me get this straight Greengrass, you swoon at the sight of the dementors? Like actually go _down_ fainting?"

"I didn't _faint,_ " repeated Astoria, becoming more clipped.

Blaise's eyes swam with cruel amusement. "Well, you can stand in front of _me_ on the next Hogsmeade trip, if you like."

Flora giggled stupidly but Malfoy didn't seem to find this witty at all because he sneered and sat up a little straighter. Astoria felt his arm jostle her seat and Pansy's hands tightened on the deck of cards she was shuffling as she watched all three of them intently.

It was a mark of how dumb and sick Astoria still felt that Malfoy beat her to the punch before she could respond.

"Yeah, Zabini?" sneered Draco condescendingly, suddenly ill tempered. "That's your best game? Skulking behind girls and waiting for them to faint?"

Blaise's smirk deepened as his eyes swept carelessly from Astoria to Malfoy.

"Yeah, why not? Unless, of course, she prefers _you_ as a savior. Can't see any bruises so you must have caught her pretty quickly."

"Come on, Astoria," said Theo in a rare display of protectiveness. "Sod this. Let's go find the lunch trolley. Some Ravenclaws were saying chocolate fights off the effects of a Dementor attack."

Astoria's eyes went straight to Daphne but she was leaning toward Pansy and there was a strange look on her face, as though she wished Astoria would stop trying to catch her eye. Astoria got up and brushed down her skirt, still light headed—a sensation very similar to the high of a just-broken fever.

"Yeah, alright," she agreed. "I'll give it a try. That cauldron cake seemed to do something for Draco. Maybe there's something to it."

"That was _my_ cauldron cake!" moaned Tracey.

Pansy jumped claimed Astoria's seat before the door had even closed behind them.

"You lot are a weird, intense bunch," observed Astoria wryly, sensing that their exit had been strained.

"You asked for it when you let Malfoy be your escort into Pansy's compartment," shot Theo tartly. "Did you actually faint?"

"No," said Astoria. "Everything was so dark and cold that I fell over. I thought about the _worst_ things, though—stuff I hadn't remembered in years."

"Yeah," Theo agreed. "Sounds like me. Blaise was fine the second the dementors left, but I almost threw up for a full hour after the lamps came back on."

By the time they reached the trolley, the train was beginning to slow down. Theo purchased a slab of chocolate and snapped it in two. From the first mouthful onward, Astoria began to feel some of her normal vigor returning.

" _Wow_ ," gaped Theo at last, gratefully stuffing another square into his mouth.

"Definitely," Astoria agreed. "That helped loads."

They passed the Dementors again on their coach ride up to the castle. Helpfully, they were easily recognized them from afar, giving Astoria time to prepare herself by leaning back against her seat. _Hard_.

Another wave of cold washed over her, this time less encompassing. The threat of being totally engrossed by sorrow did not return.

"It's not so bad when they're further away," Theo muttered once they had passed into the school grounds.

Astoria agreed but by the time she had finished her dinner and gained the stairs to her dormitory, the slick, cold dread was catching up with her again. She fell asleep almost restlessly, wondering if it was even possible that her mother was still sane after surviving thirteen years under the constant watch of dementors.

0o0

* * *

I won't kid around, I secretly cherish writing Mr. Nott because he is straight up _crackers._ I don't even know what his section of this chapter was supposed to provide other than a hilarious example of skeet shooting. (Nothing says high-class villainy _quite_ like shooting skeet over the lawn with a manservant to attend you, after all.) By the by, a wolpertinger is a real mythological creature native to the forests of Bavaria in Germany (or so wikipedia tells me) and they are, in fact, fuzzy rabbits with antlers and wings.

Other than that, welcome to third year. There are dementors and social politics have officially become teenage and tense.

Drop a review and tell me what you think!


	15. Talons and Numbers

Chapter Fifteen

Talons and Numbers

* * *

0o0

The first sight that greeted Astoria at breakfast the next morning was Draco Malfoy. He was busy reenacting what looked like a very precious fit of fainting before a large group of Slytherins, who were all laughing unpleasantly. Assuming that he was imitating her, Astoria chose a seat at the furthest end of the Slytherin table and settled down to wait for her sister, perusing her course schedule irritably.

Astoria had three new classes scheduled between the morning and the afternoon but even the promise of new material couldn't quite shake her out of the dark mood she had woken up in. When Daphne finally appeared, Astoria allowed herself brighten. But then, Daphne's eyes slipped from Astoria to Pansy and there was a moment of paralyzing doubt as Astoria waited to see who Daphne would sit with.

It was a stupid moment to put so much emotional stock in, but when Daphne stopped halfway down the table and chose a seat next to Pansy Astoria found herself blushing.

She returned to her schedule intently, positively burning with private shame. She continued to stare at the time blocks on the sheet in front of her until long after she had memorized them, afraid of looking up and exposing the shock and hurt on her face to the rest of the table. Theodore was not at breakfast yet. Perhaps she should go join the Gryffindor table? Would anyone notice her skulking away?

"He's not making fun of you, you know," said Millicent quietly, mistaking the cause of Astoria's sadness.

"What?" asked Astoria, eyes snapping up to find Millicent staring at her watchfully from across the table."Oh, Malfoy? I don't care, let him laugh."

"He's doing Potter," Millicent clarified, still gazing at her slyly. "Apparently Harry fainted when he saw the dementors too."

Suddenly realizing that Millicent had noticed her distress and was trying to be kind, Astoria endeavored to check her mood.

"Harry fainted?" she asked, warming toward Millicent considerably.

"Yeah, the new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher sent an owl ahead of the train. Madam Pomfrey was waiting for him when we pulled in. I think it was much worse than what happened to you."

Astoria reconsidered Draco's routine, noticing now that he was not speaking in a falsetto and that he kept gesticulating toward his forehead.

"Oh yeah," said Astoria slowly, only slightly cheered. "I can kind of see it."

"Theo probably won't make it to breakfast," continued Millicent knowingly, filling up the silence. "He wasn't feeling very good last night."

"Oh," reacted Astoria lamely, wondering if Millicent was suggesting that, without Daphne or Theo present, she was not welcome to sit at the Slytherin table. She glanced back at her sister instinctually. Daphne was was smiling calmly through Pansy and Flora's high pitched squeals of delight. She was like a still sea under a scorching sun.

Tracey Davis, Astoria noted, did not seem nearly as amused as the rest of her friends. Perhaps her own experience with the dementors had been enough to cure her of finding them very funny, or else she did not think Draco a very good actor. Her expression was still grim.

"Yeah," Millicent pressed.

Astoria fidgeted with her fork, toying with her untouched breakfast awkwardly.

"Flirt with McLaggen at lunch,"suggested Millicent bizarrely, betraying no trace of a jibe.

Astoria stared at Millicent, nonplussed and confused, so Millicent clarified: "That would make Pansy and Flora curious enough to send Daphne back to you for the scoop."

It occurred to Astoria that Millicent was about ten times more observant then she had ever given her credit for, but this idea did not tally with her thinking.

"I don't want to _force_ Daphne to hang out with me," scowled Astoria rather proudly. "If Daphne wants to be best friends with Pansy, that's her decision."

Millicent raised her eyebrows but said nothing more. Astoria continued to munch her toast in silence, smoldering with embarrassment.

0o0

Despite the high hopes that Astoria had set on the subject, her first period class did nothing to improve her desperate mood.

The Room of Runes was located on the sixth floor. A round tower room with a raised platform in the center, it reminded Astoria a little of a courtroom; the student benches rose up from the middle in three separate, ring-like tiers so that each person sitting was afforded a clear view of the podium. Despite the fact that Astoria and Theo had both signed up for the class together, it appeared that they would be taking it separately. Other than Hermione Granger and Seamus Finnegan, the room was awash with the blue and bronze of Ravenclaw. Theodore, a Slytherin, was slated to take it with the Hufflepuffs later in the day.

Before Astoria could come to grips with this new disappointment, the class was brought to order by a plain, short woman with a bob of greying brown hair that had been parted vigorously down the center. Professor Bathsheda Babbling introduced herself from the podium and at first, Astoria took her to be as no-nonsense as Professor Mcgongagall. Soon, however, it became apparent that Professor Babbling was self-indulgent, irritable and guilty of a particular weakness for flattery.

Not inclined to suck-up a woman she barely knew, Astoria remained silent as the Ravenclaws on either side of her slowly caught on and began to banter and cajole. Anthony Goldstein, who seemed to have sensed Professor Babbling's fondness for sycophancy the quickest, immediatly sought to make a name for himself and was sure to become a great favorite

For the last ten minutes of class, Professor Babbling lowered the lights in the room for a live demonstration that she saved for all incoming third year students. The minute the circular space was plunged into proper darkness, she began to summon forth ancient markings that had been carved into the stone walls by speaking them out loud; a showy but useless display of light and sound. Despite the fact that these runes were likely as old as the castle itself, Astoria gathered her things for the bell, determined not to be impressed.

The only up-shot, thought Astoria as she made her way upstairs, was that she was already miles ahead of her classmates when it came to subject matter. Thanks to Theodore's father, she had been able to recognize several runes from old Goblin texts with impressive accuracy. But her competition would not be academic. Ancient Runes was one of the rare subjects in which Astoria imagined she might be able to demonstrate effortlessly competency, but the idea of scrabbling against Anthony's brown-nosing left a bitter taste in her mouth.

Dejected and warm, Astoria was not holding out much of an expectation for Arithmancy (she had always dreaded numbers), but she was vaguely cheered when she reached the seventh floor and discovered that Theo was among the small queue waiting outside the doors.

"Missed you at breakfast," muttered Astoria aggressively by way of a greeting. "Is this everybody?"

Having sat in silence for most of the day, she could feel her nasty mood coiling itself unpleasantly, searching for an outlet.

"I hear a few other people tried to sign up but Professor Vector turned them down," returned Theo quietly, ignoring her hostility. "Apparently he's very selective."

There was a note of pride in his voice it was not very hard to figure out why. So few students appeared to have been accepted into Arithmancy that the line actually contained students from all _four_ houses.

Astoria glanced around and quickly spotted Ernie Macmillian and Anthony Goldstein. The only other Gryffindor present was Hermione.

"Everyone always says that Arithmancy is hard," murmured Astoria, shifting uncomfortably.

"I must be!" agreed Theodore excitedly. "Look around—no riff-raff! The professor cut students before they even had a chance to try out the homework! Have you ever heard of anything so fantastic?"

He clapped his hands enthusiastically but Astoria flinched, unable to share Theodore's sense of glee.

"I'm rubbish at math," she mumbled. "I'll probably end up chucked out too."

"Oh, no you won't," scoffed Theodore dismissively, gesturing over Astoria's shoulder. "Look at that, it's Malfoy! And he's alone!" His eyes misted over. "Vector must have _cut_ Goyle!"

It was possibly the happiest that Astoria had ever seen him but she was suddenly distracted.

"Wait a minute, I thought Daphne was taking Arithmancy," frowned Astoria, swiveling about to look for her sister. "Vector didn't toss her out?"

"No, she was _going_ to take Arithmancy," Theodore assured her, "but she dropped out last minute to take Divination with Pansy and Flora."

Astoria stared at him.

"Think I should lend her my copy of _Broken Balls?"_ Theo continued, elbowing her. A small, almost judgmental smile pursed his lips.

" _Whatever,"_ snapped Astoria. It was as though she had just been punched in the gut for the third time that morning.

"What's with you?" Theodore frowned.

"Nothing," Astoria snapped irritably. The door behind them opened to announce the start of class.

It was immediately on Astoria's mind to march toward the most remote seat possible. She did not strictly enjoy sitting by herself during class, but a bizarre desire to exaggerate her own misery seemed to be urging her to. If she had been with anyone other than Theo, who was oblivious to 'moods', she probably would have.

Astoria put her bag down heavily on the table next to Theodore, as far away from Anthony Goldstein as she could manage, forcing herself to behave.

The Arithmancy classroom was the exact opposite of what the Room of Runes had been; simple, unadorned and practical. There were two sets of long benches at the front of the room, one stretching to the left and the other to the right. This was enough seating to accommodate the entire class. Furthermore, the fact that there was only one row seemed to offer a hint as to the nature of this demanding subject; they were all expected to sit in the front.

"I thought Babbling made some very good points today," said Anthony Goldstein in a carrying voice, prolonging the ghost of her miserable morning. "Every rune responds to its spoken syllables. It's almost the same as calling them by name."

Padma Patil nodded absently beside him.

"Pompous twat," Astoria hissed, pulling out her inkwell and quill.

" _Sorry_?" sneered Malfoy.

Draco was half-way into the seat on Astoria's other other side and he seemed to think that this comment had been meant for him.

Astoria looked up irritably, realized her mistake and made a face. "Not _you_."

The door seemed to have opened of its own accord because there was still no sign of Professor Vector. It was not clear whether or not they were allowed to talk.

"How was Ancient Runes?" whispered Theo.

"Miserable. Professor Babbling's a blow hard with a bob. Wait until you see her hair—it's so straight you could cut yourself on it," admitted Astoria, not bothering to keep her voice down. "To cap it all off, I'm stuck taking it with _Goldstein_ over there."

"What's wrong with Goldstein?" wondered Theo, and Astoria could not help noticing that his eyes jumped rapidly from Anthony to Padma. "He seems clever enough."

" _Yeah_ ," sneered Astoria vengefully, "clever enough to get himself pushed off the astronomy tower some midnight, if you ask me."

"You've got a problem with Goldstein?" interjected Draco drawlingly, making no attempt to conceal the fact that he had been eavesdropping.

"Yeah," declared Astoria stoutly, irrationally annoyed. "I _do_. He's a pompous wank."

Theo blew air through his nostrils, finding this outburst slightly embarrassing. Draco, however, was obviously and unduly pleased.

"He was probably just excited to be starting a new class," said Theo fairly. "He is Ravenclaw's most academically decorated third year, isn't he? You probably just hit on the wrong side of him."

"Oh yeah?" continued Astoria, surprising even herself. "Well, I'd like to hit on both sides of him. With a _shovel_ , if you know what I mean!"

"Is it even remotely likely that I would _not_ know what you mean?" returned Theodore, directing his suffering eyes upward.

Draco, who had clearly not been expecting this from her, leaned back in his chair gleefully. He stared across the room at Anthony appraisingly.

At that moment, the door behind the teacher's desk opened to admit a wizard of middling height. Professor Vector (for who else could it be) appeared, wearing a vest suitable for golfing underneath a tweed blazer. Everything, from his brown, well-worn loafers to his neat salt and pepper hair screamed of academia. The room fell silent at once.

"A new year," said Professor Vector calmly. He placed his mug of coffee on top of his desk and began to survey them.

The door of the classroom flew open again and Tracey Davis charged in looking harassed and windswept. "Sorry," she barked, perhaps angry with herself for her own lateness. "Sorry!"

Several heads bent low to titter about this but something about the mad, bedraggled way that Tracey's short hair was sticking up reminded Astoria so much of herself that she almost wanted to stand up an embrace her.

"Class begins when I enter the room and not a minute after," called Professor Vector, who did not actually look very angry at all.

"Sorry," hissed Tracey again, nearly dropping her bag as she pushed into the last remaining seat on their bench next to Draco. Draco shifted his things away from the maelstrom of movement, looking annoyed.

"You have each been approved for this subject," continued Vector, moving on with great grace. "The study of Arithmancy! Can anyone tell me what you will actually be learning here this year?"

Hermione's hand shot into the air. "Arithmancy is a discipline that studies the magical properties of numbers," she supplied primly.

"Yes, that _is_ a serviceable definition," admitted Professor Vector. "Arithmancy is the study of all things magical when properly channeled through the medium of numbers."

He did not go on to award Hermione any house points.

"Those of you who were raised among muggles may quickly come to understand that Arithmancy is rather like Chemistry," he want on, pacing leisurely. "After all, it is also the study of matter and its properties. But an Arithmancer studies _all_ things, you see, because he studies the patterns of magic that make up our universe. Who can tell me what a spell is?"

Perhaps sensing a trick question, nobody raised their hand.

"Come now," said Vector, smiling wryly. "You're all third years. Surely you must all be familiar with what a spell is."

"Well," began Hermione uncomfortably, "I suppose a spell is a charm or enchantment that, when performed correctly, changes the natural state of something else."

"Serviceable again," said Vector. "But what makes up a spell? What makes those particular words or wand motions work?"

"The fact that we're wizards, perhaps?" drawled Malfoy snidely.

"Only partially," Vector corrected. "If being magical was the only element involved, then a wizard could simply look at an object and, without thinking any words, he would be able to make that object obey his desires. But that is not enough. Magic is not so simple, is it? You could not, for instance, look at the person next to you and make them confess their deepest secrets?"

Draco's eyes flicked toward Astoria.

"Not without your wand, surely?" Vector prompted. "Not without the correct enchantment and a great deal of practice. The magic in your veins does not allow you such boundless power. You are not omnipotent."

Hermione was writing so fast that her quill stabbed the table every time she punctuated.

"We still needs spells, then," Professor Vector went on. "Words and motions that, when broken down into their most basic state, form patterns that we may interpret in a numerological style. But how do we make spells? This is the study of the invisible magic that governs even the most basic enchantments of our world. _This_ is the study of the nature of magic itself."

Contrary to such a promising introduction, what sounded at first like a very interesting task soon proved to be tedious and finicky. Professor Vector set them to work with their copies of Numerology and Gramatica, supplying an ancient Latin text that he wished them to translate against a very complex number chart. When the bell finally rang, Astoria's head was spinning.

"I don't know what my dad was talking about," said Theo in a serious tone as they made their way to lunch. "Arithmancy seems _fascinating_."

Astoria nodded unhappily. She had ink on her hands from blotting out so many mistakes on her practice sheet and the view outside the windows offered nothing but a glimpse of flat, grey sky.

"I like that the class is small, too," Theo went on. "We'll probably get loads more done."

"And you can stare at Padma Patil all you like without anyone being any the wiser," added Astoria. Theodore blushed and peeled away for his house table as she knew he would.

0o0

The sky was the same iron color after lunch when Astoria set off across the grounds for Care of Magical Creatures class. A pack of students were already waiting outside Hagrid's hut when she reached the last sloping hill: Slytherins and Gryffindors.

Daphne was standing between Flora and Pansy, giggling and whispering animatedly, so Astoria dithered, uncertain what she should do with herself. Neville Longbottom shot her an encouraging grin when she finally joined the back of the crowd alone. Never having felt more pathetic in her life, Astoria tried to smile back.

"Come on now, get a move on!" called Hagrid as the last of the class gathered round. "Got a real treat for yeh today! Great lesson comin' up! Follow me!"

A few feet away, Malfoy, Crabbe and Goyle were snickering unpleasantly. Preparing herself for the very worst, Astoria shuffled forward.

They ambled along behind Hagrid for several minutes, jogging to keep up with his lengthy strides. For a harrowing moment at the edge of the lawn, Astoria feared that was leading them toward the forest, but Hagrid turned right when he reached the trees in order to follow a grassy path that Astoria had never seen before.

It was an interesting little road, but Astoria's eyes kept betraying her. They strayed to the front of the line where she could see her sister's pony tail swinging, ignoring her new surroundings. Daphne hadn't even looked to make sure that Astoria had _joined_ them...

"Have you ever noticed that _Professor_ Hagrid can't speak?" asked Draco loudly. Somehow, he Crabbe and Goyle must have looped around to stand behind her. "It's like he's allergic to finishing words. He gets halfway through and doesn't bother pronouncing the rest of the letters."

Crabbe and Goyle laughed oafishly and Astoria wondered cruelly what _their_ accents sounded like. She had only ever heard Crabbe and Goyle say about ten words between the two of them, but she imagined they were coarse.

They stopped walking when they reached a paddock that abutted a growth of dark evergreen trees.

"Everyone gather 'round the fence!" called Hagrid. "Everyone close enough ter see?"

Astoria rested her arms on the wooden barricade and peered over. There was nothing on the other side except grass. Draco Malfoy shouldered Neville out of the way to stand next to her and leaned over the side himself.

"Well, this _is_ fascinating," he sneered.

"If everyone wants ter open their books—" began Hagrid, but Draco cut across him.

" _How_?" he asked coldly.

Several students turned to look and a few of them seemed to think Malfoy's question was a fair one.

"Eh?" said Hagrid.

"How do we open our books?" Malfoy repeated insolently.

Hagrid seemed thrown by this. Most of the class had pulled out copies of the _Monster Book of Monsters,_ but they were nearly all bound, tied or sealed shut.

Hagrid looked about in shock.

"Yeh've got ter stroke 'em!" he exclaimed, shaking his head as though this were the simplest idea in the world. He demonstrated by seizing Hermione's and stroking the length of its furry binding.

"Oh, how silly we've all been!" Malfoy sneered. "We should have stroked them! Why didn't we guess?"

"Shut up, Malfoy," said Harry Potter in a low voice. Hagrid seemed to have been under the impression that the books were funny rather than terrifying, because he suddenly looked slightly unsure of himself.

"Oh, tremendously funny!" sneered Malfoy. "Really witty, giving us books that try and rip our hands off!"

"The first rule of Caring for Magical Creatures," whispered Theo quietly, sneaking in next to Astoria, "is that when it comes to taming the savage beast, the smartest thing to do is simply to stroke its length."

Astoria laughed so hard that she had to clap her hand over her mouth. This was slightly unusual humor coming from Theodore and it did wonders to brighten her mood.

"What's so funny?" demanded Malfoy. Hagrid had gone off to collect whatever it was he intended to show them.

"I tried that once," Astoria whispered back, grinning wickedly. "Aunt Belladonna was furious."

Theo leered.

"Tried what?" asked Malfoy, somehow managing to become annoyed about being left out of a conversation he wasn't even a part of.

Unable to deny Malfoy anything, Pansy interjected with a disapproving sniff. "Just ignore them. They're talking about giving creatures _hand jobs_ , Draco."

Theodore made a funny little noise; the snicker he was trying to hold in leaked out of his nose in short blasts. "Ye've got ter stroke 'em!" he cracked out in Hagrid's rough brogue.

Astoria dissolved into a fit of giggles. Malfoy raised an eyebrow, not entirely committed to finding the idea of bestiality funny.

"Classy, Astoria," sneered Pansy, but Tracey Davis caught Astoria's eye and for the briefest moment it looked as though she might laugh.

"Oooh!" squealed Lavender Brown, pointing toward the entrance of the paddock.

They all turned just in time to see Hagrid leading some of the most bizarre looking creatures that Astoria had ever seen through the fence's gate.

At first glance they appeared to be birds. The front half of the animal was made up of feathers and talons. A beak protruded below a set of deadly yellow eyes. Upon closer inspection, however, they more closely resembled horses.

"What the hell _is_ that?" asked Theo smartly, still choking on his own grin.

"Hippogriffs!" hollered Hagrid. "Beau'iful, aren't they?"

" _Beau'iful,_ " Theo repeated quietly, savoring the word.

"Do you think we'll be expected to stroke _them_?" wondered Astoria mildly.

"Urg!" Pansy exclaimed, pulling Flora and Daphne away.

She needn't have bothered. Astoria's urge to laugh began to fade the moment Harry Potter slung a foot up over the fence and vaulted into the paddock.

"What's he _doing_?" asked Astoria sharply, watching Harry stride across the grass toward the grey hippogriff. "Why's he standing so close to it? Can't he see the _talons_?"

The same thought seemed to have occurred to Draco because his eyes had narrowed excitedly. Hagrid was urging Harry not to blink. The ferocity in the hippogriff's eyes was apparent even from twenty feet away. Had she missed something?

Harry bowed, exposing his neck to the mercy of beak and talons alike. No one was speaking. Astoria clapped loudly with the rest when the creature finally dropped to its scaly knees and bowed back.

" _Please_ ," muttered Malfoy sourly. _He_ did not applaud.

"Righ' then, I reckon he'll let yeh ride him!" cried Hagrid.

Just when Astoria thought the lesson was finally safe, Hagrid hauled Harry up by his robes. Her hand fluttered toward her mouth in horror. Surely flying on a _broomstick_ was bad enough? Would they all be expected to do this?

Malfoy's eyes twitched, burning a hole into the side of her worried face.

"What did he just say?" Astoria whispered tightly to Theo, panic bleeding into her tone. "Why is Hagrid making him ride it?"

"Seriously?" sneered Malfoy savagely. "Potter _loves_ an audience, Astoria. The oaf's just giving him a chance to show off."

Hagrid slapped the hippogriffs flank and it took off at a trot. It charged about the paddock until suddenly, with an ungainly leap, it was in the air. All four feet worked hard; legs pumping on a swing set. The hippogriff soared around in a lofty circle before it leaned back down toward the ground. Astoria physically flinched when it landed heavily again on the grass.

The Gryffindors broke into explosive applause. A few Slytherins, perhaps impressed with Harry's ability to remain seated, joined in, but Astoria could not remember Malfoy ever looking so disappointed and bitter.

Slightly less nervous, the rest of the class began to creep closer. Malfoy, Crabbe and Goyle took over Harry's hippogriff so Astoria and Theo moved toward a large, brown one.

"You've got to bow, Theo!" called Astoria. Theodore approached the hipprogriff for the fourth time, inclined his head and then promptly backed away again. "Properly bow!"

"I am!" Theodore insisted sneeringly. "It just won't have me! _What the_ —!"

A flurry of steely talons followed by a sharp bird's screech made both of them jump. Harry's hippogriff was on its hind legs and Draco, yelling in terror, had collapsed onto the ground underneath its rearing claws.

Astoria stared at this spectacle stupidly, not quite comprehending what she was witnessing. The greatest opportunity for violence seemed to have passed when Harry had landed. Why was Malfoy yelling?

Then, a hand seized Astoria roughly from behind. She was pulled out of the way by Hagrid in order to charge past her. Between the hippogriff's tether and wing she caught a glimpse of Draco's frozen face. There was something red in the grass. Astoria sucked in a surprised shudder as she put a name to it: _blood._ It was everywhere, blossoming through Draco's robes.

"Oh my god," gasped Parvati Patil in shock.

Draco whimpered and tried to curl his body away from the still rearing hippogriff. His hand scrabbled wetly for purchase on the ground...

"Out of the way!" bellowed Hagrid nervously. He lifted Malfoy's limp form off the ground. "Got teh get him teh the hospital wing."

Hagrid's form began to recede. Astoria blinked, her noisy thoughts focusing with a pin-like precision on the splattering of red Draco had left behind. Hargid had left an actual boot-mark in blood...

"They should sack him!" Pansy was wailing to Daphne and Flora, tears running messily down her face.

"I'm sure Draco's father will make sure he gets the punishment he deserves!" Flora agreed vehemently, patting Pansy on the back.

Slowly, like the procession at a funeral, the class began to follow Hagrid back toward the castle.

"Bloody hell," mumbled Theodore darkly. "It's a good thing Madame Pomfrey knows what she's doing. Can you imagine what Lucius would do if his son lost a hand?"

"Do you think it was that bad?" asked Astoria, speaking at last, trying to un-see Draco's terror-white expression.

"Woe to us _all_ if it was," answered Theo grimly. "Even if it _was_ Draco's fault. What an idiot! Did you hear him talking to that hippogriff?"

"How can you say that, Theodore!" snapped Pansy dramatically. They reached the marble steps. "I'm going to go see if he's alright!"

Tearing herself away from Flora, who had been supporting her up the path, Pansy ran across the entrance hall. Astoria could hear her sobs reverberating until she turned a corner.

Muttering grimly, students began to disperse.

"Poor Pansy," leered Flora, who looked as though she had just seen a very exciting stage act. "She's so _distraught_ that she's unbalanced!"

"You know who else might end up unbalanced?" whispered Theo very quietly. "Malfoy, if he looses his arm."

Astoria was not quite recovered enough from the shock of Draco's screaming to laugh.

0o0

The next couple of days were some of Astoria's loneliest at Hogwarts.

At first, Astoria pretended that this was because her schedule did not very closely resemble Theodore's, but it was more than that. Daphne's desertion—and it was rapidly becoming clear that that was what it was—had taken her very much by surprise and had left her feeling very downtrodden.

It was not so much that Daphne seemed to prefer Pansy's company to Astoria's— _that_ Astoria could have lived with. It was the fact that Daphne would no longer meet her eyes at breakfast and exchanged only forced courtesies with her in the hall when Astoria managed to hunt her down. If Astoria didn't know any better, she might have guessed that Daphne did not wish to know her anymore at _all_.

Astoria could not entirely manage to understand this, though she had spent hours in bed trying. She _could_ see how it might be hard for her sister to be Astoria _and_ Pansy's best friends at the same time. She could even respect Daphne's choice to form greater solidarity with members of her own house, but she _couldn't_ see why this had to be the end of their relationship entirely.

To make matters worse, the quidditch season had begun and nearly all of Fred and George's free time had been absorbed up by Oliver Wood's intensive new training schedule.

"It's his last chance to win the cup," George had explained apologetically when Astoria met them late Tuesday afternoon in front of the Fat Lady. "He graduates this year, you know? He's never managed to win the thing from Flint. We figure we owe it to him."

"Let's meet up later though," Fred had added hopefully. "We can talk about bids on the first match! It's against Slytherin, so the stakes ought to be high!"

When 'later' might be, however, Astoria did not know. Still, she had watched them leave without complaining even though their preoccupation meant that she would have no one to sit with in the common room except for Neville.

Added to her growing list of worries was her new Arithmancy coursework. Their first homework assignment had proved very difficult for her and it was with a sense of shame that she realized she would be forced to admit this to Professor Vector after another of Professor Babbling's classes.

By Wednesday, Astoria was so disconsolate and desperate for company that she actually began to wonder if she missed Draco. Malfoy never certainly never anything nice to say to her, but there could be no denying that, while undoubtedly hostile and frequently whiney, _he_ at least went out of his way to talk to her.

This bizarre thought struck her afresh when she heard his snide, drawling voice again in person.

Astoria was on her second, aimless trip back from the library when she spotted Draco and Marcus Flint in the corridor.

"It might be permanent damage, of course, but who can say?" said Draco, heaving a false sounding sigh.

Astoria continued toward them, tucking the book she had checked out under her arm. If it had been last semester, when she still had the warmth of friends and intriguing criminal interests to count on, she might have kept walking, but her total lack of anywhere else to be made her stop when she drew level with them.

"Astoria," murmured Flint, his hard, unkind face splitting into a grin at the sight of her.

Astoria ignored him and let her eyes drift over Malfoy with an almost rude level interest. His heavily bandaged arm was hanging in a sling, but otherwise he looked no worse for wear. Catching her staring, Draco subtlety shifted his wounded arm so that it was more visible.

"Still symmetrical then?" asked Astoria, unable to think of anything nicer to say. "Pansy made it sound as though you'd lost the whole arm. Why are you still wearing a sling?"

"Because he has had a very serious injury," answered Flint, eyes shining with private amusement. "Why else?"

"You were there," said Malfoy pointedly. "You _saw_ that hippogriff attack me."

"It almost makes me wish I took Care of Magical Creatures," said Flint thoughtlessly. "Of course, that was probably Hagrid's last lesson so there's no point in starting now."

"I should think _so_ ," agreed Malfoy lazily. "Father's complained to the board of governors _and_ the ministry already. You know the sort of influence he's got, Flint. Of course, all the parents will be concerned anyway—they won't want _their_ kids to end up with _lasting_ _injuries_."

"Lasting injuries?" repeated Astoria dubiously.

"Madam Pomfrey did what she could, of course," Malfoy sighed, his pale eyes flicking toward Astoria to judge her reaction. "But who knows when I'll be able to use it again?"

"Doomed to stroke your monster book left handed for life, then?" snorted Astoria flatly, not believing a word of this. Madame Pomfrey had grown back every bone in Harry's hand the year before. What was to stop her from mending a few gashes?

"Sorry?" demanded Marcus, elated. "What have you been stroking, Draco?"

"She's talking about the stupid textbook," snapped Malfoy hastily, turning faintly crimson. "I'll never have to open that book again Greengrass. Neither will you, thanks to me."

"Well," said Flint, brushing his hands down his robes and patting his deep pockets, "I'd best be off. I want to catch the quidditch pitch away from Wood for an hour."

"Are you flying one handed?" Astoria asked Draco, trying not to smirk at the visual this conjured.

"Of course he isn't," tisked Flint and the same oddly pleased smile he had been wearing before infiltrated his features again. "We can't have our seeker playing with a broken arm, can we? This is going to be the _worst_ kind of setback for the team."

Something about the weird glimmer in Marcus's eyes seemed to betray this as a lie. Astoria watched him leave, biting her lip suspiciously. Malfoy continued to lean against the wall; he had nowhere to go, Flint had declared him unfit for quidditch practice.

"You're just faking that injury to get Hagrid sacked," Astoria decided at last.

"Think so, do you?" Malfoy scoffed, this time less falsely.

"Madam Pomfrey's brought Potter back from the _dead_ ," Astoria snorted. "Are you so delicate that healing charms don't work? You just got cut—"

"Slashed by a _rampaging_ animal, you mean?" hissed Malfoy defensively. "That doesn't make me _delicate_ —"

He stopped himself short before his veneer of causal haughtiness shattered, but Astoria could tell that her lack of sympathy was deeply grating to him.

"Is Flint going to try to use your fake injury to switch around the quidditch matches?" groaned Astoria point blank, thinking of the victorious look on Marcus's face.

"Wouldn't you like to know?" snapped Malfoy sourly. "Thinking of taking bets against me because because of my arm, are you?"

"I wouldn't take bets on a person that was _actually_ injured," Astoria sneered hotly.

"I _bled_ everywhere," hissed Malfoy bitterly, dropping his voice. "I could have _died,_ and it was all because that oaf decided to bring monsters to class!"

"Yeah," agreed Astoria, annoyed. "Only you didn't. You're _fine_."

"So it's alright to gasp and cringe when Potter has to ride a horse, but I get _mauled_ and you don't see anything very concerning about that?" spat Malfoy, betraying far more resentment than he had perhaps meant to.

"I was concerned when you were still bleeding," Astoria reasoned slowly, refusing point blank to pretend that he was some kind of war survivor.

"Sorry to disappoint you!" Malfoy sneered. A touch of high color had appeared in his cheeks.

"Eh," said Astoria coldly, taking a strange and savage pleasure in being irritating, feeling that Malfoy deserved it for milking his injury for all it was worth.

"Not everyone is disappointed that I'm not armless, you know!" countered Malfoy. His expression became strangely vindictive. "Pansy sobbed while Pomfrey bandaged me. I don't think I've ever seen her so upset."

His eyes flicked toward her face furtively, watching closely to see how she would react.

"Yeah, I caught some of that show," scoffed Astoria, unable to imagine anything more aggravating than having to deal with an injury and Pansy's howls of anguish at the same time. "She's certainly got a real flair for theatrics."

Whatever reaction Draco had been looking for, this was not it.

"At least she doesn't swoon over precious Harry Potter every time he has to _fly_ on something!" spat Draco furiously.

"You seem to think I do a lot more swooning than I actually do," snapped Astoria, blushing a little at the idea of being perceived as overly fascinated with Harry Potter. "I hate watching anybody fly. Have you _really_ never noticed?"

"What's with that anyway?" demanded Malfoy spitefully. "Your father dropped you off a practice broom?"

" _No_ ," scowled Astoria, recalling the exact trauma that marked the beginning of her fear of heights, "but Maudlin Mendel pushed me off of a real one when I was about nine."

Malfoy's sneer only deepened. "God, Is this going to turn into a story about how _sorry_ he was?"

Astoria laughed. This comment was so much at odds with the actual Maudlin that it is was nearly ridiculous.

"Maudlin's got about eight brooms because his dad is as rich as Midas, but he can't ride a single one of them," Astoria scoffed. "I'm sure he probably cherishes the idea that he ruined another person on the sport for life."

"I suppose if some girl talked about _me_ like that, I'd probably push her off a broom too," hissed Malfoy viciously. He groped about with his good hand to straighten his tie, looking slightly self-conscious.

The parallels between Draco and Maudlin were so strong in this scenario that she had nearly just insulted both of them.

"Not with one arm, you wouldn't," Astoria retorted, ducking back out into the hallway at top speed, certain that he wouldn't be able to keep up with her.

0o0

Fred and George were sitting in the common room when she returned.

"Surprise!" called Fred happily we he saw her. "We don't have practice tonight!"

"I know," admitted Astoria, chucking her book onto the hearth rug. She sprawled out in front of the fire. "I ran into Flint on his way to practice."

"Tosser," said George, ripping foil off of something in his lap. "I suppose he's sweating Malfoy's injury?"

"Sweating wouldn't be the word I would use," said Astoria slowly. "Who would Gryffindor play if Slytherin postponed?"

"Eh?" said George, lowering what looked like a flimsy sauce pan toward the fire. "Probably be Hufflepuff, wouldn't it? They're next in line."

"Yeah, it would have to be," Fred agreed, "but the teachers don't usually let a team postpone. Most of the time, if a team can't play, it's a forfeit."

"But what if a team couldn't play because a student was injured by a teacher's negligence?" Astoria pressed.

"Don't you go blaming Malfoy's attack on Hagrid!" George chided sternly. Small popping sounds were beginning to emanate from the pan he was holding. "The way Harry and Ron tell it, Malfoy was asking for it."

"He probably was," Astoria sighed, "but Lucius has complained to every board, party and governor in the land and _Draco_ seems intent on working his injury for all it's worth. It might be worth keeping in mind that the Malfoys have some sway."

"Well," said George slowly, weighing this idea, "that would change the game considerably. We've been practicing to play against Slytherin. Hufflepuff is a different sort of team. It would definetly lower the odds of Gryffindor winning. Rotten, sneaky move. Sounds a bit like the sort of thing Flint would do, come to think of it."

"By the by," Fred seized a handful of popcorn from the pan the moment George pulled it away from the coals, "we might have a working prototype for those invisibility cloaks we were talking about last year."

"Really?" asked Astoria. She had nearly forgotten all about this scheme over the summer.

"Yeah," confirmed George, levying the popcorn her way as well. "The whole cloak stays invisible now. Of course, they work better at night."

"You can sometimes see movements during the day," Fred clarified. "It's like the background morphes wherever you move your limbs."

"Other than that though, it's pretty solid," rejoined George.

"I want to see," said Astoria at once.

"We'll lend you one," said George excitedly. "You can test it out and provide us with feedback. We were thinking of having them up for sale by Christmas."

"Brilliant," Astoria beamed, popping one of the small buttery kernels into her mouth and grinning.

0o0

"Did you see the notice for the first Hogsmeade trip?" asked Theo keenly.

It was Friday afternoon and they were climbing the stairs to the seventh floor together. Astoria had just sat through another Ancient Runes class, stunned to find they were growing even more depressing.

"Yes," she said as the reached the top of the landing. "It should be fun, shouldn't it? Once we get past the dementors at least."

"You're definitely set on going, then?" Theo asked.

"Yes," said Astoria, surprised by his lukewarm response. "Aren't you?"

"I don't know," admitted Theodore. "It's not as though it'll be my only chance to go, is it? It's supposed to be cold this weekend."

"Theo!" Astoria hissed, hot on his heels as they entered the classroom. "You have to go!"

"Why?" choked Theo, startled by the look on her face.

"Because if you _don't_ go, I won't have anyone to talk to!" Astoria let her voice drop as Malfoy approached, not keen to let him overhear her begging for company.

"Ugh," sighed Theo, wanting nothing more than to wheedle his way out of this scheme completely.

Professor Vector was strolling along the table handing out worksheets. Astoria eyed him warily.

"It'll be great!" she continued desperately, officially wheedling. "We can explore the whole village."

"What's there to do there, anyway?" demanded Theodore. "It's just candy and butterbeer, isn't it?"

"No," said Astoria firmly. "There's also the shrieking shack, shopping and that weird old pub run by the bloke that people say has sex with goats. It's _worth_ going past the dementors for! _Please!_ "

"Who has sex with goats?" demanded Draco, maneuvering his worksheet with his good hand.

"You, probably," snapped Theo, who seemed to have had enough of 'tragically injured Draco' since his return to class.

"Professor!" Draco drawled at once, his eyes glittering malevolently at Theodore. "I'll need help filling in my worksheet, sir."

Astoria snapped up Draco's quill before he could get Professor Vector's full attention and inked Draco's name into the top corner, not wishing to annoy Theodore any further. Draco blinked in surprise but did not complain.

"I've heard all sorts of villainous hags and trolls go there to drink," Astoria needled, attempting to appeal to Theo's sense of morbid curiosity. "Wouldn't that be fun?"

"Your idea of _fun_ is drinking with villainous hags and trolls, Greengrass?" drawled Draco, amused.

"What's the name of the place?" asked Theo. Astoria could tell that his curiosity was piqued when he started to stroke his chin.

"The Hogs Head," continued Astoria, copying the symbols Professor Vector was drawing on the chalkboard first onto her paper and then onto Draco's. His quill was nicer so she left off switching them out.

"I've heard of that," said Draco at once, straightening up. "Father says all sorts of crooked wanderers and drifters go there to strike deals before they have to pass over the mountains again."

"Do you think a place that courts to drifters and wanderers is very likely to let _us_ in?" asked Theo. "We're underage."

"Come _on_ ," Astoria begged. "It'll be the best! Even Fred and George have never managed to get in and that's what they do best! Can you imagine if we beat them to it?"

"That's the wrong number," drawled Malfoy, pointing lazily toward the digit Astoria had just filled in to represent the letter 'N'.

Astoria gave him a long look. She leaned closer under the guise of scratching out the last number sequence and pushed his inkwell. Draco's bandaged hand flinched forward to stop it and then froze. His eyes twitched back toward hers to see if she had seen.

"Hmm," said Astoria pointedly, very slowly crossing out her mistake. "Look at that."

Draco's delayed scoff stirred her hair as she wrote in the new answer.

"I guess I'll think about it," Theo harrumphed, but Astoria knew she had him on the hook with a maybe.

0o0

* * *

This chapter ran a wee bit short but that's only because the Hogsmeade trip has enough plot to support almost an entire chapter of its own and I didn't want to break it in half. I'll have that up as soon as I can! I know Astoria was pretty much a sad sack all chapter long over Daphne so I've added some element of fun to the next one!


	16. Hogs Head

Chapter Sixteen

Hogs Head

* * *

0o0

On Halloween morning, Astoria left Gryffindor Tower to meet Theodore in the entrance hall. A line of students in third year or older had already begun to gather, anxious to venture forth into the village.

Dancing around Ernie Macmillian and Hannah Abbot, who both called out to her merrily, Astoria stood on tip toe until she spotted Theo's head—a feat made much simpler by his excessive height.

"Alright, Theo?" Astoria breathed, shrugging out of the way so that Roger Davis did not step on her.

Roger tilted his head to give Astoria a long look as she skirted by and Astoria fought a sudden, ridiculous desire to fold her hands over her chest. There was a certain family resemblance between Roger and Tracey, perhaps because they both shared the same sharp features. Still, Astoria could not help but feel as though Tracey was the more likable of the two.

Filch was standing near the doorway, clutching a clipboard of names and scowling. It appeared as though was only letting students exit the hall in groups of precisely ten. He counted each head before allowing the doors to open, presumably to prevent anybody from sneaking out.

"We have to go to Honeydukes first," Flora gushed near the front of the line. Pansy, Daphne, and Tracey were all part of the same group positioned to exit next. "I want to try sherbet balls!"

Theodore snorted but Astoria could not quite join in the fun. Daphne was now wearing her hair in the same high and tight ponytail that Pansy typically sported. It was not a very flattering look on either of them. Flora's hair, which was brown and very thin, did not look strong enough to tolerate daily gathering (which was perhaps why she wore it at her shoulders) but Tracey, with her sharp bob, was clearly the group's hair rebel.

Once they were finally past Filch, (who took the liberty of prodding Theo in the chest with his pen in order to have a better look at his face) they set off across the grounds for the gates.

It was a chilly fall day and there was a crispness in the air that brought out the pink in both of their cheeks. Astoria sucked in as much of this delicious freedom as she could, knowing what awaited them at the entrance to the grounds. Indeed, she felt the cold in her long before she spotted the dementors hovering on either side of the path.

"Eyes down," Theo reminded her quietly, sapped of all his vigor. "Just breathe and walk."

This method turned out to work much better than Astoria expected it would. The sucking presence of the dementors was decidedly less distressful when she _knew_ that it was coming and could properly prepare herself first. They crossed the haunted boundary in record time.

"Where do you want to go first?" asked Astoria merrily when they at last left reached main street.

"CHARMS FOR SALE!" bellowed a wizard in a patched, frayed, and very dirty brown cloak. "CHARMS AND AMULETS! PROTECTION FROM INTRUDERS! PROTECTION FROM HARM!"

Theodore had the sense to look away from this merchant salesman immediately but Astoria did not turn her eyes away fast enough. "CHARMS, GIRLIE! CHARMS!"

"Anywhere that doesn't make us walk past _him_ ," said Theo, dragging Astoria off down a pleasantly wooded side alley. The brick walls of a dozen houses and shops hid the main avenue from sight here. To their right, several benches overlooked a sparkling stream. A breeze stirred, shivering though the bright trees and they were suddenly showered by a dazzling rain of golden leaves.

Astoria lifted both of her hands aloft and laughed. Theo pulled his cloak a little tighter and shrugged the falling foliage off grumpily.

Voices echoed off of the stone buildings behind them as the wind died down. Astoria turned just in time to see Malfoy, Crabbe and Goyle approaching. Malfoy appeared to be jeering at something and Astoria did not imagine his subject would be hard to guess—the man in the cloak was still screaming.

"Of _course_ ," sighed Theo, brushing the last of the leaves from his hair. Astoria still had her hands up. Snatching quickly, she caught a bright yellow leaf mid-flight.

"Honestly, you'd think that public ordinances would force his sort off the street!" Malfoy sneered, closing in on them.

"Hello, Draco," called Astoria idly, handing the yellow leaf she was holding out to Crabbe. Crabbe took it with a look of confusion and began to inspect it.

"Wha's this?" Crabbe asked, turning the poplar leaf over.

"A leaf," said Astoria, smiling at him kindly.

"Let's keep walking, Astoria," urged Theo, anxious to be away from Draco. "It's cold."

"Where are you two going?" demanded Malfoy rudely, his eyes fixed on the leaves that were still caught in Astoria's hair.

"Nowhere. Just wandering," shrugged Theodore stubbornly, unwilling to offer up a destination.

"I suppose you're on the look out for dodgy pubs to sneak into?" drawled Draco, amused to the point of near indulgence.

"Always," Astoria sang, reaching up a hand to brush the stray leaves from her windswept hair. "The Hog's Head is up the hill."

"The Hog's Head was a human hideout during the goblin wars, by the way," burst Theo. "I kept _trying_ to figure out why the name was so familiar..."

"It's famous for being a disreputable meeting place of dark wizards," drawled Draco, "not _goblins_."

" _Really_ , Theo," agreed Astoria primly, standing on her tip-toes to scout the hill. "Straighten out your priorities!"

"Excuse me for wanting to be where the crime _isn't_ ," muttered Theodore under his breath. "Why don't we just go to the Three Broomsticks? That's where everyone else goes."

"And miss out on the chance to have an actual hag try to sell us illegal goods?" cried Astoria in indignation. "I think not, Theodore friend."

"Come on, Astoria!" moaned Theodore, trailing after her. Despite his interest, he had clearly developed cold feet. "I don't want to be responsible for taking one of the prettiest girls I know into a den of troll sin. It's not my fault that you're a twisted lunatic who secretly craves the experience of having an actual hag sell you illegal goods. Let's just go to the bookshop!"

"Don't be such a sissy!" Astoria insisted.

"I'm _not_ going," Theodore sniffed, putting his foot down.

"Fine," Astoria sighed, rounding on Malfoy. "Draco, you take me."

Malfoy's eyebrows rose, but he did not look altogether unwilling.

"You want me to take you to a seedy bar?" he repeated incredulously. Whatever Draco's natural reservations might be, the fact that Astoria was calling on him as something of a male champion went straight to his ego.

"Oh, that's nice!" Theo scoffed, annoyed and shifting his weight from foot to foot to ward off the cold.

Crabbe and Goyle blinked silently as Draco thought, waiting for a command. Astoria only had eyes for Theodore; she watched him slyly, positive that if Malfoy went, _he_ would come along too.

"I'm not buying _anything_ from a hag," said Draco at last, laying down the gauntlet.

"Fine," Astoria agreed. "How about that, Theo? No hags. Are you still scared?"

"I was never scared!" Theo spluttered emphatically. "You know what, fine. Lets just go. Forget about it, Malfoy. We're all set."

"No," decided Draco lazily. "I think I'll come along."

They set off down the alley which eventually opened up onto a bustling, cobbled main street. They passed the cheery looking Three Broomstick on the corner and then followed the path until they reached a steep winding drive. At the top perched an old Inn that Astoria took to be the Hogs Head.

"This is foolish," complained Theodore as they picked their way up the gravely slope. "They're going to kick us out."

"They will for sure if you keep saying that," Astoria muttered witheringly.

They reached the inn's battered front door. Theodore opened it wearily and held it for her.

Astoria had to blink to adjust her eyes to the darkness inside. It was a wide, open room with a roughly hewn bar in the corner. The walls were picked out with stone, lending the space all the charm of a dungeon. As though, once inside, escape would come at a hard bargain.

Hearing the door, a woman wearing a full length veil looked up to survey the newcomers. For no particular reason at all she began to hiss.

"Lovely," Theodore cringed, giving the woman in the veil a very wide berth.

Astoria shrugged and pushed deeper into the gloom of straw and sawdust. The light of a small fire guided her feet, but it was only a pocket sized pile of smoldering coals and she stumbled more than once. A man in a dark cloak raised his shrouded head to stare at them when they passed.

"Ok," whispered Theo. "We got through the door. Have you had enough?"

Next moment, several things happened all at once: a large, graying man with a thick beard—no doubt the proprietor—appeared through a staff door and spotted Crabbe and Goyle standing very near the entry. "You two, out!" he growled ominously. Meanwhile, at precisely the same second, a hand slid across the nearest table and grabbed Astoria's arm.

"You're from the school?" a hurried voice whispered urgently. Startled, Astoria squinted back. She was being held by the man in the cloak, but a think fold of material still hid his features from sight. Unable to make anything out, her eyes darted toward the strangers long fingers and her sense of foreboding tripled. He was clutching her sleeve tightly.

"I— yes—" she stuttered.

The bartender was forcing Crabbe and Goyle out the door. Ignoring their monosyllabic protests, he cuffed the back of Crabbe's thick neck with his ledger.

"Quickly girl!" whispered the man in the cloak. "Before Aberforth comes back!"

He was trying to thrust something into Astoria's hands. Whatever it was crinkled slightly in her reluctant grasp; a letter or some other type of folded parchment.

"What is this?" Astoria asked, recoiling.

Draco, who had been watching Crabbe and Goyle's ungraceful exit through wary eyes, finally turned around to search for Astoria, perhaps thinking it was time that they slipped out themselves. The minute he spotted the hooded stranger he stiffened.

"Deliver it!" the man growled into Astoria's ear, spotting Draco and standing up. "Bring it through the gates—"

Aberforth the bartender was back and there would be no escaping his notice this time. "You three!" he bellowed dangerously, pointing his finger at them. The man in the long cloak seemed to melt away as Aberforth charged across the room.

"You're _not_ suppose to be in here, you grimy twerps!" Aberforth grabbed Theodore by the scruff of his collar, but his eyes swiveled about searchingly. "Where is that man who was just standing next to you?"

" _What_ man?" asked Theo in hot confusion.

"He's gone," answered Malfoy insolently. " _We_ were just about to be going as well."

"Like hell you are!" Aberforth swore, taking hold of Astoria's arm. The mysterious letter that the cloaked man had given her was still in her hand. Shimmying a little, Astoria managed to pass the letter into her cloak pocket. She was not sure that she wanted it in the first place, but she was quite unwilling to let Aberforth take it from her before she'd had a chance to look at it.

"Through here!" commanded Aberforth, pushing them toward a crooked wooden door. "Go straight up—I'll be wanting a word after I've had a look around for your _friend_. Go!"

Theo seized the knob and pulled the door open to reveal a very dark, musty staircase. They had only just jammed themselves into the tilting stairwell when the door was pushed shut behind them with a snap.

Astoria blinked furiously, willing her eyes to adjust to the challenge of this even dimmer space. The musty air was so still that she could hear her heart pounding. The sounds of the pub trickled through the dingy walls at a muffled pitch, bit it was as though they were standing in a secret passageway behind the wall. It would not have surprised Astoria at all if they discovered a secret spy hole.

Theodore was rubbing his neck where Aberforth had grabbed him. "What do we do now?" he asked. "We can't go back out there with that psychopath on the rampage! What was he talking about? What other friend? Where either of you talking to someone?"

Astoria's eyes drifted up the creaking old staircase. "I guess we go up."

Their steps made the ancient wood creak eeirly as they climbed the rickety flight of stairs. Astoria clung to the banister, leaving a long, creepy trail behind her in the dust,

At the top of the steps, they faced another closed door. Some of the dingy grey wallpaper around it was peeling away and there were bits of plaster under Astoria's feet. She pushed the second door open to reveal a small sitting room that looked as though it doubled as an office.

It was lighter in here. Thanks to a single dirty window, grey, gristly light fell across a very old desk.

Three armchairs, all in dire need of a reupholstering, crowded the hearth rug. A large barrel filled with walking sticks stood next to a soot marked fireplace, over which hung a large and impressive painting of a sorrowful looking child.

"Honestly! What does he think he's going to do with us?" sneered Draco, lifting a piece of parchment with Sirius Black's face on it off of the desk between two of his fingers. "It's not as though he can keep us from going back to school."

"No," snapped Theo, irritably, "but he _can_ beat us with all of his walking sticks first! How high up is this window?" He moved an old cigar box out of the way to have a look down through the grubby glass.

Malfoy narrowed his eyes and turned an old bottle around carelessly so that he could read the label on it. "He's not going to _beat_ us, Nott. You think he won't recognize our family names?"

Astoria was not certain who she thought made the better point. On the one hand, (presuming Aberforth had any sense of self preservation) he would probably not do any harm to a pack of Hogwarts students. On the other, Aberforth was known to prefer the company of goats and this didn't strike Astoria as a very promising sign of sanity.

Still, the story was only getting better. Fred and George would envy the fact that they had penetrated the Hogs Head, but being ushered into a private office the cherry on top. It was possible they wouldn't even believe her.

Astoria's eyes began to rove, searching for a meaningless trinket that she could use to prove her tale and lit on a large, crystal ashtray. Astoria turned it around and wiped dust off of the front; sure enough, it was etched with a Hogs Head insignia.

"Well, I'm not waiting around for that lunatic to come back!" said Theo, trying to shoulder open the ancient. It did not budge.

It was on Astoria's mind to help him when spotted a door on the other side of the room. Pocketing the ashtray, she crossed the worn rug and yanked it open it without much hope, fully expecting back of a broom cupboard. A gaping hallway yawned beyond, at the bottom of which a ray of clear sunlight shone.

"Is that a _back doo_ r?" drawled Malfoy in a voice of disbelieving astonishment.

Theo blinked, his shoulder still pressed against the sticky window.

"Come on," insisted Astoria, starting down this second staircase hastily. Theo abandoned his attempt to force the window and Malfoy moved away from the desk to follow her, laughing under his breath.

The door at the bottom of the steps would not budge. For a long, terrible moment, Astoria feared that it was locked. Then, Theodore, perhaps thinking of the grimy window upstairs, shoved hard against the the wood until it gave way. A gust of fresh air greeted them as they spilled urgently out onto the same gravel walk they had climbed earlier.

"That was insane!" hooted Theodore, smirking now as though the whole adventure had been his idea in the first place. "The beer in this place must be mad—why else would anyone want to drink here?"

"I should hope so," added Malfoy. Astoria turned about and saw that he was still holding the bottle that he had been inspecting on Aberforth's desk. "What do you think this is? I can't read the label."

"Hah!" Theo wheezed. He rummaged about his pockets and produced a cigar that he must have nicked from the box on the windowsill. "These didn't even _have_ a label.

Astoria, who normally would have felt slightly bad about robbing someone's personal office, doubled over with laughter.

"What?" asked Theo.

Astoria pulled the crystal ashtray out of her pocket, blinking back tears of mirth.

"What is _that_?" drawled Draco in sneering delight. "Did you steal the man's crystal?"

"No," breathed Theo, reaching a state of agitated ecstasy as he recognizing the shape of the object in Astoria's hands. "It's an _ashtray_!"

All three of them were laughing so hard at this incredible solidarity of theft that they jumped together when the window that Theo had spent so many minutes trying to force open suddenly snapped upward as though it had been recently greased. A ruddy head promptly filled it.

"YOU KIDS GET BACK HERE!"

Theodore swore.

"Run!" Astoria laughed, grabbing Theo's arm.

They stumbled, tripping all over each other back down the drive. The sound of Aberforth's rage chased at their heels like a pack of nipping hounds. Astoria didn't stop running until they had reached the same alley with the benches that faced the stream. Panting, she slumped down onto the chilly grass. Her hands were clammy and her scarf disheveled. Theodore rolled down after her, clutching a stitch in his side. The exertion of actual exercise never treated him kindly and this was no exception.

"Well, there you go Astoria! Was that exciting enough for you?" Theodore gasped. "No hags with smuggled goods but you did get _chased_ halfway across the village."

Astoria picked herself up off the grass, eyeing the cool current of the stream. She stumbled toward the low sloping bank. Draco and Theo, still breathing heavily, followed her down toward the water.

"What did that man in the cloak say to you?" asked Draco, leaning against a rock, his pale face flushed from the run.

"What man in a cloak?" demanded Theo skeptically. "Why does everyone keep saying that? No one talked to her."

"Yes, they did," said Draco sneeringly. "A man grabbed her by the front of her shirt. It looked like he was trying to give her something."

"What?" asked Theo, turning toward Astoria in surprise.

"He was trying to give me a letter," Astoria confirmed, surprised by Draco's astute observation. She sank down onto the sandy ground and let her fingers trail through the water.

"Ten galleons says _that's_ why Aberforth made us go up into his office," heaved Theodore darkly.

"Did he say who the letter was for?" wondered Draco.

"No," Astoria answered, poking at a floating leaf on the top of the water. "He only said that he wanted me to get it past the school gates."

"Past the _dementors_ , you mean," said Theo wearily, made tense by this news. "That's really dodgy."

"Yeah," agreed Astoria, somewhat evasively. "I think must have been waiting there for someone going back to Hogwarts. The first thing he asked me was if I was from the school."

"Students don't go to the Hogs Head, though," frowned Theodore. "He must have been hoping for a teacher. But _really_ , what kind of professor would smuggle a letter with Sirius Black at large?"

"I don't know," said Astoria, considering her encounter with the cloaked stranger afresh.

"He waited for the bartender to kick out Crabbe and Goyle before he tried to talk to you," added Malfoy with calculating keenness, still braced against the rock. "He used the noise as a cover. Nott didn't even see him."

" _You_ did though, didn't you, Draco?" sniped Theodore with a strange, implicating snideness.

"He _grabbed_ her," sneered Draco, bristling. "It was hard to miss."

"Draco's right," decided Astoria."The man in the cloak definitely didn't want Aberforth to see him. He said so actually, which means he wasn't a regular."

"Bloody hell!" sighed Theodore. "You were probably just approached by Sirius Black!"

Astoria scoffed but Malfoy seemed to give the idea more serious consideration.

"It's too bad he didn't manage to actually _give_ it to you," he drawled. "Although, I suppose that madman bartender would have taken it from you anyway."

Astoria stared at her reflection in the surface of the stream. She turned to look at them, biting her lip guiltily.

"What?" demanded Theodore stonily. He had taken the cigar out of his pocket and was attempting to clip the end of it but he left off fiddling to stare back at her apprehensively.

Astoria shook water off the ends of her fingers and reached into her cloak pocket.

"You _kept_ it?" exclaimed Theo angrily, snatching the letter from Astoria's hands before she had a chance to even look at it properly.

"Let me see," demanded Malfoy. He got up off the rock awkwardly; his cloak disguised his bandaged arm well, but it did not help him balance.

"No!" said Theo. "No one is looking. It could be cursed!"

Astoria snatched the envelope back from him and turned it over to examine it. The letter had been pressed shut with a blue wax seal, but there was no coat of arms to identify the sender. The mark was anonymous, stamped into standard mailing wax. Now that Astoria looked at it, she wasn't certain that it was anything more a single piece of paper folded over to act as an envelope.

" _Don't_ open that, Astoria!" said Theodore warningly. "We're miles from the school. What if you suddenly fainted or went mad?"

Theo made a fair point, but Astoria could _not_ see anything blatantly wrong with the paper in her hands. "I think it's just a letter Theo. One of the teachers has probably been doing some illegal trading. It's probably a bill for Snape's dodgy potion supplies."

"Isn't that the seal they use at the post office?" Malfoy snorted. "It looks standard."

"I still think it's a bad idea," Theodore insisted. "Even Aberforth thought your cloaked stranger was weird—and notice how the man gave the letter to you, Astoria? _You've_ got a Gryffindor badge on on your cloak. Potter's in your house.'

Malfoy's look of confidence flickered a little, but Astoria went ahead and broke the wax anyway. Theodore stiffened.

"It's blank," sneered Draco, taking the page from Astoria's hands and turning it over. "There's nothing written on it."

"That _you_ can see," countered Theodore sharply. "It's not hard to disguise writing so that only the person a letter is meant for can read it... or it could be in invisible ink! Let me see—"

Clearly an intellectual challenge was all Theodore needed to stop being afraid. He spread the piece of parchment out on the sand and began to prod it lightly with the tip of his wand, muttering to himself under his breath. Loosing interest, Draco took the bottle of stolen liquid back out of his cloak and began to peer at it under the bright sunlight, plainly more interested in discovering the nature _its_ contents.

Astoria peered at the weather-worn label. "It's French."

"Yeah," Draco bristled, sensing he ought to have realized this, "but the writing is _faded_ and in cursive."

"It's Belgian brandy," Astoria declared, following a line of very faded print with her finger. Her relationship with the Mendel family had it's perks; they spoke French natively, therefore _she_ spoke it as second-language quite comfortably.

"It doesn't say that _anywhere_ on here," Malfoy insisted.

"It does if you add a few letters where it's faded," Astoria shrugged. "Try it."

Malfoy quirked an eyebrow but he obviously believed her because he put the bottle between his legs and began to pull on the cork.

" _Reveleo!_ " Theodore hissed, flourishing his wand in complex patterns.

Unable to make sense out of Theodore's mumbling, Astoria watched Malfoy struggle to open the bottle.

"Use both hands," she snorted.

Malfoy's shoulders went still. He shot her a punishing, nonplussed look.

"Oh, that's right!" exclaimed Astoria brightly, realizing what the trouble was. "You're still posing as a cripple!"

Malfoy sneered, but Astoria took the bottle from him and worked the cork out without offering any further insults.

"I think that _is_ brandy," Astoria coughed, trying a sip without permission. "It tastes like medicine."

"I give up!" snapped Theo dejectedly, refolding the letter. "Either there's nothing written here—doubtful—or your mysterious gentleman is very handy with spells. _Good_ , we're drinking."

Failure had tightened Theodore's mood even further. Astoria was very glad when Draco let him grab the bottle without putting up a fight.

There was a rocky sort of shelf several feet downstream. Afraid of being discovered by a teacher or a puritanical shop keeper, they all climbed out onto it. Using the river bank as a bench, Astoria dangled her feet over the edge and peered down. Despite its cold and unaccommodating appearance, she guessed that the stream could not be more than two feet deep.

"What ever happened to Crabbe and Goyle?" wondered Theodore pensively, lighting his cigar.

Malfoy shrugged disinterestedly. Astoria peered sidelong at him, certain that _she_ would be offended if one of her friends cared so little about what had happened to her.

"They wouldn't have gone back to school?" she asked, thinking guiltily of the way Aberforth had hit Crabbe.

"Nah, the Three broomsticks," Draco guessed, tipping the bottle to his lips with his free hand. "That's where everyone else went."

"Did Daphne go?" asked Astoria, unable to stop herself from prying.

"I don't know," scoffed Draco. "If you care so much, why didn't you just ask her?"

"Because Daphne's not talking to Astoria," observed Theodore with careless brutality.

"That's not true," shot Astoria quickly, not entirely wanting her rift with Daphne to become public knowledge.

"Sure it is," Theo snorted. "You two haven't talked in weeks. Merlin's sake, I even heard _Flora_ mention it the other night at dinner."

"Flora's a winey little hatchet face," snapped Astoria aggressively.

"She really is, isn't she?" agreed Theo, laughing rather unkindly.

"Her father's got a nose like a dagger," supplied Malfoy, undisturbed.

Astoria cackled. Making fun of people with pointed features was a bit rich coming from Draco, (who was certainly a bit angular himself) but she was in no position to argue. In truth, she was thankful for the distraction. She was surprised to find how much discussing Daphne disturbed her. Although he did not know it, Theodore's comment had wounded her.

"You know, I've got this theory that Flora's going to wind up marrying a foreigner," announced Theodore, still puffing pensively. "Some rich man who has absolutely _no_ idea what she's saying half the time. He'll show her off at dinner parties for a couple of years like a purebred dog and then, when he finally gets a grasp on the English language, he'll smother her with a pillow."

Half out of shock, Astoria laughed.

" _You'll_ probably end up with someone fresh out of an institution, Nott," sneered Draco, but Astoria could tell that he was amused.

Theodore colored slightly but managed to save face by snorting.

"What about me?" Astoria asked, kicking off her shoes and dipping a toe into the frigid water. Between the brandy and the jolt that she had experienced discussing Daphne, she was beginning to feel warm and almost unacceptably awkward. "Tell me all about the paragon of Gryffindor heroism that you expect I'll end up with and please, don't spare any of the details of aunt Belladonna's meltdown."

Malfoy sneered reflexively. It looked as though he was about to say something but Theodore's barking laughter cut him off. "Ha!"

"What?" asked Astoria incredulously, kicking water at passing leaves.

"You might look like a sweet little lady, Astoria, but let's face it, you're easily seduced by crime," Theodore went on in a very reasonable voice, obviously warming to the subject. "I bet you're sitting on a pile of secret predilections. No Gryffindor hero for you!"

Astoria let out a sound of surprise and flicked water at him.

"It's true," Theodore insisted. Astoria could see the brandy at work upon his lively imagination. "We were in the village for five minutes before you rallied four Slytherins to take you to a illicit meeting place just so that some wicked creature could try to sell you illegal goods? No, no, no, it'll be some dreadful Hungarian for you. A Count maybe."

"That was just for fun!" Astoria protested, laughing because this was just untrue enough to be funny, but only _just_.

"Yes," Theo went on, clearly enjoying the picture he was painting, "definitely a Count. The type with a great drafty castle and an artistic flair for sadism. He'll own a set of ivory backed hair combs that he guards jealously and a collection of morose poetry describing all of the wicked things he'd like to do to girls like you."

Astoria threw her head back and laughed joyously because this was taking things just far enough to be properly hilarious. '"Does he let me read his poetry or will I be left guessing?"

Theodore cackled and Malfoy stared at them both incredulously, clearly torn between being amused and a little bothered.

"What about Malfoy then?" asked Astoria, catching the look of genuine distaste slowly working its way onto Draco's face. "If I'm going to marry Count Dracula, who is he going to end up with? Take no prisoners, Theo!"

"Someone _really_ stupid," said Theo at once. Astoria laughed and peered between her fingers at Draco; he looked haughty and affronted.

"Someone just as bad as Flora, but in the end, he'll lack the courage to smother her," Theodore finished.

"Shut up, Nott," hissed Draco, going very red. "At least the person I marry won't have to already be _insane_. I pity the girl who ends up with _you_."

Astoria, still giggling, knocked her shoulder playfully against Draco's. He remained rigid with annoyance and cast her the briefest of disgraced looks. Astoria passed the bottle back to him cajolingly, noticing as she did so that Theodore's face had turned rather murderous as well. _This is why people don't hang around with Slytherins,_ she thought to herself.

"You should have signed up for Divination while you had the chance, Theo," called Astoria, seeking to defuse. She pushed her legs into the water up to her knees.

After a long awkward pause, Malfoy snorted and took another sip of brandy, shaking off his preposterous annoyance.

"Are you trying to go swimming?" asked Theo, knocking cigar ash into the ashtray she had taken.

Astoria, who was nearly falling off the rock to gauge the water's depth, grinned at him. With a small push, she dropped to her feet and found that the brook came up to her mid-thighs, grazing the end of her skirt.

"Isn't that cold?" scoffed Malfoy, staring at the water dubiously.

It _was_ but Astoria had had her feet submerged for so long already that the water felt almost pleasant. Looking down at the bottom of the riverbed, she was able to count small white pebbles and jagged looking rocks with her toes. She relished the hot sun as it beat down on her arms and shoulders.

A wood fire was burning somewhere in the village; there was a pleasant trace of smoke in the air. Occasional bird calls were the only disruptions to her leisure. Astoria collected leaves from fast moving water, dipping her forearms deep into the icy stream when the sun became too warm. Eventually, however, the heat started to get to her. Astoria wiped her forehead on her sleeve, tossed her head back so that her hair fell out of her face and turned to look back at the riverbank.

Theo was smoking idly, sending chalky colored rings up into the bald blue sky. Malfoy, still lounging against the rocks, was watching Astoria in a distracted and unguarded way from beneath his eyelashes. His expression was far away and unreadable, but he jolted when she met met his gaze. Assuming his mind had been elsewhere, Astoria began to wonder what time it was.

The angle of the sun had started to change. It was now directly overhead, blazing with afternoon intensity. At least an hour must have passed since they had opened the brandy and she had spent most of it in a sleepy haze.

Shaking herself awake, Astoria climbed back onto the rocks. They were warm and very dry beneath her wet legs—even her toenail polish looked strangely bright and sorcerous after an hour submerged in the cold. Astoria stretched out and offered her limbs to the sun.

"Astoria! Hey, look—it's Astoria! OY!"

About ten feet away, Fred, George and Lee Jordan had paused on a small stone bridge that allowed for foot traffic to pass over the the stream. Astoria tipped them a formal salute.

"I say!" George called out across the water. "Are you _lounging_ with Slytherins?"

Beside her, Draco made a sound of derision but Astoria could only laugh; a sound that carried clearly across the sparkling stream.

"Hand me that, would you?" said Astoria, eager to reclaim the ashtray from Theodore. She turned over its contents into the grass and held up an arm to block the sun. "Can you catch?"

"I can catch if _you_ can throw," Fred returned jovially.

The ashtray blazed in the sunlight, sending prisms of light dancing across the side of the bridge before Fred caught it.

"What's this?" he asked, turning it over. When he discovered the emblem of the boar on its side he roared with laughter.

"What is it?" asked Lee, trying to have a better look.

"It's from the Hogs Head!" exclaimed George in delight. "How did you get this? You didn't get _in_?"

" _All_ the way in," Astoria bragged, forgetting all about the terror she had experiencing running down the drive. "I snagged _that_ from Aberforth's office."

" _What_?" demanded Fred. Katie Bell and Angelina Johnson were calling for him across the street but Astoria's story was better. "Without us? You slippery minx! I want details!"

"Save me a seat at dinner," Astoria called, relived that they did not seem to be inclined come down the embankment. She did not think her present company would tolerate such their invasion quietly.

George continued to admire the ashtray fondly as he jogged across the bridge.

"I don't know why you just told _him_ ," insisted Draco snidely. "He's probably over there telling the rest of that pack of idiots all about it right now."

"No, he's not," said Astoria confidently. "Fred and George know how to keep a secret."

0o0

The entrance hall was packed with students waiting for the Halloween feast when they returned to the castle that evening. The smells of roasting pumpkin and duck were overwhelming; a mixture of confection and savory. Astoria that she had been so distracted with by pubs and dodgy letters, (she had left the blank note on the riverbank just in case) that she had not eaten since breakfast. Even Honeydukes had evaded her; Astoria was ravenous.

"The Dementors send their love, Potter!" shouted Malfoy as they shuffled through the front doors. He pushed up onto the tips of his feet to jeer at Harry over the heads of the teaming crowd.

"Draco!" exclaimed Pansy, recognizing Malfoy's taunting cat-call from afar. "There you are! Why didn't you come to The Three Broomsticks? We though you would after Crabbe and Goyle showed up—"

A group of Slytherin girls had gathered near a suit of armor by the doors. Behind them, Crabbe and Goyle were both signaling to Draco, looking deeply relieved. Perhaps they were not entirely capable of comfortably governing themselves?

"There you two are," Draco called lazily, spotting his friends. He offered no explanation for his absence. Crabbe and Goyle shuffled towards him oafishly.

"Oh, right, they've been waiting for you," Pansy's eyes narrowed slightly but her voice lost none of its lightheartedness. "How did you three get separated, anyway?"

Daphne was staring at the floor, deliberately not making eye contact with anybody. Astoria stared at her, daring her to look up and recognize her. But Daphne continued to blink at the stone, unwilling to speak so much as a word.

The doors opened and they all separated. Astoria made a beeline for the Gryffindor table without even saying goodbye to Theodore, afraid of what she might do if Daphne kept on avoiding her so coldly.

The food, as always, was undeniably good. Several of the ghosts put on a show of formation gliding while they ate and Nearly Headless Nick, the most festive of them all, was good enough to reenact his own death before an audience of rambunctious first years.

Fred and George were in a very good mood. They had just returned from a long talk with the proprietor of Zonko's joke shop and several things about the meeting had struck the twins as enticingly promising. They had showed him a few of their latest ideas, Fred admitted bashfully, and he had liked a several of them so much that he had nearly offered to pay for them.

"Mind, we don't fancy the idea of turning over _our_ creations to someone else," explained Fred, "only it's good to know that someone _would_ pay for them, you know?"

By the time Astoria left the great hall she was very full and feeling uncommonly sleepy. It was a forced march to the tower; the twins had hung back to continue bragging to Lee Jordan and she had no one to talk to. By the time she reached the last set of steps she was yawning cartoonishly, but something about the landing compelled her to pause.

The portrait was closed as it usually was, but all the torches on either side of the hall had been extinguished. This in itself was not so _very_ unusual, only there was an air of disarray about the corridor that she could not quite put her finger on.

Her eyes adjusted to the lack of light slowly. Only then did she realize that there was something wrong with the portrait of the Fat Lady. It had been cut: long, chilling slashes gaped blackly where the animated picture's inhabitant ought to be and there were great lengths of canvas on the floor near her feet.

Genuinely chilled, Astoria took a hard step backwards.

"Oof!"

She had recoiled into something solid. Nerves zinging electrically, she whipped around and discovered Neville behind her in the dark.

"What's wrong?" he asked at once.

0o0

A whole line of students was pushing toward the entrance to the tower by the time Dumbledore arrived. Astoria had long since shifted toward the back of the crowd, unwilling to be the spokesperson for every new student arriving.

She had tried explaining that she did not know what had happened over and over, first to Percy and then to Professor McGongall. In the end, it was Peeves who solved the mystery. The poltergeist had actually seen the intruder and he dropped the name like hot coals at their feet: "Sirius Black!"

Back down the corridor and back down seven flights stairs of stairs. Back across the entrance hall they returned. Several moments later, confused and sleepy, the rest of the school joined them in the great hall.

"The professors and I need to conduct a thorough search of the castle," Dumbledore informed the late-comers. "For now, it is safest for you all to sleep here—"

"Astoria!" yelled Theodore, working his way toward her through the crowd. "What's going on? The first years are saying Sirius Black tried to break into your common room and Neville Longbottom's telling everyone from Ravenclaw that the portrait that guards the entrance was attacked and _you_ found it first."

"You actually _saw_ Sirius Black?" demanded another voice.

Draco, Crabbe and Goyle were elbowing a pack of Hufflepuffs out of the way to get to her. This was a Gryffindor story and Astoria was the only member of her house that either boy was on speaking terms with. She would therefore be expected to share the whole tale again.

"I didn't _see_ him," grumbled Astoria, feeling more and more exhausted as the noise in the hall grew louder. "I just found the portrait slashed. Peeves says he say Black."

"But you were the first to realize that there was a break in," spluttered Theodore, clearly appalled. "Where you alone?"

To Astoria's intense surprise, Malfoy seemed to be doing a poor job of smothering his own disgust at this revelation.

"Of course I was alone," complained Astoria. "I was going to _bed._ "

"Only at Hogwarts!" jeered Malfoy. "It's like a day without an attack around here is a day _wasted_."

"Your arm isn't even injured!" Astoria snapped, assuming this was an allusion to Draco's own recent suffering. Couldn't they see that she was very tired and sick of talking about this?

Malfoy startled, obviously taken aback by such unprovoked snappishness.

"It's a good thing it's Halloween, Greengrass," he returned vengefully. "Otherwise you might have timed things just right for Black to attack _you_!"

Astoria knew he was right but did not care to delve too deeply into this idea. It had already occurred to her that she would very likely have walked right into Sirius Black's path if she had not stayed at the feast for dessert.

"The lights are going out now!" yelled Percy. "I want everybody in sleeping bags. Silence!"

"You think it actually _was_ Sirius Black?" whispered Theo, lingering for as long as he could.

Malfoy, sensing there might be more, hung back to listen.

"I don't know," Astoria confessed. "Probably. I don't know why Peeves would lie to Dumbledore and you should have _seen_ the portrait. It looked like someone had a fit with a knife, just hacking and slashing whatever they could reach."

The lights went out on Draco and Theodore's stunned faces. Astoria grabbed one of the sleeping bags that Dumbledore had conjured and wandered over to where Fred, George and Lee Jordan were lying.

"Bloody hell, Astoria," said George grimly. "Neville says you found the Fat Lady's portrait?"

Astoria's shoulder sagged as she unrolled her sleeping bag, preparing for another round.

0o0

* * *

It's a funny thing but I don't remember Prisoner of Azkaban as being a particularly scary book when I was a kid. Do you guys? Chamber of Secrets and Half Blood Prince, yes. Prisoner of Azkaban, no. Maybe it's because Sirius Black is the antagonist and he turns out to be such a nice guy at the end? I don't know.

In any case, this chapter was a fun mini-adventure. I like that it gives Theodore a chance to showcase some of his creativity (Hungarian Counts) and his wits. The Hogs Head will be back a few times in later chapters so I thought I'd send them there now to establish its seediness. I'll catch up with the rest of the characters in the next chapter. I know this one was a little Draco/Astoria/Theo heavy!


	17. Slytherin Triumphant

Chapter Seventeen

Slytherin Triumphant

* * *

0o0

The weather the next day started off flat and grey and progressed toward stormy and unpleasant as the morning faded into late afternoon. Within Hogwarts' walls, the school was abuzz with gossip worthy of the tempest.

"It's a weird thing, isn't it?" asked George, pulling Astoria's hood up over her head and arranging it carefully about her ears. "Sirius Black trying to break in on a holiday?"

"I don't know if it's _that_ weird," muttered Astoria, staring into fabric. George had pulled her hood so low over her face that it obscured her vision. "He's a felon on the run. How would he be keeping track of the date?"

"Still!" objected Fred. Unable to see, Astoria inclined her head toward the bookshelf he was leaning against to listen. "Isn't it a bit weird that he managed to break in on the _same_ day as a Hogsmeade visit? What if he disguised himself as a student?"

Astoria's thoughts flashed back to the cloaked stranger's letter. Thankfully, she had erred on the side of caution and left the note in Hogsmeade.

 _That was nothing. Just a dodgy pub crawler..._

"Now hold still," George commanded, fidgeting with the invisibility button near Astoria's sleeve. The fabric in front of her eyes suddenly shifted and the wool became as translucent as a layer of fluffy cobweb.

"How's your visibility?" asked Fred, pen poised over his notebook. "Should we tamper with the hood some more?"

"I can see _you_ ," Astoria decided, squinting. "Well, I guess you're a little misty, actually..."

" _Misty visibility_ ," muttered Fred under his breath, making a note on the page. "You mean I look blurry?"

"Yeah," confirmed Astoria, "but _visible_. It's like I'm staring at you through bath steam."

"Alright," continued George, eyeing the spot where Astoria had vanished intently. "Move about a bit."

Astoria twirled and Fred clucked his tongue.

"There," muttered George, bending low toward his brother, " _see_! I told you. There are _ripples_..."

"I'm visible?" Astoria asked, feeling more than a little foolish.

"No," called George reassuringly. "Well, not really. We can't see you at all when you're _still."_

"The air goes thick when she moves, though," grumbled Fred, making another amendment to his notes.

"Like heat ripples in the summer," explained George. "When you can almost see the air glistening?"

"I imagine that wouldn't be a problem in the dark," Astoria ventured.

"Try moving really slowly, Astoria," instructed Fred. His tone was all business.

Astoria crept mime-ishly across the library carpet on tiptoe.

"Are you moving?" asked Fred.

"Yeah," returned Astoria just behind Fred's shoulder, causing him to jump.

"Well, that's good at least!" whistled George brightly. "We'll just have to tell people we don't recommend, er...

"Moving quickly?" supplied Fred, annoyed.

"Hah!" chuckled George slyly. "That's what Angelina said this morning!"

To Astoria's surprise, Fred suddenly seemed rather flustered.

"What did Angelina say?" asked Astoria, now feeling invisible _and_ left-out.

" _Nothing_ ," shot Fred with an air of stout indifference.

"Fred asked Angelina out at breakfast," explained George mischievously, unwilling to let Fred off the hook. "She said no."

"What? Why?" asked Astoria.

"Well, she didn't _actually_ say no," Fred interjected defensively.

"She told him he was moving too fast for her," amended George, heaving a false romantic sigh.

"Asking her out was too fast for her?" puzzled Astoria. "What did she expect you to do _first_?"

" _Really_ ," agreed George, "she was bang out of order. Poor Frederick."

"It's not like that!" snapped Fred, exasperated. "She fancies that Hufflepuff seeker."

"Little tramp," added George lightly.

"Who _is_ the Hufflepuff seeker?" asked Astoria, groping for her invisible sleeve. She fumbled with it until the cloak flickered back into the visible spectrum again. She pulled down the hood curiously.

"Cedric Diggory," puffed Fred, turning up his nose.

"Ah," breathed Astoria, working hard to control her facial expression. "Well, she's _mad_ to fancy him, of course. He's positively _hideous_."

George met Astoria gaze, eyes twinkling.

"Oh, very funny!" sneered Fred, but the idea of accusing Cedric Diggory of ugliness was enough to make him smile.

"No one in the whole school is as handsome as our Fred!" declared George, clapping his brother on the back.

"An unbiassed opinion, that," muttered Fred.

"But a true one," Astoria insisted, smirking.

"What are you _wearing_?" interrupted a drawling voice.

Draco, Crabbe and Goyle had been shuffling past the nearest bookcase, but all three of them stopped at the gap between the shelves to gape. "Is that a _circus tent_?"

"Who's that?" asked Fred, peering about in his chair.

"Oh, I see," Draco's pale eyes snapped onto Fred and George, where they narrowed disapprovingly. "You're wearing Weasley's mum's dress."

Fred snapped to his feet.

Malfoy's derisive laughter flickered. Crabbe and Goyle were big, but Fred and George were older. Perhaps he did not like his own odds because Draco quickly elbowed Goyle forward, encouraging him to keep moving down the hallway.

"Speaking of bad taste," muttered Fred once they were gone. He glanced shiftily at Astoria.

"What does _that_ mean?" asked Astoria tightly, prepared to be offended.

"It means that that Malfoy boy is only in second year and he's already a genuine prat," scoffed Fred. "Worse than that, I can't say that I like the way he looks at you."

"Which is how?" demanded Astoria blandly. "Like a loser in a bad cloak?"

"Dunno," rejoined George, scratching his chin, "but I agree with Fred. It's weird that he's always hanging around and insulting you. Comes across a bit _obsessive_. That wasn't exactly the first time that he's popped his head in to have a word."

"Yeah. Notice how he stormed off sneering the minute he spotted us?" frowned Fred.

"So what?" Astoria shrugged, becoming slightly uncomfortable.

"You don't want friends like him, Astoria," warned Fred grimly. "No matter how _rich_ he is. It's not worth losing your dignity over."

" _Excuse_ me?" gaped Astoria, not sure whether she was tempted to be more angry or shocked by the implication that she tolerated Malfoy more or less for his money.

"No use being all high and mighty about it," continued Fred, eyeing her carefully. "I'd just hate to see you fall in with a bad crowd. We hear stuff about old Draco, you know. Crummy stuff."

"Not just from Gryffindors _,_ either. So don't call us biased," added George smartly.

"Well, thank you for the sage advice, friends," snapped Astoria, but her anger was short-lived. A goofy kind of grin was taking hold of her mouth. She realized that a part of her was expecting the twins to laugh and confess that they were her joking.

"Are you seriously warning me not to fawn over Malfoy?" Astoria breathed. "Can you even be saying that right now?"

"Dunno," muttered George, beginning to look slightly embarrassed.

" _I_ am," pressed Fred stoutly. "Seems reasonable enough, too, what with all the drinking by the river together and fainting on him you seem to be doing."

"I couldn't help the fainting!" insisted Astoria, starting to feel very misunderstood.

"Look, I'm not trying to insult you," said Fred cautiously, backpedaling. "I'm just trying to pass along some solid, brotherly advice."

"I'll try to remember that," snapped Astoria tartly. "Should come in handy if I'm ever possessed by a mad desire to get at Draco's bank account by letting him touch my body behind a rock wall or whatever it is that you're implying."

Astoria was almost relived when Fred began to laugh. George mimed vomiting into her schoolbag.

"I probably wouldn't have taken it that far," smirked Fred. "I'm only saying that it doesn't do to be overly impressed by rich, arrogant assholes."

"Well, I'm not," clucked Astoria serenely, shrugging out of the invisibility cloak and folding it. "I'm _not_ Pansy Parkinson."

"Who's Pansy?" asked George, his face still red from laughing.

"A third year Slytherin girl who would do anything—maybe even murder her own mother—just to get Malfoy to ask her out on a date," answered Astoria, smiling savagely at this rare opportunity to brutalize the kidnapper of her sister without the fear of retribution.

"Sounds like you're better off without _her,_ too," snickered George. "If she would murder her own mother, she'd have no problem smothering a peer."

"Eh," shrugged Astoria, passing the cloak back to Fred. "She only has to wait a few more years. Malfoy doesn't really like her, but I'm sure he'll ask her out eventually. He'll need someone to excessively fawn over him at dinner parties."

"Have you opened the betting pool on the match this weekend yet?" asked Fred, switching subjects deftly.

"No," admitted Astoria, adjusting her school robes. "I'm waiting until Friday."

"The match is on Saturday," scoffed Fred. "Isn't that a little last minute?"

Astoria hesitated. In all truthfulness, she still wasn't convinced that Slytherin was going to play in the match on Saturday. The way that Malfoy was milking his injured arm so excessively made her nervous. The fact that his antics always seemed to make Flint smirk didn't help. Neither did the rain outside, which showed no signs of stopping. No, at this point, it seemed more than likely that Slytherin would back out rather than compete.

Fred and George insisted that waiting would bring down profits, but on Friday morning, Astoria's wariness paid off.

"Of course _,_ we can't be expected to play!" drawled Flint over the roaring howl of wind and rain at breakfast. "Not while our Seeker's arm is still injured. It wouldn't be fair."

Astoria paused on her way down the table toward Theodore to listen.

"Especially when you consider _how_ Draco was injured," continued Flint, smirking like the cat who got the cream.

"Backed out of the match, have you?" asked Astoria nosily. Turning away from Theodore, she slid her body in between Miles Bletchley and Marcus, effectively cutting off their conversation.

"It's a pity, isn't it?" returned Flint pleasantly, gesturing toward the rain-dark ceiling with one of his hands. "Who doesn't love to fly in a thunderstorm?"

In response, a great thunderclap rattled the eaves of the enchanted ceiling; the pumpkin juice in Miles' goblet rippled with the force of it.

"Ah!" sighed Marcus grandiosely. "If _only_ Malfoy's arm was feeling a bit better!"

Across the table, Montague snickered.

"Who _is_ Gryffindor playing now?" asked Astoria, imitating Flint's tone of false lightness.

"Oh, that's right!" leered Flint, smacking himself on the forehead. "You've got a little interest in the outcome of the match yourself, don't you?"

"Something like that," returned Astoria, smiling tightly.

"I really don't _know_ who's playing," whistled Flint, miming innocence. "I _suppose_ it could be anyone..."

"Didn't you just say it's going to be Hufflepuff?" grunted Miles stupidly, turning his confused gaze on Flint.

One of Flint's eyelids fluttered, stupefied by the amount of time he spent in the company of idiots.

"Hufflepuff, eh?" clipped Astoria. This tracked with Fred and George's guess as well.

"Fifty-fifty chance," shrugged Flint stubbornly. "Of course, Gryffindor has been training to play against us. Who knows what kind of strategy the Hufflepuffs will be using..."

"You _just_ said that they have a strong lineup," insisted Miles, parroting Flint's words back at him like a homework project. "You _said_ Diggory's got them all playing defensively—"

Flint reached sideways and struck Miles square in the chest without ever taking his eyes off Astoria.

Ignoring Miles' grunt of pain, Astoria turned to scan the Hufflepuff table for Cedric Diggory: he was jostling about and playing cards with his mates, exuding his usual, golden-haired glory.

"Holding back on me, are you?" asked Astoria distractedly, watching as Cedric got up and left the hall.

"No hard feelings, right?" smirked Flint. "Tell you what, you can put me down for five galleons on a Hufflepuff victory. I'm feeling lucky."

"Ill do that," murmured Astoria, her eyes lingering on Cedric's vacated seat. "It won't be such a joke when you you have to pay up. Excuse me."

Ernie Macmillan and Hannah Abbot were still playing cards between two bowls of porridge when she came up behind them. Cedric's defeated hand lay abandoned beside a plate.

"Hi, Ernie!" called Astoria, enthusiastically interrupting them.

Ernie looked up. He was plainly so Astoria standing in front of him that, for just a second, his expression was nearly insulting.

"Astoria!" he offered brightly, recovering. Ernie pushed the pile of cards aside to make room. "We were just talking about the break-in last night! Dreadful, isn't it? How do _you_ reckon Black got in?"

"I have got a theory!" declared Hannah Abbot. "Suppose Black transfigured himself into shrub or some other plant? No one would be looking for _that_ —"

"And is it true that you found the portrait Black had slashed?" demanded Ernie.

" _Think_ about it though—" persisted Hannah, "—a _shrub!_ "

"Yeah, very dreadful," agreed Astoria vaguely. Then, unable to think of a single intelligent way to comment on the theory that Sirius Black's could transform into a perennial, she lowered her voice. "Listen, do you think you could do me a favor?"

"Sure," Ernie shrugged, looking more and more perplexed.

"Good," breathed Astoria brightly. "What class does _Cedric_ have first period?"

"Oh," intoned Ernie and his expression darkened. "Of _course_. You're looking for Ced..."

"Yeah, that's right," agreed Astoria. "I was hoping for a word with him alone."

"Who isn't?" jeered Ernie, deflating. It did not take a paranoid disposition to imagine that he sounded a little disdainful. "You and half the year..."

"Cut it _out_ , Ernie," hissed Hannah, elbowing her friend in the ribs.

"He's got Muggle Studies first period," admitted Ernie reluctantly, "but if you're looking to ask him to Hogsmeade, I'll level with you—I think he already fancies Ravenclaw's chaser."

"I'm _not_ trying to ask him out," corrected Astoria defensively, feeling a blush rise in her cheeks.

Ernie arched a painfully skeptical eyebrow.

"I've just heard that you lot are playing the game against Gryffindor tomorrow," explained Astoria through gritted teeth. "I'm taking _bets_. I wanted to know what Cedric thought about his odds."

"Oh, that's right," murmured Ernie, recognition slowly lifting his features out of shadow. "You and the Weasley twins organize a pool on the games sometimes, don't you?"

"Mhhm," confirmed Astoria, thoroughly annoyed.

"Well, _that's_ brilliant!" He tilted his jaunty chin upward, friendly once more. "You made me nervous for a second—I'm telling you, the number of weirdos who come around asking about Ced. He's too good looking for his own skin. He's self conscious, you know?"

Hannah leaned across the table. "He's _very_ shy. People never think so because he's so handsome, but he _is_."

"Muggle Studies?" Astoria repeated. "What floor is that on?"

"The sixth," clarified Ernie. "Hey, listen, mind if I put a few sickles on the match?"

0o0

Astoria's Ancient Runes class was always dreadful but the promise of hunting down Cedric between periods held her through like a talisman. Her books and ink were already in her bag—when the bell rang, she pulled the strap over her shoulder and prepared to jog.

She had never been inside the Muggle Studies classroom before and she only had the foggiest idea of where it was located, but she _knew_ that the entrance was on the same floor. Surely that was enough to get by on?

Zipping through the doorway at mach speed, she turned left and proceeded down a stretch hallway that she had never explored before. Passing a dozen sixth year Hufflepuffs at a clip, Astoria sped up until she found herself at the bottom of a tall circular staircase.

She jogged the steps two at a time, leaning on the old wooden banister for a support. Dazzling branches of lightning flared through long, slanting windows as she turned round and round. Finally, after a side-splitting sprint, the staircase ended in a circular stone lobby. A few feet away, a classroom door had been left ajar. Astoria crept forward to peer through the crack: Cedric Diggory was still inside, talking to a very tall and very thin woman with wildly curling hair.

Clutching at a stitch in her side, Astoria retreated to a set of nearby benches and waited awkwardly. Several minutes passed. She began to work on a believable excuse as to why she was waiting around a classroom for a subject that she did not take. _Then_ she consulted her watch, mentally calculating how much time she had left before she was expected in Arithmany...

"I'll be sure to look it up!" called Cedric and, with a lurch, Astoria realized that his voice sounded much nearer.

The door sprang open.

"Hello," said Cedric pleasantly, spotting her. "Sorry, were you going in?"

He hesitated, trying to catch the door before it slammed shut.

"Yes," Astoria lied smoothly. "I just wanted to ask Professor—er, _the_ professor something before my next class. Only I've run out of time."

"That'll be my fault," admitted Cedric sheepishly. "I shouldn't have kept Professor Burbage so long."

 _Professor Burbage_ , thought Astoria, making a note to remember this detail.

"It's no problem," breathed Astoria, turning to follow him back down the twisting stairs. _A beautiful, trusting fool_ , she thought guiltily, not at all surprised when he slowed his pace so that she could fall into step with his longer strides.

"Are you ready for the surprise quidditch match tomorrow?" she asked.

"You've heard about that?" jolted Cedric. "Word sure does travel fast around here, doesn't it?"

"Like lightning," agreed Astoria cheerfully. "Still, you must be excited. It's your first match as captain, isn't it?"

"Yeah," admitted Cedric, struck by this comment. "I guess it is."

Astoria waited for more, but no overt boasting about the prowess of his line up seemed to be forthcoming. She rapped her fist against the banister and plowed ahead boldly.

"You know," she began, watching his face carefully, "Fred, George and I have opened a betting pool on the game."

"That's fun," remarked Cedric. "I think I bet on a game last year, actually."

"You did," agreed Astoria blindly, hoping to set the right mood. Whether he had _actually_ wagered anything she did not know: it was a detail she would never be able to remember without the help of her ledger.

"Wait," murmured Cedric, suddenly embarrassed. "Are you asking if I want to bet? Because I don't think I can if I'm playing..."

"Of course not!" said Astoria quickly, cutting him off. "Fred and George don't bet either. I keep everything a secret until after the match. I _was_ sort of hoping that you might help me out a bit, though."

"What do you mean?" asked Cedric.

"What do you think Hufflepuff's chances are?" asked Astoria. Perhaps, by being very forward, she would avoid appearing as conniving as she felt?

"Er," said Cedric awkwardly, rubbing his neck. "I mean, Gryffindor has a solid team this year..."

"I _know_ ," admitted Astoria, trying very hard not to sound sharp, "but does _Hufflepuff_?"

Cedric let out a worried cluck. He cast his eyes around the hallway to check if anyone was listening; their walking had slowed. Astoria held her breath. For all of Flint's many faults, he had always let her bribe him. What she wouldn't give for another crooked captain!

"Well," Cedric admitted in a low voice, "I think it's the best team Hufflepuff has had in years. Then again, Gryffindor's had the advantage of training longer—I didn't think _we'd_ play for another month."

"True," agreed Astoria, thinking it was very like Cedric to compliment another team while she was giving him an opportunity to blatantly brag about his own. "Only they've been practicing to play against Slytherin. That's got to be an advantage for you."

Cedric raised both of his shoulders and she understood that this was his way way of graciously admitting that she had a point.

"Do you think you can win?" asked Astoria.

They had almost reached the lower hallway. She needed to turn and make a run for the seventh floor the minute they reached the corridor if she wanted to avoid being tardy...

"Maybe," Cedric nodded. "Honestly, I think it will be a pretty even match."

Astoria smiled and on the landing they separated.

No one was waiting in the hall when she arrived for Arithmancy. A swift look at her watch confirmed that this was due to her profound lateness.

Astoria pushed the door open tentatively, eager to avoid drawing attention. To her surprise, Professor Vector had not yet arrived. Elated by her luck, she stowed her bag under the table and slid in next to Theodore.

Theo glanced at the clock on the wall behind the professor's desk and raised an eyebrow. Feeling Draco's attention shift toward them, Astoria shook her head, willing Theodore to stay quiet.

 _"Psst!"_ called Ernie Macmillan, taking advantage of Vector's absence.

Astoria ignored him.

"Hey!" Ernie persisted, tossing a paperclip toward her. "Did you find him?"

Astoria nodded a quick affirmative and looked away.

"Did you find _who_?" demanded Malfoy nosily.

"No one," Astoria shrugged evasively.

She put her chin in her hand to wait, watching the storm brew outside the windows. _It was none of Draco's business, anyway. His fake injury was the reason that she had been forced to hunt down Diggory in the first place..._

Draco let out a belated scoff.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Theodore also huffed.

"Vector's late," he griped, stating the obvious.

A dull buzz of chatter was starting to break out at both tables. Professor Vector should have arrived thirty minutes previously—it did not seem likely that anyone would end up chastised for talking.

" _You_ sure picked a good day to ignore the bell," continued Theodore wryly, shooting Astoria a look. "Vector is never tardy."

"God, this place can't have more than _three_ competent staff members between the lot of them," drawled Malfoy, sounding very bored.

"I like Vector," admitted Astoria, surprising even herself. "I find him wise and occasionally charming."

Theodore caught her eye and snickered.

" _Charming_?" repeated Malfoy in sneering disbelief. The foot he was resting on his knee began to jiggle irritably. "He's got to be, what— _sixty_?"

A paper airplane soared through the air and struck Theodore between the eyes. Light chatter was degrading into controlled chaos. Vector was no longer tardy—he was forty minutes late. In all likelihood, he had either forgotten about them entirely or else been prevented from coming to class at all.

"Oy, Astoria!" called Ernie eagerly, still not entirely satisfied with Astoria's subtle nod.

Seeing no other way, Astoria finally looked at him.

" _What_?" she hissed waspishly, hoping he would take the hint.

"You found Ced alright, then?" he insisted thickly.

" _Yes_ ," intoned Astoria swiftly, mentally berating Ernie for his obtuseness. She was not entirely comfortable talking about the betting pool in front of Malfoy but even worse, she did _not_ want Cedric to find out that she had hunted him down on purpose.

"Why were you looking for _Diggory_?" demanded Malfoy at once. His eyes narrowed malevolently; first in Ernie's direction and then Astoria's.

"It was convenient. I needed to go up to Muggle Studies to hand in a paper anyway," Astoria bluffed, speaking loudly enough for Ernie to hear.

" _Muggle Studies_?" sneered Draco scathingly. "You don't take— Ung!"

Astoria groped about under the table for something to pinch and found the inside of Draco's knee.

"Oh," frowned Ernie, thrown by the way Draco had suddenly shot out of his skin. "Well, that's good. Was he was helpful?"

Malfoy jerked his leg away from Astoria's fingers. He smashed the table with his kneecap and swore loudly.

"Language, Malfoy!" snapped Professor Vector, surprising them all by striding purposefully through the doors. He looked very harassed. "Five points from Slytherin. Let that be a warning to the rest of you."

Malfoy shot Astoria a look of pure resentment and Astoria smirked at him triumphantly.

"I apologize for my lateness," continued Professor Vector tiredly, hefting his briefcase up onto his desk. "Especially because I must leave you to your own devices again very shortly. A member of staff was taken ill last night and I'm afraid the matter requires my full attention."

Theodore shot Astoria a significant look. She could read every question in his expression: _Why would another teacher's illness require Professor Vector to miss a class? Why couldn't Madam Pomfrey take care of it herself?_

"Pass these along, please," ordered Professor Vector, handing Anthony Goldstein a pile of worksheets. "I want every question completed and waiting on my desk before you depart for lunch. I think you'll find that they are quite demanding, so no more chit-chat."

Theodore waited for Vector to quit the room before leaning in toward her. "Which teacher do you think is ill?"

"Dunno," Astoria whispered back. "Lupin maybe? He's been looking pretty under the weather lately."

"Who _cares_?" sneered Draco vengefully, still rubbing his knee. "Lupin's about as robust as a disgraced house elf. I hope they quarantine him. He's probably _contagious_."

"Yeah," agreed Theo dryly. "The last thing you need is another visit to the hospital wing, isn't it Malfoy?"

"I suppose you'll go after class to claim your leg is broken?" added Astoria smartly.

A sulky blush worked its way out of Draco's collar. He flipped open his worksheet.

"Think what you want, Greengrass, but at least _I_ don't have to play quidditch in this hurricane tomorrow..."

Draco picked up his quill but made no move to start on his Arithmancy exercises. A look of recognition slowly passed over his face.

"Oh, I see," he drawled softly. "Is _that_ why you were creeping about looking for Diggory? Slytherin postponing ruined your little betting scheme?"

"Well," said Astoria, dropping her voice an octave, " _something_ like that Draco. Only I knew Flint was going to pull a move once this rain started, so I didn't take any bets until today. Which means that _nothing_ is ruined."

"You pretended to take Muggle Studies just to talk to Cedric Diggory?" snorted Theodore. "You're a proper psycho."

"Oh, as _if_ I was the first person to do it!" scoffed Astoria offhandedly. "The poor, gorgeous idiot. At least _my_ reasons were wholesome."

"You were trying to trick him into helping you make money off of people by participating in a scheme that is against school rules," Theodore reminded her pointedly. Plainly he took umbrage with Astoria's personal definition of 'wholesome'.

"Yes, but it's not as though I was keen to molest him. You should have heard Ernie earlier!" insisted Astoria. She attempted a gruff voice: " _What do you want with our Ced?_ "

Theo laughed but Malfoy's foot was jiggling irritably again.

"Maybe he just thought you looked a bit piqued?" suggested Theodore.

"Or _maybe_ he thought you looked like a desperate _stalker_ ," sneered Malfoy nastily. "But I suppose that's worth a couple of Galleons to you, is it?"

"No one thought that," muttered Astoria crossly, trying to remain dignified. "It sure was awkward when I realized that I had _no_ idea what the professor for Muggle Studies' name was, though."

Theodore tilted his head back and laughed out loud at this absurdity.

"It's Burbage, by the way," smirked Astoria, "in case you ever need to pretend that you know her."

"Fat chance of that," spat Malfoy with more than his usual amount of venom.

"I think Padma takes Muggle Studies," continued Astoria nonchalantly.

Theodore stopped laughing at once, putting a thorough end to all conversation.

0o0

The sound of violent rain slamming against the windows woke Astoria at dawn the next morning. For a long while she continued to lay still in the dark, listening to the storm gust. A roar of wind competed with the applause of quivering trees; it was a wonder that she had ever managed to fall asleep at all. But it _was_ Saturday and, rain or shine, the first quidditch match of the season would commence before noon.

A list of bets was tucked into the front pocket of Astoria's bag on the ground. Having taken these bets last minute, she thought they had done rather well. Of course, this was partially because of Fred and George's ingenuity:

 _"You think the game is too close to call, then?" Fred had demanded over lunch. "Why don't you take a few bets on something other than the winner?"_

 _"Like what? The weather, or..."_

 _"How about we ask people to bet what color robes Dumbledore will show up in?" George suggested quickly. "Charge everyone five sickles apiece. There's about a thousand colors Dumbledore could wear, right? So most people will get it wrong..."_

Astoria heaved herself out of bed and began to search for her warmest sweater.

0o0

Between the pounding of the rain and the level of excitement in the hall, breakfast was a loud affair.

"You really won't come?" Astoria demanded, slamming her coffee mug down onto the tabletop. "Theo, please! You can help me keep track of the bets like last time! You _liked_ doing it, remember?"

"No way," sneered Theodore. "It's _disgusting_ outside—it's practically a hurricane. I'm staying here. If you were smart, you would too."

"I _can't_ stay here!" Astoria hissed. "I have to keep track of the books! Damn it, Theo!"

"Sit with someone else!" suggested Theodore, looking very unmoved. "Beg your sister. Or tag along behind Malfoy. I'm sure _he'd_ have you as long as you pretended to bump into him by accident—"

"That doesn't even make sense!" Astoria snapped, feeling the sting of his swift allusion to Daphne.

"No, it doesn't, does it?" shrugged Theodore indifferently, glancing up at the rain slashed ceiling.

Astoria tried everything she could think of, but in the end, it was no use. She had seen Theodore put his foot down before: when he was decided, he was as stubborn as an ox and no amount of pleading would move him. So, at half past eleven, Astoria made her way down to the pitch by herself.

The weather was just as bad as expected: her boots squished through the mud noisily, her raincoat poked the underside of her chin. Water trickled into her eyes. Astoria found herself at the entrance to the stadium, uncertain and half blind behind her hood. Despite the deluge, the stands were packed.

She spotted Draco nearby. Sandwiched between Crabbe and Goyle underneath a giant umbrella, he was eating an orange and laughing nastily at students without proper weather gear. Immediately dismissing Theodore's notion that she should sit with _him_ , Astoria continued to survey the crowd.

The only empty seat left that wouldn't require her to slosh up the rain-slick steps was next to Tracey Davis. Surprised to find her alone, Astoria moved forward and seized this small mercy.

"Hi!" Astoria addressed her brightly, but the ring of desperation in her tone was cringe-worth.

" _Hello?_ " returned Tracey distractedly, carefully watching the collecting crowd behind Astoria.

"Are you saving that seat?" asked Astoria. Perhaps Pansy, Daphne and Flora were already on their way?

Tracey shrugged carelessly. "Sit, if you want."

Astoria sunk down onto the bench. Feeling a strange tension radiating from Tracey, she pulled her hood down again. The storm was falling so heavily that she could barely make out the players when they trudged out onto the field. Her sweaty fingers scrabbled at the notebook in her pocket, afraid to withdraw it and ruin every page.

"Where's Pansy?" asked Astoria. Her gaze was fixed on Madam Hooch; she was preparing to blow her whistle.

"Who cares?" snapped Tracey.

Astoria's eyes twitched askance to peer at Tracey's wet, dark face.

"You two had a fight?" guessed Astoria, taking care _not_ to sound overly interested.

"We've had about a dozen," scoffed Tracey hotly. "Slytherin's full of catty little bitches. Pansy's no different."

The players kicked off the ground and rose into the air. Astoria shifted guiltily in her seat. She knew that she ought to be paying better attention to the game, but she couldn't help but be distracted by the strange font of secret information sitting next to her.

"Is she _very_ controlling?" wondered Astoria, curling her sweaty fist into a ball in her pocket. The day was wet, but almost tropically warm and she was starting to perspire. "Pansy, that is?"

"Not really," shrugged Tracey. "Well, a little I suppose. But she's too stupid to be properly controlling. Attention to nuance and what not, right?"

Astoria bit her lip, trying not to cringe.

"Oh," said Tracey suddenly. "You're wondering what happened with your sister, aren't you? I honestly have no idea. Bottom line, I think Pansy just hates you and Daphne really wanted to fit in."

Astoria swallowed hard. A part of her already knew that Daphne's choice to stop stalking to her had been her own, but it hurt to hear somebody else say so out-loud.

"So," continued Astoria swiftly, eager to change the subject, all too aware of the shameful inflammation in her cheeks. "Why have _you_ been exiled?"

"What are you talking about?" demanded Tracey tensely.

"Why are _you_ sitting alone?" Astoria scoffed.

"Oh," grunted Tracey, twitching her rain coat irritably. "That. It's _stupid_."

"I'm sure it is," admitted Astoria, privately smirking.

"It started with a quiz," murmured Tracey wryly. "Some _Witch Weekly_ nonsense, you know? Pansy wanted us _all_ to take it, but I had homework."

Tracey paused to empty water out of her sleeve.

"This morning, when I woke up, she had made everybody matching headbands for the game," she continued. "Only Pansy had conveniently forgotten to make one for me. They all left breakfast early, so I figured I'd just sit somewhere else until the cattiness blows over. The lot of them can _match_ together, for all I care..."

Astoria snorted, sorely tempted to laugh. It was the stupidest story she had ever heard, but she was a bit afraid of offending Tracey by belittling it.

"It could be worse," ventured Astoria lightheartedly, unbuttoning her coat. Better to be drenched than to swelter...

"Yeah," agreed Tracey, laughing freely. "I could be _wearing_ a matching headband."

Astoria cackled appreciatively.

It was almost a wonder that Tracey was friends with Flora and Pansy at all. She certainly seemed to be cut from a different cloth. Astoria's thoughts flashed back to the time Tracey had stolen a bottle of wine in front of her. This did not strike her as the kind of behavior Pansy was very likely to find amusing.

Perhaps it had something to do with the unity? Slytherin was notoriously exclusive when it came to loyalty. Almost everyone Astoria knew from that house had a rather binary way of separating people into two groups; 'the ones who belonged' and 'the ones who didn't'. More often than not, this pecking order was decided at birth. Maybe Tracey did not feel as though she had much of a choice in picking her friends? Perhaps she thought that it was either the Slytherin girl pack or no one at all?

" _Woah_ ," Astoria gasped suddenly, scrabbling for the buttons on her coat.

A wave of deep and frightening cold had just swept over the crowd, stealing the breath right out of her chest.

The amused look on Tracey face quickly shifted toward one of pain. Astoria knew that she felt the change as well.

"What's _happening_?" asked Tracey, sounding panicky.

This was _not_ a regular draft; this was a penetrating force—it was the chilly vacuum, devoid of all hope, that categorized the presence of Dementors.

Sure enough, the moment this thought crossed Astoria's mind, she began to spot them. Several figures in hoods were hovering close to the grassy lawn of the stadium; five dark forms—no, _ten_ —closing in below the stands.

"Oh!" gasped Tracey, springing to her feet.

"Hold on!" commanded Astoria grimly, reaching out to grab Tracey's sleeve. Surely panic was the worst tact to take? Who knew what might happen to a person running _away_ from the Azkaban guards? "You'll faint on the steps..."

It was the last thing she managed to say. Her voice was beginning to sound very far away. Astoria struggled for breath, suddenly desperate for air. The same feeling of sheer dread that she had experienced on the train was creeping back into her chest.

 _Nobody is coming to help you,_ she realized suddenly. _The teachers are going to run away and leave you here. Because that is what people do._

Astoria thought of father, who had spent a life-time running away from responsibility. Then, she thought about the mother that she had never met.

 _You've never met your own mother._

Astoria staggered and the motion seemed to knock some sense into her. She looked about and was surprised to find that she was standing, clutching Tracy's arm with bone-tense fingers. Tracey was staring at her helplessly, silently pleading for help. She had the wildest, most terrified eyes Astoria had ever seen.

 _It's just a trick,_ Astoria thought desperately, squeezing her own eyes shut again. _I_ _t's the Dementors, it's not real..._

"Sit," Astoria insisted hollowly, pulling Tracey back down into her seat.

The world around them had fallen into chaos. People were reacting to the silent tempest of terror. Vivid movements drew her attention toward the field; someone had fallen onto the turf...

Without warning, a flash of white light suddenly filled the air and a spectral bird swept across the stadium like a mirage. The word came rushing back in a burst of warmth.

Astoria could feel the wet heat on cheeks again. She was shivering violently in her rubber raincoat. The Dementors had retreated. Meanwhile, on the quidditch field, Dumbledore standing with his wand held aloft.

 _That's where the bird came from,_ thought Astoria. _One mystery solved._ But who was sprawled out on the ground near Dumbledore's feet? Fred and George were there too, she realized. They were trying to rouse the fallen player...

"It's Potter," said Tracey roughly, reading Astoria's mind. "He fainted on the train, remember? He must have fallen off of his broom."

"What are they going to do if he can't play," muttered Astoria, clinging to facts. Anything to avoid thinking about how far Harry must have fallen.

"He doesn't need to," said Tracey, pointing toward Madam Hooch, "look."

Beside Madam Hooch, talking very quickly and making desperate motions, stood Cedric Diggory. He was gesticulating with one hand, but in the other he was holding a tiny, fluttering golden ball.

0o0

"We lost," moaned Dean Thomas dejectedly. Students were beginning to treck back through the mud toward the castle. "By a hundred points! It's not even _fair_! There was a bloody Dementor attack!"

"Ced _caught_ the snitch, fair and square," argued Ernie Macmillan stoutly. "The Dementors were a bad touch, but Hufflepuff _won_ the match!"

"Because our seeker fainted!" yelled Dean accusingly.

Astoria hung back, not wishing to move through their fight. Tracey was still lingering by her side, her breathing shallow and disordered.

"Do you have any Chocloate Frogs in your pockets?" Astoria asked her quietly, remembering the difference chocolate had made on the train.

"No..." heaved Tracey, green as a cucumber.

"Dumbledore says Harry is fine!" argued Ernie. "He charmed the ground before Harry fell! No harm, no foul!"

"Ugh," panted Tracey. "Those things make me feel sick. I think I'm gonna—"

"Deep breaths!" cried Astoria sharply, beginning to scan the crowd for assistance. "Here, sit on this rock wall."

Tracey did as Astoria suggested, desperate for any kind of relief. A humid ray of sunlight was poking timidly through the clouds above. Tracey tried to to take off her coat but she was shaking too violently to manage the sleeves.

"I'm going to go see if I can find a chocolate for you," decided Astoria. "You stay here."

Tracey raised a hand, but the motion was so lifeless that Astoria could not tell is she was waving her away or imploring her to stay.

Hopes secretly pinned on Professor Lupin, Astoria only walked a few feet before she spotted Theodore Nott instead. He was jumping up and down, trying to peer over the heads of several Ravenclaws.

"Oy!" Astoria hollered, causing Anthony Goldstein's head to snap to attention. "Not _you_ ," she corrected irritably, scooting past.

"I saw!" panted Theodore. "I was in the nook near the Divination tower and I saw them come swooping down toward the field."

Theodore was nearly as breathless as Tracey and very red from running.

Astoria hesitated: "Did you...rush down here to _save_ me?"

"No!" exclaimed Theodore angrily. "Well, yeah, sort of! I remembered how sick the Dementors made you on the train. And I felt _bad_ for telling you to sit with Malfoy..."

Astoria stared at him in disbelief. A small smile curled her lips. The Dementor fog was fading; she felt nothing but softness.

"Obviously it wasn't urgent," Theodore huffed. "You're _clearly_ fine."

"I _am_ you dear, sweet thing," said Astoria, fighting the urge to hug him. "But Tracey isn't. I think she might hurl on the rock wall. Come and help me find chocolate."

"I've got some," offered Theo quickly.

" _Theo_ ," began Astoria dubiously, "were you seriously sitting in the tower all alone eating bon-bons and watching the game anyway?"

Theodore stalwartly ignored this. Instead, he made long strides across the grass toward Tracey.

Tracey was busy spitting into the grass when they reached her. She grimaced and Astoria wondered if she was trying to dislodge something from the bottom of her stomach.

"Theodore's got chocolate," announced Astoria, falling into a crouch.

"Here," muttered Theo, pulling a half eaten candy from his robes pocket. He plucked bits of lint and stray tobacco away from the foil and tried to hand it to her.

"I am _not_ eating that," refused Tracey flatly.

"It'll make you feel better," Astoria pleaded.

" _Fine_ ," Tracey moaned, seizing the chocolate. "Give it _here_. Ugh, do you _ever_ wash your pockets?"

The first bite brought color back into Tracey's face. By the time she reached the tinfoil, she was licking the chocolate off of her fingers gratefully.

"That's magical," Tracey gasped. "I feel _fine_. It took me _all_ night to get over the Dementors last time."

"Did _you_ need any of that, Astoria?" asked Theodore accusingly, eyeing the wrapping of the chocolate bar on the ground where Tracey had dropped it.

"I'm alright," Astoria answered, surprised to find that she really was.

Unlike the Dementor experience on the train, this attack had not left Astoria feeling drained and dejected. Instead, she felt determined. Almost as though, by conquering her own fear, she had burned away its chilling hold over her.

Because Dumbledore _had_ made the Dementors go away, she realized foolishly. Because her fear had not drowned her after all.

"Come on, let's get back to the castle," sniffed Theodore, offering a hand to Tracey. Feeling more like herself again, Tracey scoffed and bounced up from the rock-wall on her own steam.

They were halfway up the hill when a loud, slightly intoxicated voice made them all turn.

"Tracccceeeeeyyy!"

Astoria eyed the drenched green landscape, unable to spot the source of the commotion until a bush near the edge of the woods wobbled.

"Who is that?" asked Astoria.

"Flora," sighed Tracey, unable to conceal her annoyance.

"Come here!" squealed Flora.

"She sounds hammered," observed Theodore dubiously.

Astoria could see them now: a cluster of Slytherins standing beneath the cover of the trees. Astoria was certain, unless she was very much mistaken, that the boy nearest to them was Marcus Flint.

"Brilliant, look—she's with Greengrass!" announced the decidedly male timbre of Flint's voice.

Tracey sighed and started slowly off toward the trees. Theodore had already turned, recommencing his journey toward the castle.

After a brief moment's hesitation, Astoria decided to chase after Tracey.

"Wait!" called Theodore, taken by surprise, "where are _you_ going? Marcus Flint just wolf whistled at you!"

"Yes," Astoria agreed, "he did." A strange determination was thudding through her veins; thick and stubborn. "But if Flora is down there, then so is my sister."

"Who cares?" demanded Theodore, breaking into a distressed jog.

"I'm _sick_ of letting Pansy push her around!" hissed Astoria, proud of the fire in her tone. "If Daphne wants to ignore me, that's fine, but I'm not going down without a fight!"

"W _hat_?" spluttered Theodore.

"I'm _done_ curtailing to Pansy!" Astoria snarled. "She can wreak all the chaos she wants with her headbands and her snide-asides, but she better prepare herself for a _fight_."

Tracey turned, allowing Astoria catch up with her. She'd obviously heard the tail end of this conversation too, because she raised an eyebrow, positively ecstatic. Whatever it was that Astoria was about to do, she was prepared to witness it.

Theodore moaned.

0o0

* * *

I'm sorry if this chapter feels a bit 'odds and ends'. It definitely serves as a bit of a spring board for the next chapter.

In any case, Marcus Flint was my spirit animal for this section. Something about his rude commitment to his cause and his status as 'the oldest male' on his athletic team really cracks me up. Expect to see more of Flint, because I secretly cherish the idea that the younger boys on his team might be forced to listen to his advice.


	18. Boating

Chapter Eighteen

Boating

 _AN: For those of you that do not enjoy the drinking chapters, I promise this is the last time I'll hand anybody a butterbeer for months._

* * *

0o0

If Astoria was being ridiculous, she no longer cared. Yesterday, her sister's scorn had made her feel very sad. But _today_ , she was determined to turn that ugly emotion into something proactive. Astoria ducked into the clearing full-charge, prepared to unleash fire.

There were more people under the trees than she had expected, however; a full on gathering seemed to be taking place behind the wall of foliage. Astoria's eyes made a quick circuit of the immediate faces, searching for Pansy and Daphne. They were both present, loitering about behind Flora, who was still giggling aimlessly.

"Davis _and_ Greengrass!" exclaimed Flint, eyeing the newcomers with interest. "Nott—I never thought I'd see the day!" He turned toward Astoria. "Are you running a _gang_ of defected Slytherins now?"

"Why, would you join?" returned Astoria confidently, determined not to be put off by such an unpleasant crowd.

Blaise Zabini laughed, intrigued by Astoria and Marcus's level of familiarity. Behind him, Draco Malfoy was leaning against a tree, eyeing her silently from between Crabbe and Goyle's sizable shadows. He didn't look half as irritated as Pansy, but something about his expression seemed to suggest that Astoria and Tracey had caught him unprepared—that he had been more at ease before their arrival.

This look was heartening.

 _Good_ , Astoria thought. _That is what I want Pansy to look like._

"Ooh, Astoria!" cooed Pansy falsely. "Did the Dementors make you faint at the match?"

Flora cackled, but Tracey was too busy watching Astoria to join in. _She knows you're gunning for Pansy,_ Astoria realized, shying away from Tracy's gaze. _She's waiting for you to pounce._

"Butterbeer, Greengrass?" called Flint.

"She's fine," scowled Theodore, answering for them both. Daphne's eyes flicked up tensely.

Provoked by her sister's nervousness, Astoria promptly contradicted him. "Yeah, sure, why not?"

Flint passed her a bottle, smirking dangerously.

"If you're anything like the rest of them," he motioned, indicating toward Flora, "we'll end up having to carry you back to the castle."

"Let's just see how the night goes, shall we?" snorted Astoria, opening the bottle herself.

Theodore put his face in his hands; she could see his eyes through the cracks in his fingers, gazing heavenward imploringly.

"Pity about Potter," drawled Malfoy, recovering enough to employ his usual haughtiness. "His first defeat and he won't even remember it. He spent the whole thing unconscious in mud."

Astoria blew into the top of her butterbeer and turned toward Draco.

This was the sort of comment that usually made her angry, but she had such a one track mind at the moment that she didn't even bother scowling. Insulting Malfoy would not get her anywhere, her intuition reminded her. If she _really_ wanted to annoy Pansy, she would make far more headway by being nice to him.

"That's mostly down to you, isn't it?" returned Astoria. "What with all of your lingering injuries. Oh, look at that—"

Astoria had been so focused on Pansy that she hadn't even noticed Draco's arm. It was no longer bound up in a sling; he was properly clutching a butterbeer with his dominant hand again. Liberated at last.

"Yeah," drawled Draco, following her gaze. She had never seen him look so smarmy. "I figured it was finally time for the cast to come off. Call it a celebration."

Warrington—another Slytherin teammate—chucked appreciatively.

Astoria swallowed the last of her drink, hoping to take the bitter edge out of her mouth before it turned into bitter words.

"Well," she admitted freely, "your plan certainly worked better than I thought it would."

"What's this?" asked Flint, eager to join in the gossip.

"I'm just congratulating Draco," said Astoria tightly. "He finally beat Harry at quidditch. I mean, he didn't do it in the _air_ , but Harry lost just the same, didn't he?"

Draco's smirk flickered a little at this guarded insult, but it did have the desired effect of drawing in Pansy.

"Why are you all over here?" Pansy pouted. "I was sitting!"

"How many points _is_ Gryffindor down now?" wondered Flint. "You know, I never even checked!"

"A hundred," answered Astoria smoothly, endeavoring to sound un-bothered. " _Just_ enough to nearly put them out of the league for the whole year."

Flint smiled toothily; the impression was shark-like.

"Let's play truth or dare!" squealed Flora, grabbing Pansy by the shoulders. "Enough about quidditch! I want to do something fun!"

"Ooh!" Pansy agreed.

"You lot have at it," scoffed Miles Bletchley. "That's a _girls_ game."

"I'll play," leered Blaise, provoking Pansy and Flora to fall into a fit of giggles.

"I don't want to," ventured Daphne quickly, turning red.

"Of _course_ you do!" insisted Pansy, tugging hard on Daphne's hand, forcing her to sit in the grass. "You _love_ truth or dare."

"No, she _doesn't_ ," Astoria interjected angrily. "Daphne hates truth or dare."

Daphne met Astoria's eye for the first time in weeks; for a moment, Astoria experienced a rush of hope. But then, just as quickly, Daphne looked down again, obviously more willing to be bullied than side her with her in front of Pansy.

"Come on, plaaaay!" whined Flora.

"Fine," Daphne muttered, "but I'm not doing any dares..."

"What about the rest of you?" called Pansy. "Blaise says he'll play. Draco? Marcus? Warrington?"

Marcus made a face and snickered. Draco looked hesitant—it was plain that he did not want the prospect of a slumber party game to make appear nervous, but public embarrassment was something he wished to avoid. Crabbe and Goyle simply blinked thuggishly.

"What about you, Astoria?" called Tracey in a strong, clear voice. Astoria held Tracey's gaze for a moment. A lively mischief animated her face; she was offering support, there was no way around it...

"Oh, right," agreed Pansy halfheartedly, remembering Astoria at last. "Astoria. Sure."

"Alright, I'll play," Astoria agreed. She sat down next to Tracey, wedging her Butterbeer bottle into some moss. She was in no position to turn down help...

Pansy's eyes narrowed across the circle. Astoria stared right back at her, smiling determinedly.

"Boys?" called Tracey, all sing-song.

"Eh," laughed Marcus. "Screw it, I'm in."

His sway broke the tide. Everybody but Miles Bletchley came to join the circle—even Theodore. Theo sunk to the ground in defeat, all protruding limbs scowling brow. Flint had forced a butterbeer into his hand and something about the way he kept looking at Astoria when he sipped from it seemed calculated to insinuate that he was drinking to dull his pain.

"Who goes first?" asked Marcus.

"How about Astoria?" suggested Pansy, doing a poor job of disguising her contempt.

"How about Flora?" countered Astoria flatly. "It was _her_ idea."

"Noo!" cried Flora, but her unwillingness was clearly an act. She was delighted to be chosen first.

"Alright," began Tracey bossily, taking control of the game. " _I'll_ ask the first question and from there on, the person who was asked last gets to go next."

Nobody else seemed well-versed enough in truth or dare to argue.

"I want a truth!" declared Flora.

"Okay..." Tracey murmured slowly, thinking. "Have you ever had a sex dream about someone at school? If you have, who was it?"

Flora's face stiffened.

Clearly Tracey was more upset about Pansy's headbands than Astoria had assumed—that or Tracey was privately playing game of her own.

"I don't _have_ sex dreams," decided Flora primly, causing Marcus Flint to laugh and throw up his hands in skeptical delight.

"Lies!" drawled Warrington, who seemed to agree with Marcus on this. "Filthy lies."

"I am _not_ lying!" clipped Flora, nose in the air. "Tracey asked a question. I've answered it. _No_."

Malfoy was leaning back on both of his hands. He was laughing, but Astoria could tell by his look of forced confidence that this question was more reveling than he had expected. When the time came, he would be seeking a dare.

"Do I get to go now?" demanded Flora hotly.

"Yes," allowed Tracey. "The ball is in your court, _but_ —you know what happens to people who lie during truth or dare..."

"Merlin," leered Marcus happily, "this game turns ladies into savages!"

"Right up your alley, Flint?" wondered Astoria, trying not to smirk.

"I choose Tracey," sniped Flora vengefully. "Have _you_ ever had a sex dre—"

"She gets to choose whether she wants a truth _or_ a dare first!" Astoria corrected loudly.

Flora glared at her. "Fine. _Truth or dare_ , Tracey?"

"Dare," Tracey chose at once, grinning at Astoria.

"I dare you..." Flora began, swaying slightly, eyes roving cruelly between Blaise and Tracey, "to kiss the person you think is the most attractive in this circle!"

There was a smattering of appreciative laughter, but Astoria knew what Flora was about and her motive was _not_ kind.

Tracey had more than once betrayed a slight interest in Blaise—she had even told _Astoria_ as much last Christmas. Flora, who Tracey spent so much of her time with, must _surely_ know this. Which meant that Tracey would either be forced to kiss Blaise and give away her crush or be called out as a liar.

Tracey leaned back on her knees and leveled a long hard look at Flora. Marcus was right: the game _did_ turn woman into savages.

"The most attractive person in this circle..." Tracey muttered to herself slowly. A look of vague amusement flickered behind her eyes.

Astoria took a sip her butterbeer and then nearly choked. Out of nowhere, Tracey's mouth were suddenly on hers; her vision obscured by the soft trim of Tracey's bob.

Instinct commanded Astoria to pull her head back. Tracey's face swam into focus. Behind it, Astoria heard Floral gasp in shock.

" _Let me_ ," mouthed Tracey, glowing with the promise of something genius.

Astoria let out a low, incredulous laugh. When Tracey came back at her, she opened her mouth properly: a mistake as it turned out, because Tracey meant _business._ Thrown off guard by so much enthusiasm, Astoria very nearly toppled into Marcus _._

" _What!?_ " drawled Blaise Zabini, lost in a haze of ecstasy.

"That doesn't _count_!" complained Flora petulantly. "I said the person you're most attracted to! You _aren't_ gay!"

"No," countered Tracey, and there was hellfire in her smirk, "you _didn't_ say that. You told me to kiss the most _attractive_ person in the circle. Which Astoria _is_ —the most attractive boy or _girl_ here."

Pansy soured and Astoria began to catch Tracey's drift. It was a bit further than Astoria would have been prepared to take things on her own, but it seemed to have done its job: everybody was staring at Astoria, Tracey's not-so-secret crush on Blaise remained concealed, and Pansy looked as though she had just swallowed ashes.

"Do I get to pick a person now?" asked Tracey innocently.

Miles Bletchley was blinking like a fish out of water. Draco Malfoy looked as though he had been slapped.

"Go ahead," scoffed Flint, laughing dully. "There's no topping the last show."

Pansy let out a tightly-wound click of annoyance.

"I pick Marcus!" Tracey decided.

"Dare," returned Flint, challenging her to dream up another make out session with his leer.

Astoria finished her bottle of butterbeer, secretly beginning to fear her own turn. There could be no denying the fearless madness of Tracey Davis: the girl who had not received a matching headband.

"Daphne!" snapped Pansy loudly, causing Flora and Theodore to jump on either side of her. "My hair's falling down! Come braid it for me."

Perhaps it was only paranoia, but Astoria thought Pansy's eyes flashed cruelly in her direction. Was she avenging the scene Astoria had made by making her watch Daphne do her bidding?

Astoria looked away, unwilling to watch Daphne touch Pansy's hair. Warrington offered her another butterbeer and she accepted it gratefully, compelled by a heady mixture of misery and anger. Draco eyed this exchange covertly—what was _his_ problem?

"I dare you to lick Warrington's face," decided Tracey, jabbing her thumb at Marcus. Blaise laughed approvingly and her look of satisfaction deepened.

"I'm not going to lick my beater's face," scoffed Marcus.

"Then you're out of the game," returned Tracey, eyes shining feverishly.

"Fine!" Marcus gave in. "Get over here, Warrington."

It was not hard to see why Flint had risen to such an early quidditch captaincy: what he lacked in tact, he more than made up for in competitive spirit.

"Huh?" grunted Warrington, springing to his feet evasively.

"I said, get _over_ here," repeated Marcus lazily. "Davis says I have to lick you."

"Are you kidding?" sneered Warrington dubiously.

" _Whose_ team do you play on?" jeered Marcus, displaying such deliberate nonchalance that Astoria was not the only one laughing.

"Just _do_ it that so the rest of us can keep playing!" snapped Pansy, reaching around to the check on the braid Daphne was creating. "That's so low! Pull it up higher!"

Astoria took a deep breath and tried to focus on Marcus, but her vision was flickering with rage.

"Are you really going to make me chase you like a blushing maid?" leered Flint.

Warrington dithered, straddling the line between team loyalty and self respect. "I thought we were men together, Flint," he sniffed.

Across the circle, Pansy slapped Daphne's hands away and began to undo the braid herself.

Marcus heaved himself up, preparing to give chase. The only thing Astoria could see was the stricken expression on Daphne's face.

"You're letting all the hairs come loose!" Pansy hissed, dragging Daphne's hand toward the base of her head.

Astoria was on her own feet before she even knew what she was doing. Perhaps it was the butterbeer—or _perhaps_ it was Daphne's nervous shock—but her own fury was officially overflowing.

"I want _lunch!_ " Flora wailed sloppily.

Astoria paused, reigning herself in at the last second. Blood was roaring in her ears, but the switch in group dynamic was enough to bring her back into check.

"Alright," agreed Pansy, standing up and brushing off her skirt. "I think that's a good idea—you're getting _splotchy_ and I wanted a word alone anyway..."

She stared baldly at Astoria.

"We'll be back!" Pansy announced, to nobody in particular. "Do any of you want anything?"

Her eyes twitched toward Draco, but Malfoy was watching Flint chase Warrington up a crumbling rock wall.

"Draco?" Pansy persisted loudly. "Blaise?"

"Huh?" shot Malfoy distractedly.

"We're getting _lunch_ ," repeated Pansy, sounding a little annoyed. "Do _you_ want to come?"

Draco shrugged. Warrington was kicking moss at Marcus now, so Blaise flagged her on.

"Fine," sniffed Pansy, "hurry _up,_ Daphne! Hopefully this stupid game will be over by the time we get back!"

Astoria watched them go, feeling less satisfied and even more powerless than she had before. Miles Bletchley—who had no interest in the game—got up to pursue the retreating girls toward the great hall. After a long pause, so did Crabbe and Goyle.

Marcus finally managed to grab Warrington from behind; in one languid motion, he licked the side of his face and released him onto the wet grass.

"Ugh!" drawled Malfoy, eyes dancing with poorly disguised amusement.

Theodore turned toward Astoria. He obviously hoped Pansy's exit meant _they_ would be going soon as well.

Astoria turned away from him, unable to focus. His honest expression was wearing a hole in her conscience. A _new_ idea—a terrible one that she would never have formed sober—was beginning to take hold of her thoughts; if she wasn't careful, Theodore's horror would ruin it for her.

 _A hostage for a hostage_ , Astoria rationalized shakily, _it was only fair._ If she acted now, she might reasonably have the situation in hand by the time Pansy returned...

"Well," declared Theodore, standing up, "I'm going for lunch as well. You coming, Astoria?"

"No," answered Astoria, trying not to sound evasive.

"Why not?" hissed Theodore suspiciously.

"I've already had lunch," Astoria prompted him. "Remember?"

"I'm _still_ going," he threatened stubbornly. "If you want to stay and celebrate Potter's broken broomstick, that's up to _you_."

"What's your problem, Nott?" sneered Malfoy distractedly. He pulled his eyes away from Warrington.

"I want to go eat," grumbled Theodore, watching Astoria's face closely. "I'm waiting."

"For what?" jeered Draco.

"Astoria, I mean it," hissed Theodore. "I'm _going_."

Plainly he did not believe she would enjoy herself if he left her alone with such poor company. On any normal day, he would have been right. But today, Theodore's absence suited Astoria right down to the ground. Indeed, she would be able to execute her plan much more comfortably if she didn't have any reason to fear Theodore's judgement.

"I ate less than two hours ago!" huffed Astoria, becoming annoyed. "I'm not so sure what everyone's obsession with lunch is."

"Do you need help finding the great hall, Nott?" scoffed Draco scathingly.

Astoria pressed her fingers against the top of her empty butterbeer. She tried to smile reassuringly, but she could feel her eyes flashing.

For a long moment, Theodore stared at her. He took two sharp breaths, trying to decide if his vague, ghastly suspicion could possibly be true.

Astoria's smile flattened into a fat smirk. Theo pulled in a third breath of disgust before throwing up his hands. "You know what— _no_. No, I don't even care!"

He turned and began to march up the hill, muttering irritably under his breath.

"I don't know _what_ you see in him," sneered Malfoy, betraying a bizarre mixture of laziness and hostility "He's a _crackpot_."

"I don't know," Astoria countered mildly. "I tend to find him both lovely and wise."

"Theodore?" demanded Blaise skeptically, moving to snag the spot that Marcus had vacated. He settled down between Astoria and Draco. "Wise, maybe. Lovely, no."

Astoria eyed Blaise's legs, now separating her from her target, Draco. She could think of no better way to annoy Pansy than by honing in on Malfoy. Quietly, Astoria began to brainstorm ways of covertly removing Blaise..

At last, unable to think of anything else, she stood up and moved toward the rock wall. Marcus and Warrington were still locked in a wrestling match near the other end, so Astoria tested the nearest stones climbed up onto the wall.

"There's more than one kind of loveliness, Blaise," called Astoria sagely. "You're always going out of your way to sound poetic, _you_ should know that."

Draco snorted derisively at this description.

"You think I'm poetic, Greengrass?" Zabini jeered.

"I think that you _want_ me to think you are," Astoria taunted.

Tracey got up and helped herself to a butterbeer.

"Grab one of those for the rest of us, would you?" Blaise called after her. "Flint is legal now. He doesn't have to steal them from the kitchens anymore, so there's no reason to stockpile."

"I was wondering about that," admitted Tracey. She handed Malfoy and Blaise both a bottle and tossed a third to Astoria.

Astoria leaned forward to snag the flying beverage our of the air. She caught a glimpse of Hagrid's hut through a gap in the trees. _They were still so close to the teachers..._

"What are you looking at?" demanded Malfoy. Unable to contain his nosiness, he stood up and moved toward the rock wall. Astoria grinned without turning around, privately elated.

"Hagrid's hut, but don't worry," she warned, "I don't see any rogue Hippogriffs."

"Funny," Draco sneered.

Astoria laughed warmly. Uncertain of himself, Draco's sneer hitched.

 _Be more direct,_ prompted the treacherous little voice in Astoria's ear. _Making fun of him won't work._

"What do we do now?" wondered Astoria. She handed Malfoy her butterbeer, which he took out of confusion, and used his shoulders to help herself down off the wall. "The game's broken up."

She let her fingers linger near Draco's tie for a second longer than she normally would have before pulling them away again—slowly, but not quite slowly enough to be considered embarrassing if her plan failed.

"Some game!" complained Tracey sarcastically. "One lick, one kiss and not a single sex dream."

Blaise laughed and Astoria experienced a predatory rush when Draco handed her butterbeer back a fraction slower then he should have done. It was a powerful thing to know that something as subtle as a finger brush had not been lost on him—perhaps this wouldn't be as difficult as she'd feared?

"We could go to the lake?" suggested Tracey, eyeing the rapidly brightening sky.

"No," said Astoria firmly. "It's too windy there."

She wanted to flirt with Malfoy just enough to bother Pansy; it did not serve her purpose at all to drag him off somewhere that the slytherin girls wouldn't be able to find.

"You're wearing a coat," scoffed Blaise.

"A raincoat," Astoria corrected, "and I've already faced Dementors today. You don't want me to—how did you put it on the train? Have a _swooning_ fit—near water?"

Tracey laughed boisterously and grinned at her over Blaise's shoulder.

"Who's going to the lake?" panted Marcus, dragging Warrington back into the now-broken circle.

The battle was lost before it even began; everyone wanted to move toward the water. Astoria reassured herself by imagining that Pansy—who had a nose like a bloodhound—would probably still manage to hunt them down wherever they went.

Making up their minds to finish the open bottles of butterbeer before they moved, they all crouched against the rock wall to avoid being spotted. By the time Tracey reached the bottom of her drink, she was beginning to look slightly effected— a worrisome observation, as Astoria figured that Tracey had drunk the least. What did that say about the rest of them?

The question of her own sobriety was soon answered. Leaning backward to laugh dizzily, Astoria brushed against Malfoy by accident. Seizing the opportunity, she continued to linger against him until she needed to dispose of her bottle. Either he did not notice or he did not mind, because Draco waited until Astoria moved away to straighten up.

"I love butterbeer," declared Tracey in a nasal, mournful voice, emptying the last of her foam onto the grass.

"Yeah," agreed Marcus, sounding untroubled, "but Warrington's got fire-whiskey."

0o0

Some part of Astoria knew that fire-whiskey was a terrible idea—that it would only break down the last wall between how she normally behaved and outright insanity. For a long moment, she toyed with the idea of simply going back up to the castle. Fred and George were probably in the common room: they had made money off the match, but they had still lost the game. Surely the twins were miserable with defeat? Perhaps they could use some good news?

Several minutes later, however, Astoria had allowed herself to be steered halfway across the damp grounds without a single protest. When Tracey handed her the bottle of Warrington's fire-whiskey, she took a very small, controlled sip from it.

The beach was wet; rough pebbles lined the banks, moist and silty from rainfall. The air was slightly misty, but the sun was shining through in patches, provoking a haze of indian summer heat. There was no wind of any sort. Tracey and Astoria both pulled off their rain coats when Marcus stopped walking.

"Ok," Marcus chuckled, squinting at the water, "here's the game."

Tracey giggled for no reason at all. Astoria smiled at her absently.

"See that log floating in the water?"

They all did. Thirty feet away, the trunk of an old oak tree was bobbing between waves, looking very much like the bow of a sinking ship.

"Sure," prompted Blaise.

Flint bent down and picked up the roundest rock he could find. Taking aim, he threw it in the direction of the log. It struck with a burst of tree-bark—not with a _plop!_ —but with a solidly dense thunk.

"First person to hit it five times wins," explained Marcus.

Warrington whooped appreciatively, but the floating stump proved strangely evasive. Partially obscured by water and very far away, it took a great deal of force to strike it. Only Flint and Draco managed to confidently toss rocks and expect a satisfying thunk in return; the rest of their throws were mostly swallowed up by the greedy gulp of lake water.

Astoria's aim was good, but she lacked the arm strength to properly compete. When one of her rocks slipped wetly out of her hand and soared upward instead of forward, she gave up laughing.

"I thought you'd be good at this, Astoria," drawled Blaise, wiping sweat off his brow. "You shot that snitch right out of the air with a bow and arrow."

"The loser takes a shot of fire-whiskey!" called Marcus triumphantly, hitting the stump for a fourth time.

Neither Tracey nor Astoria had managed to hit the floating log at all. Realizing that she was tied in last place, Astoria hastily scooped up another rock.

"You can't throw?" drawled Malfoy, plainly amused. He paused with a stone still in his hands to watch Astoria's wild toss slip beneath the gently rippling water.

"You're doing it wrong. You need to flick harder," corrected Draco bossily, looking down his nose at her grip. "Pull the stone back and flick it at the last second."

"Show me," suggested Astoria, taking a step closer to him.

It was a trick as old as the 'yawn and reach', but to Astoria's surprise, Malfoy immediately stepped behind her and corrected her arm.

"Loosen your fingers," he commanded, pulling her elbow back. He hesitated and then, perhaps because Astoria was acting in an unusually docile way, he gently angled her wrist. "Right there. Aim and snap."

Astoria squinted into the haze of sun. She reached behind her softly until she found Draco's other arm. Quietly, she tugged it up in front of her face for shade.

Everyone else was facing the lake. With any luck, her maneuvering would go unseen.

"Like this?" she asked, leaning comfortably against where Draco's arm joined his shoulder. She demonstrated the same motion Malfoy had made.

Draco exhaled, stirring the hair near her face. A tiny, tantalizing lick of fear flared in Astoria's stomach.

"Yeah," he said in a low voice.

Without giving Malfoy a chance to make any snarky comments about how close she was standing to him, Astoria aimed and snapped. Her rock hit the stump with a dull thwack just seconds before Marcus landed his fifth. The game was over.

"Hah!" Astoria gasped, genuinely shocked. Draco's correction had worked brilliantly and she was privately elated. Beaming, she jumped away from Draco before Tracey and Blaise turned to look at her.

"That was cheating," Tracey complained half-heartedly. "Draco helped you—"

"She still threw the rock," shrugged Blaise.

Tracey was the loser and everyone knew it; she took her slug of fire-whiskey without complaint. The rest of them followed suit, robbing the moment of any punishment.

"I wonder if they've managed to rouse Potter yet?" wondered Warrington, stretching out of the damp sand.

"Did I tell you that I saw Professor Flitwick picking up the pieces of his broom?" laughed Flint. "What a mess! Waste of a good broom, that. It hit the Whomping Willow."

"Think he'll faint _again_ when they show it to him?" mused Draco unpleasantly.

Eager to ignore this, Astoria hailed Tracey. The sun was sweltering; she wanted to keep moving.

"Come on, let go to the dock," Astoria suggested, nudging Tracey in the direction of the boat house's shadow.

They picked their way across the pebbles together, laughing tipsily.

"Where are you two going?" called Marcus, unwilling to break up the group.

"Astoria wants to be alone with me!" called Tracey drunkenly, throwing her arms around Astoria's neck to keep from slipping. "I think she liked our kiss!"

"Well, I'm going with _them_ ," announced Marcus, handing the bottle of fire-whiskey to Blaise.

The side of the boathouse was bordered by several large boulders. These bathtub sized rocks needed to be climbed in order to reach the dock from the sand. The boys caught up with them before Astoria and Tracey could scale the first pile.

Climbing was perilous work. The lake was swollen from rain and the rocks were very slippery; they shimmered like oil in the blazing afternoon sunlight. Below, green lake water lapped softly, disguising a perilous mouth of submerged granite shards.

Finally, after a lot of sliding about, they reached the crest of the stone embankment. A gap of about four feet still separated them from the dock, necessitating one last—and very perilous—jump to safety.

Marcus and Warrington both plunged forward without thinking. _They_ sailed over the gorge with ease, but Blaise landed swearing. Marcus reached out to stop him from tipping backwards.

Astoria glanced down at the water below. She was a bad judge of distance, but the fall certainly _looked_ lethal.

"Tracey," she began, rethinking her courage, "do you want to walk around the long—"

Tracey gave herself a running start and leaped. Her long legs carried her forward, propelling her with Olympian grace onto the dock.

She heard Malfoy snort behind her.

"What's taking you two so long?" called Marcus.

"Greengrass is being a princess and won't jump," drawled Draco. He moved her aside and jumped down onto the dock.

"What _is_ this?" laughed Astoria dubiously. "A trick? The day the Gryffindor got wet?"

Blaise laughed.

"And a real lion of a Gryffindor you are, Greengrass!" called Marcus Flint delightedly. "I'm about to jump back over and toss you."

"Fine," Astoria ground out tightly, backing up as far as she could for purchase.

In a rush of wind and nerve, she propelled herself out into the air. The edge of the dock rose up to meet her—but the angle was wrong and the wood slick. She landed and teetered; her stomach slipped up into her throat...

Thankfully, Malfoy had already intervened several times on the boulders. Despite his haughty sneer, he had intentionally positioned himself to catch her. She felt his hand swing out and seize her arm. In a dizzying flash, Astoria foresaw them _both_ falling over. What if she dragged him over the edge?

Then, miraculously, Draco seemed to find his balance. Astoria toppled forward toward the group of tittering Slytherins.

"You're such a damsel, Astoria!" cried Tracey merrily, rubbing both of Astoria's cheeks with her hands.

"She may look like a damsel," chucked Marcus knowingly, "but _I_ certainly know better."

"What's _that_ supposed to mean?" sneered Draco, instinctively turning on Flint.

Astoria realized she was still holding the front of Draco's shirt. She let go at once.

"It means that Astoria might _look_ like a fairy tale, but she gave away her true colors in first year," cackled Marcus, passing the bottle of fire-whiskey to Tracey. "She managed to trick me out of all my pocket money for a month on a bad bet."

Tracey laughed so hard that she nearly projected whiskey through her nose. Still snorting, she rolled into Zabini.

"Look," observed Blaise, holding Tracey at bay by her shoulders, "they keep the boats tied up here."

"You want to go sailing, Blaise?" Warrington leered.

"I'll go!" cried Tracey. Now decidedly drunk, it was clear that she would go anywhere Blaise suggested.

Astoria eyed the boats longingly. Lined up against the dock, they looked like cheerfully bobbing corks.

"See?" demanded Blaise, spotting the look on Astoria's face. "Even Greengrass wants to go."

"No she doesn't," scoffed Warrington. "We'd probably capsize and drown."

"I _do_ want to go," admitted Astoria at once. "We won't sink. These are the boats that take the first years across the lake— they _must_ be enchanted."

This was enough to reassure everyone except Warrington. After several minutes of various cajoling promises and threats, Marcus simply pushed him off the dock into the rowboat.

The boats were smaller than Astoria remembered. Boasting only two plank-like seats apiece, each vessel was ideally designed to accommodate four eleven year olds.

After a small scuffle and much wobbling, Warrington and Blaise claimed the seat in the front of the boat; Draco and Marcus took the one in the back. Tracey—by now intoxicated enough to willingly go swimming full clothed—flopped shamelessly onto Blaise's lap.

Despite the ominous warmth of the fire-whiskey in her cheeks, Astoria restrained herself and made do by sitting on the side of the boat. She trailed her fingers through the chilly water, watching the sun dance on the lake's surface happily.

"The boat's not moving," observed Warrington snidely. "How do we make it move?"

"Filch and Hagrid are the only teachers who use these boats, right?" reasoned Astoria. "Neither of them can do magic. I suppose we'll have to row."

Marcus laughed loudly at Warrington's stupidity and stood up. The boat rocked dangerously.

"You know, I bet she's right? That's good thinking, Greengrass," he declared. He untied the boat and, passing her the bottle of whiskey, searched under the seats until he produced a pair of oars.

Astoria took the smallest sip she could, afraid of turning wild. There would be no easy way to escape once they were adrift...

"Here, row us out," commanded Marcus, thrusting an oar into Warrington's hands. He let the other drop back to the deck; Astoria lifted her feet to avoid being splashed by rainwater and nearly went overboard. Feeling obnoxiously unbalanced, she promptly moved down into the seat Marcus had vacated.

" _You_ do it!" argued Warrington. "You _licked_ me today. I'm not your groveling henchman!"

Astoria laughed and pushed closer to Draco, hoping that Marcus would still have room to sit. He didn't: the seat was not big enough for three. At the same moment that Marcus made to lift Astoria up far enough to slip under her, Draco pulled her towards himself. Astoria suddenly found herself perched awkwardly on top of both of them.

Warrington began to row, but it was hard to make much headway with a single oar. A strong wind grabbed them once they cleared the dock and he soon gave up paddling, preferring to let the boat drift along on the current.

"I love whiskey," sighed Tracey.

"That's what you said about the butterbeer," jeered Malfoy. Smirking snidely at Tracey's obvious drunkenness, he shifted his weight so that Astoria fell more solidly against _him_ than Marcus.

"My aunt says you can guess a girl's taste in boys by the liquor she drinks," said Astoria thoughtlessly, pushing stray hairs away from her face.

" _Huh_?" jeered Warrington skeptically. Marcus cackled wickedly, however, and Tracey moved forward, clearly intrigued by the concept of predicting secret inclinations.

"It sounds ridiculous, but she's got a real sixth sense," Astoria insisted, surprised by the sudden interest that this idea had awakened.

"She can't tell _anything_ —" jeered Warrington.

"No, wait a minute," interrupted Blaise, raising a hand to silence him. "I've heard my mother say the same thing about perfume. I want to hear this theory out. Does it apply to all drinks or just types of liquor?"

"It's not a specific _study_ , Blaise," drawled Draco, pushing his shoulder back and bringing it forward again. Astoria suddenly found herself even further away from Marcus.

"No," Astoria agreed slowly. "It's more like reading tea leaves—it requires a bit of translation."

"So what does whiskey mean?" Blaise persisted wickedly. "Explain Davis."

"Yes, tell us!" squealed Tracey happily. "Do I like strong and expensive boys?"

"My aunt would be a bit more _refined_ about her choice of wording," admitted Astoria, but the spirit of mischief was impossible to resist. "How exactly do you drink this whiskey?"

Even Warrington had stopped heckling to listen.

"Warm and neat," declared Blaise. He held the half-empty bottle aloft in the sun and raised an eyebrow.

"My dad drinks it with lemon," amended Tracey.

" _You_ don't, though," insisted Draco insolently.

"I would if I _could_ ," sniped Tracey, retaining a surprising amount of dignity for a person sprawled across one boy and asking to hear about another.

"So, then, you like boys who are dark and straight," began Astoria, pausing for Marcus Flint's roar of laughter to subside, "but you enjoy a twist..?"

The boat exploded with fresh laughter. Astoria had to work very hard not to smirk, because if this did not describe Blaise Zabini to a tee, then Astoria did not know what did.

"Well, I like wine," Blaise volunteered, lazily tossing the cap for the whiskey bottle overboard.

Marcus hooted at this ante-upping maneuver, but Astoria barely sipped any when the bottle came around. Her head was already swimming.

"Wine?" drawled Malfoy, obviously finding this choice to be slightly effeminate. He took a decidedly larger sip off the bottle than Astoria had and returned it to circulation.

"Doesn't count!" said Tracey quickly, perhaps less keen to hear about Blaise's supposedly fine tastes. "Astoria's theory only applies to boys."

The edge of Marcus's knee was becoming uncomfortable because Malfoy had stealthily re-positioned her. Making no effort to be subtle, Astoria gave in and slipped solidly onto Draco's legs. She flipped about so that one foot was dangling in the water and pondered her predicament.

It was not even remotely likely that Pansy would find them again; their isolation all but ensured it. What was she going to do, after all—steal a boat and navigate it across a loch? But Astoria had a hunch that word got around pretty quickly in the Slytherin common room. Surely Tracey or Blaise would be good enough to rat her out for drunken draping herself across Malfoy?

"The real question is, what does Astoria drink?" asked Marcus keenly, eyeing the way that Astoria had shifted away to sprawl across Draco with decided interest.

"I don't have a favorite," answered Astoria breezily. "I'm not old enough to drink."

Warrington laughed at this bit of false primness, but it wasn't enough to get her off the hook.

"Well, I've seen her drink fire-whiskey," volunteered Blaise. "Maybe she and Tracey have similar tastes?"

His smirk widened; there could be no doubting the innuendo.

"She likes gin," said Draco firmly, and a quick glance at his face revealed a surprisingly smarmy expression that Astoria could not quite explain to herself.

"Gin?" repeated Marcus blandly, sticking out his tongue. "That's got to be the most repulsive drink imaginable— _no_ teenage girl prefers gin!"

Astoria raised her eyebrows, trying to recall if she _did_ have a preference. In truth, the variety of alcohol she had tried was limited—and she wasn't entirely convinced that she had liked the taste of any of it.

"That's what she drinks when she's skulking about country clubs," drawled Draco. "They have full bar service, too. So she ordered it by choice."

" _Gin!_ " murmured Marcus again, this time shaking his head. Astoria was surprised when no one questioned how Malfoy knew this.

"Well Greengrass, it's just you and the oldest members of Wizengamot," continued Marcus solemnly. "Go ahead, translate yourself for us. What does gin mean? You only fancy blokes over sixty?"

Tracey snorted in an ungainly sort of way. "I could _see_ that actually—"

"I never agreed to this!" laughed Astoria, unwilling to perjure herself. "Why don't you go ahead and do it for me?"

Marcus bit his lip in concentration, but it was Blaise who took up the torch.

"Let's call him a classic," Blaise leered. "An upper-class British classic that doesn't mix well with anything."

Astoria laughed, but internally she could not help chafing at the pointed resemblance that this description bore to _Draco._ Next to herself, Blaise was easily the most talented at mischievously re-wording an idea. She did not doubt for a minute that he had done it on purpose.

0o0

The rest of the afternoon passed in a foolish haze of sunshine. If Astoria remained glued to Malfoy, it was no longer out of manipulation, but out of a general inability to fight gravity.

Tracey was by far the drunkest among them and she soon became the funniest. There did not seem to posses a single thought that she was too ashamed to voice out loud. This willingness to speak fearlessly was made doubly hilarious by the fact that intoxication did not seem to put a dent in her wit.

Warrington, on the other hand, was _not_ improved by liquor. Astoria soon came to realize that she did not like him at all. In fact, by the end the of the whiskey, she was forced to make this clear to everybody. He attempted to touch her bare foot with his pinkie-finger (she responded by throwing a wet leaf directly into his face).

Twice Astoria thought the boat might capsize when one of the boys suddenly stood up. Their voices grew steadily louder, but there didn't seem to be any teachers within hearing distance.

"I _always_ wanted a house elf," announced Tracey grandly, attempting to tickle Blaise's unwilling chin with the offending leaf. "Or maybe _two_ —that way I could stage dramatic parties and have them fight to the death!"

"I suppose you'd make all of your guests wear monocles and smoke villainous cigars?" Astoria wondered out loud, enjoying the howl of appreciative laughter.

"Astoria could take bets on your death match, Davis!" Marcus added, plainly convinced that _this_ was most funny idea he had ever had.

"Are you wearing a scarf?" Astoria asked Draco seconds—or was it moments later?

"Why _shouldn't_ I be?" drawled Draco smugly, content to watch Astoria pull on the green and silver fabric.

"Because it's about eighty degrees out," Astoria cackled. "If I pull this off of you, am I going to find out that it's monogramed?"

"Nah, that's Zabini! He monograms _everything_ —" interjected Warrington.

"No, but really," Astoria went on tauntingly, searching the fabric for Draco's initials. Tracey giggled, watching on.

0o0

When the sun began to set, Marcus began to search for the oars. He managed to maneuver them close to shore, enabling the boat to be pulled onto sand. This in itself was _almost_ courteous; they had floated so far away from the dock that it would have required magic to return to it. The girls fared better dismounting; their skirts were too short to touch the shallow water, but there was a lot of swearing from the boys when socks and pant legs got splashed.

The grounds had changed since they'd been gone. Everything was the deep emerald hue of ink. By the time they managed to lap back around the lake and regain the entrance hall, the sun had set.

Unwilling to be spotted at dinner with half of the Slytherin quidditch team, Astoria gently extracted herself from Tracey's grip at the doors. Seizing the first opportunity, she slipped off towards her common room unnoticed.

It was a very happy fact that most of her house was at dinner; Astoria had never felt so awkward, dizzy and exhausted. The moment her head hit her pillow, however, she began to think of food. A very early lunch was not enough to stand against an entire afternoon of drinking; she was famished.

Snagging a bag of Lavender's half-eaten pretzels, Astoria burrowed back under her blankets. Despite Belladonna's long standing rule of forbidding her niece from eating where she slept ("the habit will make you _thick_ , darling!") Astoria devoured several handfuls. Then, tunneling her face beneath a pocket of blankets, she promptly drifted off to sleep.

0o0

* * *

So I know some of you may be thinking, 'Astoria is kind of an unpleasant hag', but bear with me. Astoria has _many_ healthy relationships with people, but I think that growing up with Belladonna would probably normalize the use of sexuality as a weapon in a way that might be hard to un-learn. She's still young and foolish. Let's not throw her under the bus just yet.

And again, sorry about the excessive drinking. This is probably the most drunk you'll see things get for a long a time, I promise. Blame Marcus and Warrington—they're technically legal!


	19. The Abduction

Chapter Nineteen

The Abduction of Tracey Davis

* * *

0o0

The first rays of sunlight prickled Astoria's eyes like thistles. She had woken up once before after drinking fire whisky—this second time was no better. She felt like death; her head was pounding, and her mouth was dry from salt and liquor. When she blinked, she found that the vision in one of her eyes was blurry. Had she slept with her face pressed against the mattress all night?

Heaving a sigh, Astoria rolled over and attempted to loosen her sheets, which had become wrapped around her neck during the night. After a moment of deliberate and confused scrabbling, however, she discovered that the culprit wasn't a blanket at all—it was a Slytherin colored scarf.

She unwound the scarf and studied it carefully, massaging her bleary eye. She was almost positive that it belonged to Draco.

"Ugh," Astoria moaned out loud, surprised by the sound of her own voice in the thick, fabric draped silence.

Between the pounding in her temples and the pressure in her face, she might as while be underwater. The idea of _moving_ — beyond unpleasant—made her want to lie back down and sleep until sunset. Only her stomach was growling painfully; if she did not drink water soon, she had a bizarre notion that she might shrivel.

The clock beside clock told her that it was ten thirty. There was still plenty of daylight left. Dizzily, Astoria stood up and began to dress herself. She was just fixing pearls on her ears when the door of the common room banged open.

"Oh!" cried Lavender Brown. "You're up."

Astoria shrugged and then wished she hadn't: the needless tightening of her shoulders made her head ache. Since when did Lavender care about Astoria's sleeping schedule? Stowing the jewelry she had just taken off in a box, Astoria purposefully kept her eyes averted.

"You owe me a bag of pretzels," accused Lavender pertly. She glared sidelong at Astoria's hungover face and then sunk onto her bed to change her shoes. "I checked with Hermione and Parvati—they _both_ say that they didn't eat them."

"Fine," Astoria sighed. She did _not_ have the energy to combat Lavender's somehow chipper savagery.

"The good kind, too," Lavender insisted. Shoes exchanged, she bounced to her feet and finally spotted the Slytherin scarf on the floor.

"What?" demanded Astoria hostilely.

"Nothing," insisted Lavender primly. "I'm sure I don't even _want_ to know."

Astoria waited for her to leave before shoving the scarf out of sight, certain that it would only invite unwanted questions. She finished doing her hair in painful, self-imposed silence.

0o0

The great hall was almost empty when she arrived. It was Sunday; the early risers had already eaten and the rest of the school was sleeping in. Spotting Theodore's long, anxious face from across the room, she made her way towards the Slytherin table—mercifully free of any quidditch players—and slumped into a seat.

"Morning," she grumbled, pulling trays of toast and tomatoes toward her plate.

"Afternoon, you mean?" corrected Theodore, just a little unpleasantly.

" _Afternoon_ , then," amended Astoria snappishly.

"Tired, are you?" asked Theodore. He was peering at her face intently. The effect was not comforting.

"A bit," Astoria admitted. She swallowed her mouthful of toast carefully, unsure how her tender stomach would react to solids.

"Well, you look a right sight better than Blaise did this morning," grumbled Theodore at last. "He must had have a rough night—but I'm sure _you_ already know all about it..."

Astoria forked a tomato and stared straight at Theodore's pale, suspicious face.

" _What_?" she demanded at last. "We were obviously drinking, and there was _more_ Fire-Whiskey after you left. I'm sure Blaise _did_ wake up wretched this morning— _I_ certainly feel horrible."

"Fire-whiskey?" shrilled Theodore. "What happened to the butterbeer?"

"We finished it," Astoria deadpanned. She was doing a very good impression of 'unworried', but the truth was, Theodore was making her nervous. Even worse, she did not entirely understand why.

"I shouldn't be surprised," Theodore grumbled coldly. "Judging by the _state_ of everybody when they returned last night."

Astoria helped herself to more tomatoes.

"You're lucky you didn't get caught," Theodore pressed.

A hostile silence fell, threatening to envelop their conversation. Astoria shrugged.

"Malfoy sure looked pleased with himself!" Theodore finally burst. Astoria's already-churning stomach did a hard flip-flop.

"Hmm," she grunted, conscious of the fact that there was air of accusation in Theodore's tone.

"I suppose that was just the fire-whiskey, was it?" Theo went on, piercing her with look of such a blazing intensity that Astoria gave up playing coy.

"What's _that_ supposed to mean?" she scowled.

"Only that Pansy was being a complete cow to your sister!" returned Theodore, speaking very rapidly. "And the moment she left, you started making revenge eyes at Draco!"

"I did not!" Astoria lied. "Besides, Pansy didn't come back after lunch."

"I _know_ she didn't," Theodore admitted crossly. "She stopped by the common room after lunch and saw me, so I lied to her. I told her you'd come back to the castle with me. I was afraid she'd rush back out and provoke you into doing something disgusting, you see..."

Astoria blinked, absorbing this news with mixed feelings. The cold reality of sobriety had returned her to her senses; she _knew_ that flirting with Malfoy in front of Pansy would have been a real disaster. Still, Theodore was bothering her.

"You lied to keep her in the castle?" Astoria repeated dubiously. Just how obvious had she been?

"I lied to save you from _yourself!_ " declared Theodore emphatically.

"Don't be so dramatic," Astoria grumbled, massaging her temples with her fingers. "What do you mean 'Stop me from doing something disgusting?" she repeated. "What did you think I was planning to do? I was only going to flirt with him enough to be aggravating!"

A brief look of relief infiltrated Theodore's features, softening his disgust. Astoria's annoyance mounted.

"I wasn't going to strip down and jump in the lake for attention, you know!" she insisted angrily.

"Good," mumbled Theodore. He straightened his very crooked tie and picked up his coffee mug. "The lake is cold this time of year..."

"You know what? It doesn't matter!" scowled Astoria, feeling pig-headed and ill. "I was a big, _drunk_ flirt. I'm sure Tracey told Pansy _all_ about it!"

"Hah," clipped Theodore coldly. "Doubtful. Davis knows that Pansy would blame her for not interfering—and there's no way the boys will fess up. No sense in sacrificing a pretty face for gossip. No, no—your plan was a failure. An absolute, abject failure!"

"Did you swallow a thesaurus for breakfast?" wondered Astoria, narrowing her eyes.

Theodore laughed again; a dry little cough that sounded like a stick of chalk being snapped in half.

At that moment, Tracey Davis entered the hall. Even from a distance she looked pale and fatigued.

"Bloody hell!" Tracey moaned. "Why is it so _bright_ in here?"

She slung herself into a seat beside Theodore. Tufts of her short, bed-wild hair fell into her eyes; Astoria was subconsciously reminded of goose-down.

"Coffee?" suggested Theo helpfully. He held the carafe aloft, but there could be no mistaking his look of vengeance.

"Merlin, no!" Tracey squinted, recoiling in horror. "I don't even know what I'm _doing_ here—I should still be sleeping."

She was not the _only_ person who ought to be sleeping, either: Malfoy, Crabbe and Goyle wandered into the hall just seconds behind her.

Theodore heaved a dark sigh of annoyance. Afraid that he would use this as an opportunity to fabric more insane theories, Astoria worked hard to keep her expression neutral.

Malfoy spotted them and hesitated. Unlike Tracey and Astoria, it was obvious that he had taken pains to shower and straighten himself up properly. But a wet comb and a fresh shirt could not entirely hide the toll the whiskey had taken. If Astoria looked closely, she could see faint circles under his eyes.

"What happened to you last night, Greengrass?" asked Draco in an odd voice, sidling around the table the long way.

Astoria was immediately struck by his aura of evasiveness. Draco's eyes seemed particularly eager to shift toward her, but he refused to hold her gaze. The effect made looking back at him feel like a game of cat and mouse. Her sense of unease tripled.

As far as Draco was concerned, _any_ diversion from a facade of utter confidence was usually a bad sign. She began to rack her brains, trying to remember if she had done anything _especially_ embarrassing the day before.

"I was too drunk for the great hall," Astoria admitted, forking her tomatoes with a surprisingly steady hand.

Tracey chuckled, gazing directly at Malfoy. The faint mischief that always seemed to haunt her expression became more pronounced.

"What did you lot _do_ all night?" demanded Theo obliviously, breaking the charged silence. "I don't know how you stayed out in the rain!"

"It stopped raining, of course!" jeered Tracey. "Nobody likes a quitter, Nott. Least of all mother nature."

"We went boating," Astoria added, keen to prevent an argument.

"You mean you _stole_ a boat?" Theodore corrected witheringly. "Why is it always theft and hags with you?"

"What's this about a hag?" demanded Tracey at once, prompting Draco to snort nasally over a bowl of cubed melon.

" _Nothing_ ," Astoria sighed, eager to backpedal.

" _You_ know about the hags, too?" insisted Tracey, rounding on Draco. "What did Astoria do with a hag?"

Astor bit her lip and let out an irritated breath: "This is how _rumors_ get started."

"You seem to have a knack for starting unreasonable rumors," sniped Theodore.

"Maybe I'll go to the library?" mused Tracey idly, already distracted. "It's _quiet_ there."

"Maybe I'll come with you," projected Astoria. She stood up and shot Theodore a punishing look.

"Yeah?" retaliated Theodore. "Well, _maybe_ I _won't_ tag along!"

"Maybe she doesn't _care_ ," finished Draco impatiently, pushing the melons toward Goyle. "What's _with_ you, Nott? You sound like an _oracle_ —"

Theodore opened his mouth, but Astoria missed what he said next. She was already hot on Tracey's trail.

"That was weird," chuckled Tracey, slowing down in the entrance hall so that Astoria could catch up.

"Yeah, well, Theodore has a knack for weird," admitted Astoria.

"I was talking about Draco!" exclaimed Tracey. "He was _piqued_."

"Was he?" ventured Astoria guiltily. "I suppose he's just afraid afraid that I'm going to pull a Pansy and spoon feed him fruit. I didn't lick his neck and repress it, did I?"

Tracey made a choking sound. After a brief pause, Astoria realized that this was her way of expressing utter glee.

"As if _you're_ one to talk!" Astoria retaliated. "You spent all yesterday tickling Blaise with a leaf!"

"Yes, but _I'd_ jump Zabini drunk or sober. I think he is glorious and I feel no shame," corrected Tracey. To her credit, Astoria believed her. " _Your_ little show was just a jab at Pansy, though, wasn't it?"

Astoria did not like hearing this observation put so bluntly. It made her feel petty and almost patently ridiculous.

"Unless the urge to sit on Malfoy comes naturally to you?" continued Tracey hopefully. "When you ever put on his scarf! Oh God, you _wouldn't_ stop giggling! I thought I was going to die!"

" _Obviously_ it was an attack on Pansy!" Astoria bristled, trying very hard not to think about the image this description conjured. "What _else_ would it be?"

"Eh," huffed Tracey, clearly disappointed. "I figured as much. You _didn't_ lick him. Between the two of us, _you_ were far more dignified."

"I wasn't outrageous, then?" Astoria pressed, relieved to find that her memory had not entirely failed her.

"Well, less outrageous than me at any rate," shrugged Tracey. "What exactly _is_ your problem with Pansy, anyway? Is it all about this thing with your sister?"

"Mostly," Astoria muttered. In truth, she had never really liked Pansy, but it was only recently that the feeling had turned to loathing. It was easy to blame the change on her sister's defection, but perhaps there _was_ more to it?

"It's a pity!" Tracey sighed, rounding the corner into the library. "It would be _so_ much funnier if you were desperately in love with Malfoy."

"That's a funny sense of humor you're working with, Davis," snorted Astoria.

They passed several bookcases dedicated to Vampires and began to search for an empty table.

"Just imagine it!" moaned Tracey ecstatically, misting over. "Pansy would lose her mind!"

"Tracey!" squealed Flora.

Astoria froze. Beside her, Tracey stiffened, plainly terrified that they had been overheard. Her face was sharp with annoyance and fear. Several feet away, at a long oak table, Pansy, Flora and Daphne were all editing essays.

Their fear proved unmerited almost at once: Flora waved, hailing Tracey toward them and her smile remained enthusiastic until she spotted Astoria. Blinking balefully, Daphne also glanced up. Then, without a second look, she turned stiffly back toward her homework.

Astoria felt a blush rise in her cheeks. It continued to spread until it was no longer a flush so much as fever-sheen.

"Come sit with _us_ , Trace!" called Pansy, gesturing toward an empty chair. "We have an extra seat."

The implication was clear—this was _not_ an invitation for two.

A terribly awkward moment followed. Seeing nothing else for it, Tracey finally turned and gestured an uncomfortable apology. This look told Astoria all that she needed to know: Tracey would _have_ to sit with Pansy, or else risk the penalty of disloyalty.

 _You horrible hag,_ thought Astoria, watching Pansy scoot over to make room for Tracey.

She continued to watch, protected from self-awareness by a hot bubble of rage.

Tracey pulled in her chair and ran her hands through her mussed up hair; something about the motion grabbed Astoria's attention like static. All of a sudden, it wasn't just Pansy that she hated. It was all of them. What were Tracey and Daphne _doing_?

Astoria crossed the library on firm legs. She did not stop until she was standing directly in front of Pansy. Tracey eyed Astoria fearfully; she hunched her shoulders silently, anticipating lightning.

"You're no longer talking to me, then?" Astoria demanded, turning her furious gaze toward Daphne.

Daphne colored, but did not look up. Pansy and Flora exchanged looks of twin ecstasy.

"Daphne!" said Astoria loudly. "I'm talking to you!"

"What?" muttered Daphne, slowly putting down her quill.

Astoria paused, thwarted by the barrier of _language_. She wanted to scream and storm until Daphne understood her—until she stopped being stubborn and admitted that she was behaving badly. Only this was not going to happen. Astoria already knew it. All she was doing was embarrassing herself and she did not know how to stop.

"Yes, what _are_ you on about, Astoria?" asked Pansy, cackling in a very high, gleeful way.

"The fact that my _sister_ no longer talks to me!" Astoria broke off, afraid her voice was going to crack.

Daphne remained silent, unwilling to address her.

"You know what? Fine, Daphne!" Astoria exploded. "Do what you want! Avoid me in the hallways—pretend I don't exist, but like it or not, I'm _still_ your sister! I'll be here whenever you come around from this bout of insanity! You know why? Because _that_ is what _decent_ people do!"

Daphne was the color of a crimson holiday bow, but her expression remained impassive. Flora, on the other hand, was shaking with such repressed delight that it was a wonder she was even managing to remain upright.

"Is this for real?" demanded Pansy, eyes sparkling with malicious mirth. "God, could you _be_ any more desperate? It's not _Daphne's_ fault that you're always off flouting the rules! Face it, you're a mess! Any _decent_ person would be happy if their sister found people like _us_!"

Tracey tapped her fingers on the table and let out a tense breath. It was obvious that this fight did not please her at all.

"Yeah, Tracey?" Astoria snarled. "Something _you'd_ like to add?"

Tracey shrugged. Her eyes were blazing, but her body-language remained submissive. This was no subtle game—she could not help Astoria win this.

"No?" Astoria sneered. "You're worse than Daphne, you know! Daphne's all eaten up by anxiety, but _you're_ just a giant phony!"

"Excuse you!" sniped Flora, jumping to Tracey's defense. "She's _not_ a phony. She's a good student!"

Tracey was _also_ turning red—it was a look that Astoria had never seen her wear before. Shame was not a good color on her.

"She _is_ a phony!" cried Astoria shrilly. "Come on, Tracey, you're smarter than these idiots! _You_ know it, too—that's why you're not saying anything!"

"Astoria," muttered Tracey. Her voice was low and even— _placating_.

"Oh, _don't_!" Astoria snapped. "You're so desperate for friends that you hang around with Pansy. Then you grouse and grumble when they won't let you wear a matching accessory! Anything to get the gossip on the latest parties, is it? You call _me_ pathetic!"

Tracey had not specifically called Astoria pathetic and something in her expression seem to indicate that she found this accusation unfair.

"You're not pathetic!" said Flora consolingly, sticking her lip out at Tracey.

"What would you have me do then, Astoria?" asked Tracey in a tone of surprising clarity.

"I don't know, be _my_ friend?" suggested Astoria desperately, conscious of the fact that she was scaling the mountain of shame to dazzling new heights.

"Is she kidding?" Flora wailed, gasping for air.

"We barely know each other, and you _still_ like me better than this lot!" Astoria insisted wildly. "What _should_ you _do_? Stop being a huge, stinking coward and just be my friend! Are you afraid that they're going to take your Slytherin badge away? It's not like my father was a green grocer—nobody is going to _lynch_ you!"

Pansy was gasping huge bolts of air; her eyes were wide and delirious with glee. "Astoria!" she heaved in cold delight. "You're a proper psycho!"

"Yeah?" Astoria sneered nasally, no longer certain how had allowed herself to implode so completely. "So is Tracey. She's a _manipulative_ lunatic and I hope she _gets_ you one day!"

"I'm going to fetch the librarian if you don't stop," warned Pansy. She _would_ , too. It was clear that she found the idea immensely pleasing.

"Don't bother!" Astoria shivered, overwhelmed by adrenaline and regret. "I'm gone! Enjoy your _Witch Weekly_ quizzes and your life of crushing boredom!"

Astoria turned on her heel and began to march away. The table behind her exploded with noise.

"Oh my _God_!" Flora hissed. "What _was_ that?"

A wave of genuine self-disgust crashed over Astoria's head and threatened to consume her. For a moment, she was afraid that the sensation would travel to her eyes in the form of tears. But then, to her surprise, a chair scraped across the floor and a premature hush fell over the study nook.

"What are you _doing_?" shot Pansy in utter astonishment.

Rapid footsteps were approaching behind Astoria. Thinking of her sister and hardly daring to hope, she turned around.

It was not Daphne—it was _Tracey_. She came to skidding halt, staring at Astoria expectantly.

"What do you want?" hissed Astoria, expecting a trap.

"To be your friend," returned Tracey calmly.

She peered over Tracey's shoulder. Pansy and Flora were both stony faced and gaping. "Are you serious?"

"Yes," insisted Tracey. Her look of easy confidence faltered slightly. "Were you?"

Astoria had meant the last bit of her tirade more as an example of Pansy's bad influence, but she was in no position to refuse.

"I mean, yeah—"

"Good," chirped Tracey, taking Astoria by the arm. "You needn't have been so dramatic, you know. A simple offer might have done. I didn't even realize that you liked me."

Astoria continued to stare, stupefied by the sudden turn of events.

"Of course, you're always so busy. Off with those twins, or doing secret hi-jinks that nobody hears about until later. I think this could be rather exciting!" Tracey clapped her hands together. "Ooh, now you can tell me about the hag!"

0o0

It was a glorious save to what would have otherwise been the most embarrassing moment of Astoria's education at Hogwarts. Never in recently memory could she recall having lost control so publicly. By the next morning, she was still reeling.

Still, now matter how shaky the execution, there could be no denying that Astoria had done exactly what she had set out to do: she had publicly called out Daphne and Pansy. Furthermore, _not only_ had she made her feelings known, she had also acquired a female friend—something she had not managed to do since Daphne began ignoring her.

The fact that Astoria had ostensibly won some kind of argument in the bargain did not even occur to her until second period potions class on Monday. Here, she began to realize that the news of Tracey's defection had not only spread—the matter was rife with intrigue.

"She's not coming," announced Flora in carrying voice, dithering near Blaise at the back of the queue. "She says she has a headache, but we all know what _really_ happened."

"Who?" drawled Blaise, following Flora's one-sided conversation with minimal interest.

"Pansy!" stomped Flora.

Astoria, who had been repacking her bag in the shadow of a suit of armor, paused to listen.

"And _why_ does she have a headache?" prompted Blaise disinterestedly, staring ahead at the still-closed doors of Professor Snape's classroom.

"Because of Astoria!" cried Flora, employing a tone that suggested this _should_ have been obvious.

"What about Astoria?" demanded a haughty, compelled voice.

Astoria realized that Malfoy, Crabbe and Goyle had joined the queue.

"Pansy is sick with a headache and it's all Astoria's fault!" repeated Flora delightedly.

"Why's that?" scoffed Draco, quickly and less drawlingly.

Astoria stuffed her books deeper into her bag and debated standing up to announce herself.

"You haven't heard?" persisted Flora excitedly. Every trace of her pity for Pansy evaporated in her haste to break the news. "Didn't you notice at breakfast?"

"Notice _what_ at breakfast?" sneered Draco, beginning to sound a trifle annoyed. "Astoria _always_ eats at our table."

"No—I mean, didn't you notice who she was eating _with_?"

"What are you talking about, Carrow?" asked Blaise, his attention finally captured.

"Astoria and Pansy got into a fight yesterday," explained Flora dramatically.

"So?" Blaise snorted. "They don't like each other—everyone knows that."

"No, but this was just uncalled for! It happened in the library. And you know how Astoria is—all flouncing hair and rude eyes."

Astoria took a moment to reconcile this description with her _own_ sense of self and failed.

"—anyway, she got mad at her sister and was all like, 'Why don't you talk to me anymorrrre?'"

Blaise laughed.

"Naturally, Daphne was upset," insisted Flora. "So Pansy asked Astoria very nicely to leave her sister _alone_ —"

Astoria sneered at this lie.

"—and _then_ she called Pansy a idiot and told Tracey that she was really shallow for hanging out with us. Apparently, _Tracey_ is 'actually clever'."

Flora mimed air-quotes.

" _Sorry_?" leered Blaise, brightening with evident delight.

"I know!" cried Flora. "It was _so_ rude! Then, Astoria was all like 'It's either me or Pansy! And we all know you're a coward, so have fun reading _Witch Weekly_ for the rest of your life!'"

" _What_?" insisted Draco, properly aghast.

"I haven't even gotten to the most ridiculous part!" Flora exclaimed, raising a hand to quiet him.

But Draco was still stuck on Flora's warped description and he would not be silenced.

"Astoria _said_ that?" he demanded rudely. "She said 'it's either me or Pansy'?"

"Yeah!" confirmed Flora. "Or _something_ like that. I tell you, that Astoria has _no_ proper blood feeling what-so- _ever_. She thinks that she can do whatever she wants just because she's _technically_ a pure-blood. There _are_ rules!"

"I'm not sure anything says 'traditional blood-feeling' _better_ than taking what you want, but I'll bite," leered Blaise. "What happened next?"

"Tracey chose Greengrass!" Flora burst. "She just got up and left us in the library! She abandoned her friends of _three_ years!"

"What do you think they _do_ together, Draco?" Blaise mused languidly, keen to explore the possibilities in great detail.

"I'm sure _I_ don't know!" Flora rejoined waspishly before Draco could even respond. "But, personally, I bet they have lesbian sex and plot the revolution! They _made out_ last weekend!"

The doors to the dungeon opened and Astoria was spared the effort of having to stifle her own laughter by the sound of the bell. Fixing her books, she hastily withdrew her moonstone essay and joined the line.

Tracey was already sitting beside Theodore inside. With an uplifting surge of self-importance, Astoria realized that they had saved her a seat. Feeling especially cocky, she dropped Flora's table a salute as she strolled past.

"This essay is rubbish!" muttered Tracey, blotting out a last minute spelling error with her quill. "Snape is going to think I was drunk when I wrote it!"

" _Were_ you drunk when you wrote it?" wondered Theodore, pursing his lips wryly.

So far, Theodore had been miraculously tolerant of Tracey, but it was clear that it would be quite some time before he agreed to take her seriously.

Astoria sat down and let her hair fall forward to block her face, burning under the intensity of Draco Malfoy's unexpected stare. Out of the corner of her eye, she could still see Blaise chuckling to himself.

"Pansy skipped class," whispered Tracey, leaning forward. "She really knows how to capitalize on even the smallest drama, doesn't she?"

"I just heard Flora in the hallway telling Draco and Blaise that we're gay together," Astoria admitted. "I think it's going to be a smear campaign."

Tracey snickered but Theodore pursed his lips again.

" _See_ what you get for sticking your nose in Pansy's business?" he insisted.

"What did _Blaise_ say?" persisted Tracey, ignoring Theodore's jab.

"I don't know," Astoria shrugged. Truthfully, she had been much more focused on Flora's news than Blaise's various reactions to it. "Listen, do you think I often have flouncy hair and make rude eyes at people?"

Pansy reappeared at lunch. Nursing a bottle of water and massaging her neck, she did nothing but complain loudly about Madam Pomfrey's negligent treatment.

"She would only let me stay for an _hour_ —imagine!" Pansy wailed. "If I drop dead tonight, you _know_ who to blame..."

This behavior was so reminiscent of Draco's endless parade of arm-related woes that Astoria did not know if she was more annoyed or amused.

The Slytherins could not be avoided forever, though—especially not _now_ , with two best friends in the same house. It soon became evident that, while Pansy had rallied, (Flora's twin sister Hestia had begun sitting with them at meals) she was not planning to forget the insult anytime soon.

0o0

"You're in my seat, Davis," sneered Draco.

Arithmancy class had just started and Tracey, who normally occupied the chair by the window, had broken form to whisper with Astoria instead.

"Well, now it's _my_ seat," responded Tracey coolly. "I don't see your name on it anywhere."

Strictly speaking, neither of them were correct: Arithmancy did not have assigned seating. But, as nobody had changed seats since the first lesson—Tracey had _always_ occupied the window seat—Astoria could sort of understand Draco's territorial reaction to the change.

The arrival of Professor Vector prevented him from kicking up a fuss, but Malfoy narrowed his eyes. Casting Tracey a look of pure resentment, he allowed himself to be shunted toward the edge of table.

The hour that followed was unbearably hostile. Astoria could feel the pull of expected loyalty from Tracey whenever Draco dared to make a snide comment—but, queerer still—she soon began to suspect that Draco's sole purpose was to _prevent_ her from standing up for Tracey at all costs.

His insults, therefore, soon took on an unusual and very _factual_ quality:

He accused Tracey of having bad handwriting (she did).

He insinuated that her tastes were vulgar (they most certainly were).

He made loud, pointed observations about her height (Tracey was a veritable giant).

Astoria did her best to keep up with these jabs, but the effort soon proved exhausting. Thanks in large part to Draco's persistence, it was _also_ almost pointless.

Dreading the walk to lunch (where Tracey and Draco would be free to attack each other _openly_ ) she assembled her things long before the bell.

"Astoria," called Professor Vector at the last minute. "I would like a word with you after class."

Prevented from leaping out of her seat, Astoria hung back. She began to feel a little nervous as the class broke up and headed toward the great hall. What did Vector want with her? She _hadn't_ been misbehaving, which left only the matter of her homework to be discussed...

Professor Vector took a moment to beat chalk dust off of his hands. Then, he pulled a wicker chair out of a darkened corner and positioned it in front of his desk. Astoria was reminded irresistibly of _Cinderella_.

"Sit," Vector insisted. He rustled about in his desk drawer and withdrew several pieces of parchment. "And relax. I'm not throwing you out."

Astoria eyed the lengths of parchment in his hands warily. She recognized her own rushed handwriting; marked and blotched by multiple errors.

"Was there something wrong with the assignment?" asked Astoria, endeavoring to sound jaunty.

But it was pointless. She already knew that her work was abysmal. Astoria couldn't make sense out of her lecture notes, and the process of turning in a paper was becoming more and more synonymous with a exorcism—no more essay, no more mess.

Vector raised an eyebrow and rotated the bundle of heavily edited papers. He glanced in the direction of the amber-brown rafters, contemplating his next choice of words.

"You're smart," he said at last, slowly spreading his hands. "I can tell by the way you write. You conceal the fact that you don't understand your work very well. It takes a relatively cunning person to hide ineptitude—but that does not mean it is _not_ ineptitude."

Astoria's cheeks colored. She stared into Professor Vector's well-meaning, brown eyes and found herself uncharacteristically mute. She had never failed a class before; she didn't know how it was done.

"If you throw me out, everyone will know it was because I _couldn't_ pass," mumbled Astoria, trying not to flinch. "If you could just _wait_ until next term, I can probably transfer—"

"I'm _not_ throwing you out," said Vector firmly, cutting over her. "This is only a conversation. I mean, are you even _reading_ the texts I assign?"

"I'm reading them," Astoria admitted feebly, hating herself.

"Then what do _you_ suppose is going wrong?" mused Vector, crossing his leg at the knee. A purple-patterned sock peeked out above his loafers.

"I can't break down the numbers," Astoria shrugged. There was no better explanation than this.

"Can you manage decent Transfiguration?" Vector persisted.

Astoria felt the heat in her face sharpen into a stinging sensation behind her eyes.

 _Can you manage decent transfiguration?_

"It's one of my better subjects," Astoria insisted, afraid that he would not believe her.

"Show me something."

Astoria pulled a paperweight across the worn surface of Vector's desktop. With an eagerness that belied her desperation, she waved her wand—the paperweight grew legs and began to dance.

"I see," observed Professor Vector, "but that is not very complicated, is it? Don't amuse me, _impress_ me."

Astoria bit her lip, afraid to let her anger show. She raised her wand again and concentrated, praying that her trembling hands would not forsake her.

The paperweight became a mouse. Then it became a squirrel. A quick charm forced the squirrel to waltz.

For a moment, Professor Vector stroked his clean-shaven chin and said nothing.

Astoria hastily picked up a paperclip. She transfigured it into a hat and presented it to the swing-stepping squirrel. The corners of Professor Vector's mouth turned up silently until he was very obviously grinning behind his long fingers.

"A solid O.W.L level presentation," admitted Vector smoothly. "You're in your third year?"

"Yes," Astoria confirmed, clinging to relief.

"I'll be assigning you extra reading," he announced. Vector stood up and approached a nearby cabinet. "Proper animal Transfiguration is not expected until the beginning of your fifth year—I'm impressed. If you can charm a squirrel, you can master a number chart."

He handed Astoria a book. Several of the pages were turned down and there was a reassuring coffee stain on the front cover.

"Read this before the weekend and we will discuss it together. It's a personal favorite of mine: _Transformation Through The Ages_."

Astoria took the book, nodding enthusiastically. It was a hateful thing, this hasty agreeableness—she could not help blaming herself for the failure that necessitated it.

Lunch was wrapping up by the time Astoria reached the first floor, so she began the cold trek down toward Hagrid's cabin alone. It was now the end of November; there were signs of frost on the crunchy grass beneath her feet and the air was piercingly crisp.

"What did Vector want with you?" demanded a rude, drawling voice.

Somehow, Draco, Crabbe and Goyle had managed to sneak up the path behind her in silence.

"He wanted to tell me how _excellent_ my homework has been lately, lied Astoria.

"Oh," muttered Draco indifferently. " _So,_ you and Davis, then?"

Draco pushed Crabbe out of the way and Astoria hitched up her bag, afraid of accidentally hitting him with it.

"What _about_ it?" asked Astoria, annoyed by the slightly accusatory tone in which Draco was speaking to her _and_ the painful angle of her schoolbooks.

"Don't play coy, everybody's talking about it," shot Draco snidely. Somewhere behind him, Crabbe grunted in agreement.

"Is the Slytherin common room the _dullest_ place in Hogwarts?" wondered Astoria.

She swapped her bag over to her left arm, freeing her trapped hair.

"So you're saying it's _not_ true?" persisted Malfoy. In a maddeningly annoying effort to slow her down, he switched to the side her bag was on again.

"It probably _is_ true," snapped Astoria. "But as I have _no_ idea what you're taking about—"

"It's true—you _fancy_ girls?" demanded Malfoy aggressively.

It was plain that, while Draco found the idea of Astoria preferring women oddly frustrating, he also seemed to believe that it might make a good deal of sense.

Astoria laughed heartily, enjoying his stupidity.

"What's so funny?" snapped Malfoy irritably, clearly not enjoying the joke half as much as Astoria.

"Nothing," she burst, fighting to control herself.

Between failing Arithmancy and laughing so hard, she was almost afraid that her mascara would begin to run...

"As disappointed as Pansy will be, you can run along and tell her that it's _not_ true," Astoria wheezed. "I like boys and Tracey only ditched her because she was bored—not because we're secretly having a lesbian affair."

She could barely even finish this sentence without laughing again. In truth, if Astoria _was_ gay, Tracey would probably be her idea of an ideal candidate; at least she had a sense of humor.

" _You_ tell Pansy," said Draco defensively, beginning to look slightly flushed. " _I'm_ staying out of it and I heard it from Flora anyway, so apparently more than one person thinks it's true—"

"From Flora?" Astoria repeated scathingly. "Well, _there's_ a source for reliable news!"

"I don't know, you could have fooled _me_ ," sneered Draco. There was something decidedly jerky about the way he was walking now. "What kind of move _was_ that, anyway? You certainly pay more attention to Tracey than any of the boys in our year—"

Astoria's mouth literally dropped open in protest.

"Of course," Malfoy went on, growing slightly more red and irritated, "you'd have more ground to stand on if you hadn't _snogged_ her last weekend."

"As a joke!" Astoria protested loudly. " _She_ kissed me."

"It didn't look like you minded!" snapped Malfoy nastily. "And then you went and stole her away like a viking bride—"

Astoria shook her head, feeling as though the conversation had spiraled so far away from where it had begun that it was no longer salvageable.

"Malfoy," insisted Astoria firmly, slowing down because they had nearly reached Hagrid's cabin. "I'm _not_ attracted to women. Clearly that is a disappointment to you, and Flora, and probably Pansy as well, but I really don't care. Tracey is no longer their friend because _I_ wanted to hang out with her—and I don't take prissy little gossips into my club, do you understand me?"

Astoria jabbed him in the chest.

Draco wasn't expecting violence; he pulled up in surprise. Astoria promptly closed the gap between them again.

"Furthermore," she went on in a low, threatening tone, "you might want to tell your friends that if I hear anyone has been upsetting Daphne on purpose, I will _personally_ hunt them down myself. If you think I can't get the password, guess _again._ "

For a moment, Malfoy looked genuinely shocked. It was suddenly evident that, on a basic level, they'd been having two entirely different conversations.

But before Astoria could work out his angle, she was overtaken by a flow of new students coming down the path behind her. Draco straightened the front of his shirt where Astoria had jabbed him and motioned toward Crabbe and Goyle. Astoria spotted Tracey and made her way across the rest of the chilly lawn toward her.

"What was that about?" asked Tracey at once, her eyes on Draco, Crabbe and Goyle. They had all pulled away from the rest of the crowd and were muttering darkly.

"Nothing," snapped Astoria, sounding more angry than she intended.

Tracey raised her eyebrows. "What did Vector want?"

"I'm failing Arithmancy."

0o0

* * *

I'm sort of opposed to the idea of Astoria only having male friends. Especially when it seems that Astoria is so often fighting with another female (Pansy) and the root cause is a boy (Draco). Enter Tracey Davis, who I think is a much more fitting friend for Astoria than Daphne ever was as far as wits and interests go.

As always, reviews make my day!


	20. Cormac's Proposal

Chapter Twenty

Cormac's Proposal

* * *

0o0

December arrived on the wings of a bitter cold front. By the weekend, the grey rain that had been falling steadily outside the castle began to transform into a cheerful type of snow. Meanwhile, Ravenclaw played the chilliest game of quidditch against Hufflepuff that anyone could remember and won. Gryffindor was back in the running for the House Cup; a good thing, too, because Astoria desperately needed _something_ to lighten her mood before break.

"We can do our Christmas shopping together this year!" exclaimed Tracey excitedly on Monday morning. She gestured toward the notice board, where a Hogsmeade visit was scheduled for the last weekend of term. "That'll be _much_ easier than trying to get mum to take me into London. And Lord knows Roger hates it when I go with him _anywhere_."

Astoria shrugged. Tracey mentioned Roger so infrequently that, from time to time, Astoria nearly forgot that she had a brother. But Roger Davis—the current Ravenclaw quidditch captain—had _not_ missed the latest changes in Tracey's social life.

"What year are you in, then?" he had asked Astoria during a free period only days before, leaning against their library table, tapping his fingers musically against their Astronomy charts.

"She's in my year, Roger, leave her alone," Tracey had interjected hotly.

By way of response, Roger unleashed a winning grin, forcing Astoria to resist the urge to laugh; not because Roger was especially charming, but because he seemed to have a bit of his sister's obviousness about him.

"Well, I've no interest in the village," announced Theodore, squinting hatefully at the noticeboard. "I learned _my_ lesson. You two can scrounge up all the secret letter carriers and irate barkeepers you like. _I'm_ staying in."

"No one is _making_ you go," Tracey snorted. "Personally, I'd _love_ to get into some trouble before the holidays..."

Astoria grinned sheepishly, but took care not to appear overly excited. Theodore was looking a little sour.

"You're not staying at Hogwarts for Christmas again, are you?" he demanded in a low voice, pulling Astoria aside as they made their way past the notices toward breakfast. "I don't think I can stand another holiday at home alone. Last year was _abysmal_ —I couldn't even get Millicent to stop over by the end and she's about as tolerant as they come."

"No, I'm not staying on," Astoria returned, smiling wryly. "But I won't be spending the whole break with Belladonna, either. I got a letter from my aunt—Aston Mendel's been asking after me. It looks like I'm going to be spending Christmas proper in France."

"Figures," muttered Theodore grimly. "You'll be gone—what, a week? Or is this your way of saying I'll be seeing you in January?"

"I'll be back before New Years," Astoria assured him.

"You _can't_ be serious," Tracey interjected sharply.

"I _am_ ," Astoria frowned, turning toward her in surprise. "Why?"

Wary of Tracey's mounting flush, Astoria sat down at the end of the table and busied herself with a bowl of assorted oats.

"Because you're going to miss all the Christmas parties!" Tracey whined. "That's why!"

"I'm sure I'll find something to do in France," Astoria shrugged, polishing an apple on her sweater.

"Well, isn't _that_ nice," sneered Tracey. "Hang France! You're supposed to stay here and help me keep track of the parties we've each been invited to so that we can find a way to go together!"

"Oh," reflected Astoria dully.

Excluding Daphne—who _hated_ parties—Astoria had very few female friends. The duty of syncing itineraries before a holiday had not even occurred to her. Surely Tracey could manage on her own?

"I'll be back for the _New Year_ parties, I suppose," she ventured feebly.

"That's rubbish!" countered Tracey hotly. Cramming half of a bagel in her mouth, she chewed with a violent, thoughtful intensity. "You're going to spend the _whole_ Christmas season in France with Aston Mendel and his son—and probably his son's gorgeous, _rich_ friends—and I'll be stuck here, sorting my mail and waiting for something _good_ to happen."

"It's only a week," Astoria insisted, beginning to feel anxious. "I expect there won't be anything but a few dinner parties with Aston's friends to go to—nothing to get angry over!"

" _Ruh-_ bish!" repeated Tracey, finishing off the bagel in a single, impossible swallow.

"There's no guarantee I'd have gotten invited to anything here if I'd stayed," Astoria countered.

" _Please_ ," snapped Tracey. "Spare me. Your aunt _has_ to be on a couple of good invite lists and there's probably a dozen boys plotting ways to ask you to go to their family parties right now!"

"Yeah!" agreed Theodore boisterously, smirking into his coffee. " _Right now_! You don't want to disappoint a dozen plotting boys, do you? Stay with us."

Astoria shared a private grin with Theodore before scooping up her books for the bell.

It was first period Ancient Runes today, but Tracey (who had Charms) tagged along as far as the fourth floor, continuing to vent her feelings of betrayal. As if to bring her point home, halfway along the fourth floor corridor and only twenty feet away from the Charms classroom, one of the supposed 'dozen' presented himself.

"Astoria!" cried a voice, causing her to stop and cast her eyes haltingly about the busy hallway. Behind a cluster of Hufflepuff fourth years, Cormac McLaggen appeared, pointing and waving enthusiastically.

Tracey chuckled. Her eyes danced smugly past Cormac toward the Charms classroom, but she held back, content to linger.

"Hello, Cormac," Astoria sighed, eyeing the staircase behind him longingly. "I was just on my way to Ancient Runes..."

"Wait a second," commanded Cormac. His arm jutted out instinctively to prevent her from getting away. "Have you talked to you dad about New Years?"

Astoria had not, nor was she especially curious. Now that George was working on Mr. MacLaggen's patent case full time, there was a very good chance that Cormac spoke to him more regularly than she did.

"No," admitted Astoria, trying not to purse her lips. "Listen, I'm going to be late. I've got to—"

"The board for the Control of Magical Creatures is having a New Years get-together with the board of Saint Mungo's," explained Cormac in a pompous rush. He drew in a deep breath, inflating in a way that blocked her path entirely. " _Technically_ , they're calling it a charity garden gala."

Hosting a garden party in December struck Astoria as more than a little stupid, but that did not seem to be Cormac's point.

"In any case, they're holding the event at my house," he went on importantly. "Father's marketing the new potion line towards the hospital, you know. I'm surprised George hasn't mentioned it..."

"He's been busy, I'd imagine," Astoria shrugged, pulling her hair out from under the strap of her bag. "Listen, Ancient Runes is on the _sixth_ floor, so—"

"Oh, right," returned Cormac dismissively, still showing no signs of moving to make way. "Only, I thought you would want to go with me. It makes sense, doesn't it? Father's year has been a success; _your_ father managed all the legalities for the potion line. Why not go together—keep the team tight, eh?"

Astoria could tell by Cormac's expression that he fully expected her to be flattered. The expectation annoyed her. In his eyes, an offer of inclusion into his family circle was clearly incapable of being met by anything other than delight.

"Oh, but I can't!" Astoria sighed falsely, reaching for the first convenient excuse. "I'll be in France!"

Astoria could see Tracey making faces out of the corner of her eye, but she studiously pretended not to notice.

"I'm sure _that's_ why my father didn't mention it, come to think of it," Astoria pressed on, ignoring Cormac's rumpled brow. "He knew I wouldn't be able to go!"

"What's in France?" scoffed Cormac, thrown by such an unexpected and off-putting answer.

"Old family friends," Astoria returned, biting back her relief in order to impart a kinder impression of disappointment.

"Well," muttered Cormac begrudgingly, backtracking. "No matter. St. Mungo's is _bound_ to buy the product line. There will be other parties..."

"I'm sure," agreed Astoria quickly.

"I won't let you slip away a third time!" he continued jauntily, disguising his irritability. "Next time I'll ask _before_ you can make any other plans! Then you'll have to come!"

Astoria waited for Cormac to retreat, her lips stretched into a paper-thin smile. " _Wouldn't count on it_ ," she muttered darkly once she perceived that he was finally out of earshot.

Tracey laughed but her expression was chastising. "Why did you _do_ that? You know full well that you'll be back before New Years. You said so this morning."

"Hah!" burst Astoria contemptuously, shaking her head. "Haven't you heard? When it comes to a McLaggen party, I'm _never_ in the country."

Tracey clucked.

"I'm late, see you in Arithmancy!"

0o0

"You shouldn't have said no," insisted Tracey at the end of the hour, rejoining her for the short walk up to Professor Vector's classroom. "The party is at _Cormac's_ house. It'll be really rude for you to change your mind if someone _else_ asks you."

"It's just one party," Astoria argued. "There'll be dozens of others."

"Probably, but _Cormac's_ party is bound to be the biggest of the season," huffed Tracey intolerantly. "His father's got Control of Magical Creatures and St. Mungo's coming! That's a lot of important people—nobody worth seeing will go anywhere else."

"The biggest party of the season?" remarked Theodore, joining them for the final steps up the flight of stairs.

"The Charity Garden Gala—or whatever nonsense they're calling it—for the St. Mungo's board on New Years," supplied Tracey breathlessly. "Astoria says she's not going, only _I'm_ going to do whatever it takes to get an invite. I think it sounds perfect!"

Astoria was surprised to see a look of recognition flit across his features.

"My father was invited to that," he admitted. "It's got something to do with the board on creatures, doesn't it?"

"What does _your_ father have to do with the board on creatures?" scoffed Tracey carelessly.

"He likes to hunt," answered Theodore stiffly, affronted.

"See!" cried Tracey. "Even _Theodore's_ family was invited!"

"What's Theodore been invited to?" drawled Draco Malfoy, interrupting their conversation from behind. "Joined a book club, have you, Nott?"

" _No_ ," leveled Tracey, winding herself back up, "he's been invited to the St. Mungo's Charity Garden—"

" _Please_ don't say it again," Astoria interrupted desperately. "It's the McLaggen's New Years party, Malfoy. Theodore and his dad are going and Tracey's desperate for a date."

Tracey did not even have the good grace to look ashamed.

"Oh, right," Draco drawled disinterestedly, "everyone is going to that. Of course, _Father_ thinks MacLaggen is only hosting it to get in good with the board of directors before his potions hit the market."

Tracey let out an impatient noise; she was not interested in politics and Draco was threatening to move the conversation away from the topic of Astoria's stupidity.

"Then again, Father would _know_ ," continued Malfoy lazily. "He's one of the hospital's top benefactors. You wouldn't _believe_ the things that people tell him in private..."

"Not _everyone_ is going," interrupted Tracey loudly. "Astoria isn't— _she's_ pretending to be in France."

"I'm _actually_ going to France!" Astoria burst, afraid of provoking Malfoy's curiosity.

"But you told _me_ you were coming back before New Years!" rejoined Theodore, sounding angry and panicked. "I thought you were just going to be gone a week! The only way I'm going to this stupid party is if we go _together_."

Draco laughed unpleasantly.

"Why in the world would she want to go with _you_ , Nott?" he drawled and then turned toward Astoria. "Wasn't _your_ father invited? I thought he was handling McLaggen's patent law?"

"Mhm," Astoria grunted noncommittally.

"Not that it matters," scoffed Tracey bitterly. "She can't go at all now because Cormac just asked her to go with _him_ and she lied to get out of it. She said she'd be out of the country."

"Not just busy?" quipped Theo, betraying his first ghost of a smile. "You needed an ocean between you?"

"It _was_ stupid, wasn't it?" continued Tracey, misinterpreting Theodore's amusement.

The classroom doors opened and the line began to shuffle forward. Malfoy pushed in front of Tracey in order to reclaim the seat that she had stolen from him the week before; he dropped his bag on the table pointedly.

"You'd call that stupid, Davis?" he sneered. "I'd call call it entirely _reasonable_."

"What, you don't like McLaggen now?" wondered Tracey, eyelashes fluttering. "I'm _shocked_."

Tracey shifted quickly into Astoria's usual seat, leaving the chair next to the window that nobody wanted vacant.

"Their whole family is _ridiculous_ ," insisted Malfoy, so loudly and nastily that he gave the impression of fighting an argument that nobody had even started. "You wouldn't catch me dead in public with McLaggen's sister!"

" _If_ he had one," muttered Theodore quietly, but Astoria laughed.

For the first time in a long time, Malfoy's tendency to be cruel was capable of pleasing her. She did not at all appreciate Tracey's scolding attitude and she was already tired of being told that she had made a mistake in refusing Cormac. The McLaggens could not offer her anything that she wanted; therefore she felt perfectly at ease—even happily content—to mock them.

"They really _are_ ridiculous," Astoria agreed and Malfoy caught her eye, looking immensely gratified. "His Father gets featured in the paper every year for his highland fling—last year he made the front page of the society section wearing a _kilt_."

"His father's favorite sport is tossing grown men into the air," jeered Draco, increasingly satisfied by Astoria's unusual willingness to agree with him. "If that doesn't tell you everything you need to know about Cormac, then I don't know what _will_."

"They're such an old family, though!" insisted Tracey, narrowing her eyes. "Just because they're Scottish doesn't mean they're ridiculous. I _still_ think you should have said yes, Astoria."

"I don't think I've ever met anyone as pompous as Cormac, either," continued Draco, effecting an attitude of supreme confidence that he generally reserved for the company of people like Crabbe and Goyle (who never disagreed with him)."I don't know where he gets off talking about himself the way he does—you'd think he was descended from _Merlin_."

Theodore's mouth literally sagged, rendered mute by the height of Draco's hypocrisy.

"Really!" Astoria snorted loudly, hoping to prevent Theodore from interjecting. "You should have heard him earlier! What did he say when he was asking me to the party, Tracey? Something like 'I thought you would want to go with me'?"

Tracey snickered despite herself, allowing the truth of Cormac's of poor manners. Draco, on the other hand, did not laugh; in fact, he looked suddenly and genuinely annoyed.

"It was like he thought I'd been waiting for him ask," Astoria continued, chuckling at little at the recollection. "The look on his face—I swear, he thought he was doing me a favor— like he was putting me out of my misery by getting around to it at last."

"You shouldn't have bothered lying," spat Draco repressively. "You should have turned him down hard. Why should _you_ care about sparing his ego?"

"Because people who are full of themselves all need to be taught a lesson, Malfoy?" Theodore demanded scathingly, reaching his limit.

"What's that supposed to mean?" snapped Draco, eyes narrowing.

"Only that Cormac McLaggen isn't the only bloke I know who thinks terribly well of himself," returned Theodore.

A dangerous silence descended.

"Yeah?" sneered Malfoy softly, summoning the full force of his arctic glare. "Maybe I _do_ think well of myself, Nott, but at least I have a _reason_ to."

" _Do_ you, though?" returned Theodore lightly, but he was playing with fire. "What exactly _is_ it that makes you so much better than MacLaggen? I'm genuinely curious."

"Oh, Theo, I've just realized!" exclaimed Astoria, anxious to defuse their argument before it became violent. "Why don't _you_ take Tracey to the party? She wants to go and _you_ haven't asked anybody."

Tracey quirked an eyebrow and swiveled about to stare at Theodore pleadingly.

"I haven't even decided if I'm going!" Theodore jolted, looking very put on the spot. He jabbed a thumb at Malfoy. "Why doesn't Tracey just go with the King of Wiltshire over there?"

Tracey seamlessly shifted her persistent eyes onto Draco. If she was at all embarrassed about being passed around like an unwanted hand-me-down, she did not show it.

"I'm going with my _father_ ," scoffed Draco, sneering in a way that suggested that he found the prospect of having Tracey for a tag-along faintly heinous. "I'm not taking anybody. I doubt my father will even want to stay until midnight—which certainly proves how much he thinks of McLaggen."

"Your father's not _boycotting_ the event, though, is he?" pressed Theo astutely. "I mean, he's still going, so it's not as if he thinks MacLaggen is totally worthless. He obviously feels that he _ought_ to attend."

Malfoy's expression soured. His arm twitched beneath the table, betraying a quiet desire to make heavy contact with the back of Theo's head. Thankfully, Professor Vector chose this moment to arrive and, amidst the flurry of fresh assignments, their argument was soon forgotten.

Astoria sighed unhappily and turned over her new booklet of worksheets. The first page was dotted with a series of mathematical equations in need of translation—yet another failing grade in the making. For a long while the only sound that punctuated the silence was the rustling of book pages. Then, gradually, because the lesson was not a lecture, talk began to break out again.

"Really, Theo," Tracey whispered over her Latin dictionary. "If you're going to the New Years party, I want to come with you!"

"That's got to be a first for _you_ , Theodore," leered Draco cruelly, staring down his nose at the first equation.

"I'm not sure my dad will _want_ to go," Theodore insisted, reddening. "It's a lot holiday cheer for him—"

"Too many _normal_ people, you mean?" countered Draco nastily.

"Oh, take her, Theo!" hissed Astoria, risking a covert peek at Malfoy's assignment to check his answer against her own (they weren't the same). "You can make fun of stupid people and get drunk together. I'm sure you'll have a lovely time!"

"Exactly!" agreed Tracey.

Theodore peered distractedly at his work.

"Alright," he conceded at last, "but only if my father decides to go. I'm serious when I say that he might not."

Tracey squeaked delightedly. To Theodore's increasing horror, she gave his arm an affectionate squeeze.

"Astoria's right," she exclaimed, releasing his robes to clap her hands (Theodore promptly tucked his limbs against his sides). "We'll have a lovely time—much better than _she_ will, hiding out and wasting her looks and charm by ignoring the rest of the world!"

"Astoria Greengrass," muttered Theodore, shooting her a very irate look, "recluse and pimp."

"It's going to be the _best_ mix of people!" waxed Tracey, sounding a little too much like Pansy for Astoria's taste. "McLaggen is a judge, so we'll have prominent politicians to poke fun of. Oh, and McLaggen's mother knows some of the most famous people in the fashion world..."

Astoria paused, her quill hovering inches above her her parchment.

"What people in the fashion world?" she heard herself ask—dimly, as if from afar.

"Oh, I don't know," scoffed Tracey, waving aside the need for specifics. "She's quite fond of the Italian line, isn't she? I heard someone say that she was..."

Astoria's blood momentarily ran cold. There was only one Italian wizard that she could think of with enough clout to be treated as a celebrity. Was it possible?

"Giambattista Valli?" suggested Astoria, her tone so low and rife with regret that came out sounding like a gurgle.

"That's the one, isn't it?" agreed Tracey affably.

"Tracey Davis," Astoria deadpanned, "are you telling me that Giambattista Valli is going to the MacLaggen's New Years party and you never thought to tell me?"

It was a tense moment. Tracey shifted uncomfortably.

"Who's Giambattista Valli?" scoffed Theodore, registering the look of horror on Astoria's face with genuine bewilderment.

"He's a famous designer, Theodore," jeered Draco witheringly. And then to Astoria: "He made my mother's wedding dress, you know. _Before_ that sort of thing was common for him."

"I bet he _did_ ," spat Astoria."He's pretty much the _most_ influential designer of the century! He's a total recluse—even Aston Mendel has to book him in advance! You _knew_ this?"

Her breath skittered. A canyon of ill-timing and poor luck now separated her from the chance to meet one of her childhood idols—and the distance pained her. Intolerant as she was of Cormac's jocular conversation and groping eyes, there was no doubt in her mind that she _would_ have accepted him if she had known that his mother was friends with Giambattista Valli.

"I _told_ you important people would be going," Tracey snorted.

"There is a difference between 'important people' and 'world famous fashion designers'!" Astoria snapped back illogically.

Malfoy spared her a look of irritation, but it wasn't enough to shake the regret from her features.

"I _told_ you!" argued Tracey defensively. "But then you said, 'when it comes to a MacLaggen party, I'm _always_ out of the country'—" (Theodore laughed spasmodically) "—and huffed off to Ancient Runes!"

"You let me give you Theodore!" Astoria gasped. "You let me turn _down_ McLaggen _and_ hand you my backup date—and all the while you were sitting on bloody _Giambattista Valli_?"

"Because you would have went with McLaggen if you'd _known_?" sneered Malfoy indignantly.

"Of course I would have went with him!" Astoria shrilled, beginning to feel real fury at herself. "I'd go to the party with _Snape_ if it meant that I'd get to meet Giambattista Valli!"

Malfoy twitched away from Astoria with an injured sneer, but Theodore chucked and muttered: "Ah, Gryffindors. Always upholding the moral code and never giving in to baser instincts like _shallowness_. How the mighty have fallen..."

"Shut up," hissed Astoria, flushing.

"I'll still take you," Theodore snorted, trying very hard not to laugh.

"No you _won't_ ," Astoria jeered resentfully. "You're taking Tracey now— _remember_?"

"Fine," sniffed Theodore and his eyes twitched with bizarre swiftness toward Draco. "Beg Malfoy if you're so _desperate_. He's already told us he's not taking anybody."

"Malfoy's going with his dad and a glass of male-bonding scotch!" dismissed Astoria savagely.

Beside her, Draco gave a half-hearted sneer. The disgust he felt about her shift in attitude toward Cormac did not entirely conceal the flustered agitation he obvious felt about the prospect of Astoria begging him for something that he had the power to withhold. For a second, she almost wondered whether—horror of horrors!—there was more potential in him than she realized; that he actually probably _would_ take her to the party if she pleaded him to.

"Besides," Astoria went on, somehow even more aggravated, "I can't go with anybody else. The party's at _McLaggen's_ house."

"That _would_ be hilariously rude, wouldn't it?" Tracey drawled.

Astoria swore.

"Crawl back to Cormac then," sniffed Draco coldly. "I'm _sure_ he'll still have you."

"I can't do that, I'd look ridiculous," muttered Astoria, thinking hard. "I'll just have to have to trick him into asking me again..."

Tracey's eyes sparkled at this bit of feminine wisdom.

"What's that?" choked Theodore. "Murphy's Rules of Battle for the insane?"

"Well, I mean, _obviously_ he's loathsome," Astoria allowed. "Only I can't exactly tell him that I've changed my mind and decided that I'm willing to put up with him to in order to meet his mother's dinner guest, can I?"

Draco pushed Astoria's Latin text away from his elbow, suddenly repulsed by every bit of her proximity.

"It's a strange relief to know that you can be bought," mused Tracey pensively. "I was starting to worry."

"Who knew that reclusive dressmakers were such a soft spot for _anyone?_ " offered Theodore, unmoved by her plight.

Astoria scowled. She hated this image of herself, but she could not seem to let go of her disappointment: the desire to backtrack into McLaggen's willing arms was overwhelming.

"Oh!" jolted Tracey. A small frown of recollection darkened her expression. "But _you_ can't trick Cormac into asking you again!

"Why not?" Astoria countered, privately feeling that, once she set aside her own conscience, there was really no reason she shouldn't be able to regain him. McLaggen had already asked her out once; why _not_ twice?

"Because he asked Parvati in the hall after you turned him down," answered Tracey, smiling wistfully. "You may have been his _first_ choice, but you weren't his final line and Parvati's dad is a healer at St. Mungo's."

Theodore laughed gleefully, but Astoria simply stared at her Arithmancy sheet and offered no retort.

If Cormac had already asked somebody else then she had reached the end of the line. Even now, Parvati was probably excitedly planning out her evening clothes. It was hardly Astoria's place to manipulate the circumstances and rob her of the chance to attend a fabulous party...

Or _was_ it?

Astoria hastily re-inked her barren quill, struggling internally with this moral dilemma. She tried to focus on her work, but the effort was in vain; a treacherous commentary had taken hold of her mind, urging her to see the idea through. Reluctantly, she began to take stock of the scenario:

Cormac had probably only asked Parvati because her father worked at Saint Mungo's; therefore, there was no reason to assume that Cormac had any real romantic feelings for her, nor she for him. And if Astoria moved quickly, Parvati might still manage to find somebody else to go with...

It would be _rude_ , certainly, to put Parvati off that way—and surely Cormac would want to avoid any unpleasantness? There was even a very good chance that he would not be open to the discussion. Still, despite her aunt's frequent allusions to the contrary, Astoria was actually quite capable of persuasive charm. She had turned him down _twice_ now; perhaps, through some mixture of ego and misplaced vanity, he would still jump if the opportunity to have her presented itself?

Shaking her head to dislodge her thoughts, Astoria glanced sideways at Draco's parchment. Malfoy made a half noise of disgust and brought his arm up to block her view. Apparently, her cheating was only acceptable when she was agreeing with him.

0o0

That evening, Astoria lingered near the common room fire with Fred and George a good deal longer than she might normally have done in order to watch Cormac McLaggen covertly.

It was not a particularly interesting employment, watching Cormac. He _was_ animated with his friends—and from afar he almost appeared winning—but she was not sitting quite far enough away to avoid _hearing_ bits and pieces of this conversation; at best he was aggravating and at worst he was simply rude.

Meanwhile, beside her on the hearth rug, Fred was busy constructing a tower out of cards. He threw Astoria a hasty glance over his paper ramparts.

"What's with you?" he wondered. "You're awfully quiet."

Across the room, Cormac turned his smiling head and revealed how _boxy_ it was.

"I'm thinking," she grimaced.

"About what?" called George from a nearby armchair. Fred had banned him from construction after knocking over one of the card towers. As a result, he no longer had anything to do with his hands and he was eager to gossip.

"Boys," Astoria admitted honestly, repressing a foolish grin.

"And which boy in particular would you happen to be thinking about so determinedly?" smirked Fred.

Astoria snorted: "A square one."

"Ah?" quirked Fred."Well, the lady of _my_ dreams lusts after a Hufflepuff, so I don't suppose I'm the one to ask for romantic advice these days."

"Still no luck with Angelina, then?" Astoria chuckled sympathetically.

"No, her loins burn only for the man in yellow with the perfect hair," sighed Fred dramatically, testing a foundation card with his pinkie finger. "Seriously, though, which boy are we talking about? You're adorable, Astoria—I can't see you having much trouble shaking up dates."

"Cormac McLaggen," she supplied at once, privately amused by the disgust she _knew_ this answer would inspire.

" _Cormac_?" repeated Fred and his face promptly twisted into a scowl. "He's a little prick! What do you want with him?"

"Giambattista Valli," she sighed, thoroughly enjoying their looks of nonplussed confusion.

"What's that?" grunted George. "A foreign peninsula?"

"Whatever it is, you don't want it with _Cormac_ ," warned Fred, lowering his voice. "For a start he's a towering _idiot._ Beyond that, from what Katie says, I reckon he's _also_ a bit of a pervert."

"Really?" breathed Astoria.

"He's pushy," agreed George. "He took Katie to Hogsmeade once and spent the whole time trying to separate her from her friends or push her into a pub seat."

Astoria's spirits soared. Illogical though it was, the news that Cormac was a rude, potential sex offender cleared up several issues for her. _Most_ importantly, it assuaged her of the guilt she might have otherwise felt for attempting to steal him away from Parvati.

"Interesting," she muttered, playing with the ends of her hair to hide her eyes.

0o0

Several hours passed before the twins gave up on their card castle and went to bed: Astoria waited for them both to mount the staircase before she made a move of any kind. After all, it was one thing to trick Cormac McLaggen into re-asking her to a party, but it was quite another to do so in front of an audience.

At nearly eleven o'clock, Cormac finally stood up. Yawning and nodding, he gave Jack Sloper (a thick-skulled and much disliked boy in Fred and George's year) a sporting slap on the back. Judging this to be her moment, Astoria got to her feet, determined to intercept him before he reached the dormitories.

She was just trying to summon a good opening line when Kenneth Towler bounded upright and threw his sweater over his shoulder, catching her full in the face with a woolen sleeve.

"Hallo, Astoria!" called Kenneth, glancing hastily over his shoulder. "Didn't see you!"

Blinking back tears, Astoria could do no more than nod and attempt to catch Cormac's gaze with her one good eye.

"It was my fault!" she insisted, blotting her watery cheeks. She smiled cheerfully at McLaggen between her fingers.

"Don't mind Ken!" exclaimed Cormac confidently, shoving his friend aside. "He's always looking for a reason to make a lady cry!"

" _Shit_ , that's really watering..." muttered Kenneth fearfully.

Astoria forced a shrug and tilted her head back toward the ceiling.

"Here, let _me_ look," insisted Cormac bossily. Taking hold of her by the shoulders, he flagged Jack and Ken toward the dormitory without him. Astoria dutifully remained where she was, suddenly certain that Cormac probably had an annoying habit of taking charge of things that were none of his business.

"Move your hand," he ordered firmly, probing her with his self-assured and patronizing eyes.

Astoria blinked rapidly, trying to clear away tears; finally, she moved her fingers away.

"Look up again," continued Cormac, possibly following the protocol of a first aid procedure he had once read and half-forgotten.

Astoria looked up, wondering just how much she was willing to suffer by her own hand.

"It's only irritated," pronounced Cormac, "probably because Ken's sweater hit it."

It took every ounce of her self-possession not to reply sarcastically.

"I'm sure you're right," she finally managed, brushing her eyelashes to absorb damp mascara. "It already feels better."

Cormac leaned against the armrest of a chair, shot her a wistful half smile and chuckled. "Wouldn't want to see you go blind a week before the holiday!"

The common room was nearly deserted now. A log cracked in the fire; Colin and Dennis Creevey were working at a table in the far corner, but they were paying Astoria and Cormac's conversation no mind. Snow—which had fallen softly all day—now mounded in great banks along the windowsills.

"I talked to my father today," Astoria lied, eager to prevent his attention from wandering. She began to sway playfully from one foot to the other. "Of course, it turns out I _will_ be in England for New Years."

Cormac's eyes were busy watching the sway of her hips, but at these words, he suddenly became more alert. "Oh?"

"Of _course_!" sighed Astoria teasingly. "It's _just_ like me to mix up traveling dates."

Despite the fact that she was luring him into a minor trap, it was still the most she had ever willingly flirted with him. He sensed the invitation in her tone immediately.

"So you _can_ come to the party?" he double-checked. "You _won't_ be in France?"

"I'll be home two days before," Astoria laughed, doing her best to insinuate that the whole scenario was a simple—if faintly inconvenient—mistake.

"Of course, I know you've had the whole day to make new plans," she continued. "I suppose you've replaced me?"

Cormac blinked. Poorly disguised cunning danced behind his features as he weighed _her_ sudden availability against his pre-existing engagement with Parvati.

Somehow sure that this hesitation was a sign of potential, Astoria decided to introduce a bit of manly competition.

"Theodore Nott and his father are going," she mused. "He's a friend of mine—perhaps he'll let me tag along. I'm sure _my_ father will be busy."

"Oh, well, I mean," Cormac spluttered half heartedly. "I wouldn't ask you to do _that_."

"Or maybe Malfoy," continued Astoria, trying for a better adversary. "Sure, he's not very nice, but I'm sure he's _going_."

A nervy pang shot through her limbs. She wasn't sure what had induced her to use Draco's name, but she was certain that she never wanted him to find out that she had done it. Theodore, although infinitely preferable, was not especially impressive—at least, not by Cormac's standards. Malfoy, on the other hand, came from a family that possessed great political influence and even greater fortune. And _these_ were the traits that she knew had the power to touch Cormac's giant ego.

" _Never!_ " scoffed Cormac, looking impressively nettled. "Lucius's Malfoy's son? I'd sooner send you with wolves! Come with me."

"Then you _haven't_ asked anyone else?" Astoria demanded, perversely compelled to make McLaggen at least admit that he was standing Parvati up.

"No, well, that is—I _did_ tell someone that we were having a party," mumbled McLaggen evasively. "It doesn't matter. You'll be my date?"

"Of course," Astoria beamed.

"And you won't end up staying in France?" he teased.

"Of course not," Astoria laughed, eyes narrowing. _Not as long as Giambattista Valli makes dresses._

0o0

The snow continued to gain in strength throughout the night. By the time Astoria awoke the next morning, there was a foot of white powder visible covering the grounds.

She dressed in a rush, filled with vague desire to avoid seeing Parvati, pulling on stockings and piling her hair up high into a regretfully lazy mess.

Theodore was drinking his morning coffee over a newspaper when she arrived in the Great Hall.

"What's the state of the nation?" Astoria chirped, grabbing hold of the coffee urn.

"Sirius Black is still on the loose. Have you heard?" returned Theo with a wry grin. "Still _armed_ and dangerous. Why do you reckon they always say that? Don't they snap your wand in half when they send you to the Dementors?"

"I would think they must," Astoria frowned.

"Then _how_ is he armed?" pressed Theodore, lowering the paper. "How does an escaped convict come by a wand? Do you suppose he mugged another wizard barehanded _and_ left him alive to report the robbery—because I don't."

"He might have broken into a magical residence," suggested Astoria, taking a larger gulp of her scalding coffee than she meant to, distracted Theodore's rapid fire questions. "He wouldn't have to risk disarming anyone that way. Or maybe he's a secret wand-maker _disguised_ as a mass murderer."

"Indeed," Theodore concluded, folding up his copy of the _Prophet_ and tucking it under a plate.

"They should hire _us_ for the Auror office," chuckled Astoria, tapping his coffee mug with her cookie. "We'd be the crack team that foils every evil plan."

Theodore snorted and gazed up at the enchanted ceiling: it showed a white cacophony of snow flurries.

"Do you think they'll cancel Care of Magical Creatures?" he asked hopefully.

"No," Astoria snorted. "I think Hagrid's more likely to introduce us to a Yeti."

Much to her predicted disappointment, she turned out to be quite right about one thing: Hagrid did not cancel on account of poor weather. After lunch, she and Theodore set off across the grounds, waist deep in snow and complaining fiercely.

"If we're actually studying the Yeti, I'm staging a protest," Theodore shivered, pulling his bare fingers deeper into his sleeves.

" _I_ won't," Astoria snorted.

"Yeah," relented Theodore. "Wouldn't want to miss Malfoy being bludgeoned by Bigfoot. I suppose his father would try to have the _blizzard_ sacked next..."

Hooting with laughter, they came down the final slope and found themselves greeted by the surprising (and very reassuring) sight of a large bonfire. Theodore sucked in a breath and loosened his fists.

Half of the class was already assembled around the fire. Pushing eagerly toward the blaze, Theodore greedily extended his cold fingers toward the smoldering embers. Astoria removed her mittens to do the same, but paused when something on the end of a log moved of its own volition.

"Salamanders!" exclaimed Theodore, leaning closer than Astoria would have dared. "Look—you can see their tails!"

The lesson was exceedingly simple: their only task was to keep the fire burning until the bell rang. Barring the occasional jaunt into the forest to collect wood, there really wasn't much to do but sit about and watch the flames.

"They're sort of nice, aren't they?" allowed Tracey, squinting toward the hottest patch of coals. Several amphibians were basking there, jewel-bright and glimmering.

"I prefer a fire to be less _infested_ , thanks," sneered Draco Malfoy from a nearby log.

Astoria could sort of see his point. The Salamanders were almost charming—so long as they remained bathed in flame. Truthfully, though, the notion of a hundred fork-tongued creatures nesting was almost enough to make her prickle with revulsion.

" _Excuse_ me," said Parvati in a rough voice, elbowing past Astoria with an armful of sticks.

A long spindly branch snagged Astoria's stockings and she yelped without meaning to. Lavender shot her an embarrassed and shuffled along in Parvati's wake.

"That was _rude_ ," exclaimed Tracey, turning to stare. Parvati tossed her armful sticks into the hellish blaze and slapped her hands together unapologetically. She turned and shot Astoria a hard look before trudging off into the woods again.

"Ooh," whispered Tracey gleefully. "You _didn't_."

Astoria shrugged, perfectly unwilling to discuss her dealings with Cormac in front of Theodore—or, indeed, anywhere in broad daylight.

"Oy, Brown!" called Tracey, unable to leave well enough along. Astoria's insides squirmed.

Lavender eyed Tracey warily but allowed her to catch up. "Yeah?"

"What was _that_ about?" sneered Tracey. "Your mate just gouged Astoria."

"It was nothing," Astoria cut in hastily. "Forget about it..."

Nearby, Draco had stopped tossing snowballs into the fire with Crabbe and Goyle. Out of the corner of her eye, Astoria could not help but notice that he had angled his torso to eavesdrop.

"Yeah," sighed Lavender. "Sorry about that, Astoria. It's not _really_ your fault, you know."

"What does she think Astoria did?" asked Tracey, but her confusion betrayed an odd aspect of anticipation—as though she was fully expecting to be amused by Lavender's answer rather than annoyed.

"It's stupid," warned Lavender, glancing over both shoulders to check that they were alone.

"Don't worry about it," Astoria insisted sullenly. "I _don't_ care. We can drop it."

"I mean, I'd _like_ to tell you, of course," Lavender tumbled on dramatically. "Only I don't want to make you _uncomfortable._ "

"She's _not_ uncomfortable," declared Tracey.

" _Well_ ," Lavender hesitated. "I mean, I know you've said that you'll go to that party with Cormac, Astoria. Only the thing _is,_ he'd already asked Parvati when he asked you."

Tracey's eyes slid sidelong to leer at the side of Astoria's face.

"It's not your fault, of course," dismissed Lavender primly. "It's obviously Cormac's! I _do_ hope this won't ruin anything, though—hearing that he's been double-timing the both of you, that is!"

"Hmm," drawled Tracey in tones of enviable sarcasm. "Isn't _that_ wild."

"I—yeah, I guess?" shrugged Lavender uncertainly, thrown by Tracey's creeping leer. "Listen, I should help Parvati carry wood..."

She scuttled off toward her friend's stooping figure below the snow-heavy trees.

"Astoria!" hissed Theodore.

Astoria jumped. She had't heard him come up behind them, but now that she saw him, she perceived that he was flushed with disappointment and disgust.

"Tell me _everything_!" exclaimed Tracey, looking far more amused than affronted.

"There's nothing to tell," Astoria murmured evasively, furiously conscious of Draco's angled shoulders. "I can't help what Cormac McLaggen does with himself."

"Nonsense!" Tracey derided merrily. "He already had a date and he thought you were in _France_ for the holiday!"

"I may have _casually_ mentioned that I would be back before the New Year," Astoria shrugged. "That's all."

"Lies!" cried Tracey, letting loose an adamant little laugh. "You walked out of Arithmancy with an agenda and nothing you say will convince me otherwise."

Astoria picked up a twig and began to twirl it.

"You'll have a miserable time at that part and it'll serve you right," sniffed Theodore coldly.

"How do you figure?" scoffed Tracey.

"Not only is she going with someone she hates, she's stolen another girl's date to do it!" Theodore growled.

"It's not as though Parvati's his girlfriend!" Astoria sneered, overrun by the need to justify herself. She dropped the twig. "Besides, Fred and George say McLaggen's a real predator, anyway. I'm probably sparing her the worst night of her life."

Theodore's lips puckered. It looked as though he had a thing or two to say about _this_ piece of news, but after a moment's hesitation, he thought the better of it and simply shook his head.

"Tell me the truth!" Tracey whispered as they made their way back up the snowy path after class. "I want details!"

"There _are_ no details," said Astoria gravely, determined to play dumb.

"Of _course_ there are details!" Tracey hissed excitedly. Dropping her voice even further, she peered down the path behind them and caught Astoria's elbow.

"Come _on!_ " she whined. "Theodore is miles behind us—he can't hear you. Fess up!"

"What do you want me to say?" Astoria scowled. "You want me to admit that I tracked McLaggen down and tricked him into taking me? _Fine_. I cornered him last night before I went to bed."

"That's it?" scoffed Tracey. "It was _that_ easy?"

"Not really," Astoria grumbled darkly. "I had to take in in the _eye_ to get him alone."

Tracey tripped over her feet and her mouth sagged with delight.

"With a _sweater_ , Tracey," Astoria clarified at once. She brought a hand up and mimed the motion of a flopping sleeve."I got hit in the eye with Kenneth Towler's _sweater_ sleeve."

"Oh," Tracey droned, looking very disappointed. "I thought you meant that—"

"I _know_ what you thought I meant," Astoria scoffed, half amused and half offended.

"So—what?" pried Tracey, fishing for more. "You squinted at him ferociously until he felt compelled to ask you out on a second date?"

This time Astoria's laugh was genuine.

"No, I made up some bogus story about getting my traveling dates wrong," she admitted.

"And we all know that there's nothing men love more than flighty woman," sighed Tracey, looping her arm through Astoria's to hop across a slushy puddle.

"He never mentioned Parvati, though?" she continued, finding stable footing. "What a scab."

"Oh, I distracted him," Astoria frowned, thinking it over. "I told him I was going to find someone else to go with, so he offered himself up out of desperation."

"That was clever," Tracey cackled wickedly. "Who did you threaten to go with?"

Astoria shrugged awkwardly. "Nobody. I don't know. I reckon Fred and George are right—McLaggen's just looking for the stupidest date he can find and I had flightiness on my side."

They had reached the front doors. Astoria paused to pull off her mittens and stuff them in her bag.

"At least you'll be there too," she confessed. "I may need you to help me lock him up in one of his own closets if he gets too fresh."

"If you're not planning on going inside any time today," snapped a cold voice directly behind them, "then would you _mind_ getting out of the way?"

Astoria jumped, surprised and bizarrely embarrassed to discover Draco Malfoy on the steps behind her.

She slid down into the snow to give Crabbe, Goyle and Draco room to barge past them. For a split second, Malfoy locked eyes with her in punishing silence. If the wintry sneer on his face was _anything_ to go by, she knew that it was very lucky indeed that she had not mentioned the fact that she had used _his_ name to nettle Cormac.

"Was he behind us the whole time?" asked Astoria quietly.

Tracey shrugged, but something about her expression seemed to betray the truth.

"Tracey!" hissed Astoria, conscious of a blush rising in her cheeks. "You looked behind us to check where Theodore was. You must have known they were there! Why did you let me go on like that?"

"Why _not_?" Tracey shrugged again, dismissive but for the odd sparkle in her eye. "What's the big deal? It's kind of funny, really."

"It's _not_ funny," hissed Astoria. "Draco's going to that stupid party too! What if he says something in front of Cormac?"

"If you're always going to be afraid of what Draco might say about you, you've got a long four years left at Hogwarts," she snorted.

Astoria followed Tracey into the hall, unable to shake the horrible feeling that she had just been tricked.

"What purpose did that serve?" she demanded.

"I don't know," ventured Tracey cautiously. "I guess I was just curious to see what he would do."

"What were the odds that he was going to do something _nice_ , though?" Astoria pressed, beyond irritated.

"Oh, honestly!" Tracey huffed. "What do you care? If anything you should be flattered by how annoyed he was. He's not going to say anything in front of Cormac—if he did, he'd have to admit that he eavesdropped and then ruined your date on purpose! It was a just a bit of fun!"

Astoria balked, unconvinced that Malfoy would be so picky when it came down to making her feel uncomfortable in public.

"Want to take dinner to the library?" suggested Tracey, edging toward the great hall. "I think I see grilled sandwiches. Those are easy to carry in a napkin."

"Sure," Astoria conceded at last. "Whatever, as long as you help me with my Arithmancy."

0o0

* * *

Man, that Tracey. She's kind of basic but she's surely not stupid.

So Cormac's back, y'all and living the dream of finally getting Astoria to go to one of his family parties.

Speaking of parties, it occurs to me that, while we don't see a lot of that sort of thing in the actual series, Astoria, Draco and Theodore all come from backgrounds of various wealth and tradition. It seems highly likely to me that formal events would be a regular (and often probably dreadful) part of their lives. The days of sulking about in bedrooms during dinner parties are over. So stay tuned! I've broken the party into two chapters (but there will still be one more post in between to close up before the holiday).


	21. Parvati's Druthers

Chapter Twenty One

Parvati's Druthers

* * *

0o0

Astoria was scheduled to meet with Professor Vector again on Friday, directly after the last class of term. When the final bell rang, snow was coming down heavily and great bursts of wind were rattling the windows in the corridors.

There was nothing Astoria felt like doing _less_ than going over an extra credit reading assignment at the top of the castle, but the fear of failing Arithmancy was enough to keep her from playing hooky. She turned her feet away from the surging crowd of excited students streaming toward the well-lit great hall for dinner and made her way upstairs alone.

When she reached the seventh floor, she found Professor Vector reading a letter behind his desk. Afraid that he had forgotten their appointment, she took the trouble of offering him a warning and knocked on his half-open door. He looked up and smiled at her expectantly.

"Come in, Astoria," he called. His tone was warmer than the one she was used to hearing in class; a quick glance told her that he had unbuttoned his coat and loosened his tie.

Astoria made a beeline for the rickety chair of shame that he had placed her in the last time they had conversed, but before she could sit down, he stood up and motioned that she should follow him.

Hidden behind the chalkboard, two or three armchairs stood clustered together in a small alcove lined with windows. A long, low table crouched between the jutting cushions. Astoria made a mental note not to accidentally rest her feet on it.

From here, the view of the grounds was spectacularly festive. She allowed herself a cheerful moment of reflection: once this meeting was over, she would be free to think of anything she liked for two whole weeks.

"You've done the reading?" prompted Vector, following her gaze toward the table. "Feel free to put your feet up—everybody does eventually."

Astoria smiled appreciatively but kept her feet planted firmly on the ground.

"Yes," she said, withdrawing the Transfiguration book from her bag. "I've read it."

"Did you like it?" he asked.

Astoria nodded. It was true: she _had_ enjoyed the text. It was old and a bit wordy, perhaps—but it had held her interest.

"What did you like about it?" pressed Professor Vector shrewdly.

Astoria paused, unsure how to word her feelings on the matter.

"I liked the fact that it had nothing to do with Arithmancy," she admitted at last.

Professor Vector laughed and undid the final button on his tweed blazer.

Astoria unconsciously relaxed. Even if she did loath the subject that Professor Vector had dedicated his life to, the fact that he could still appreciate a little humor spoke volumes about his character.

"I _thought_ that might appeal to you," admitted Vector, eyes dancing. He leaned forward and began to rifle through the pile of academic magazines on the low table, searching for something. Finally, turning over large magnifying glass, he located a cherry wood pipe.

"Do you mind?" he asked, gesturing with the tip of the pipe before placing it between his lips.

Astoria shook her head to indicate that she did not mind, but she stared at Professor Vector in amazement as he lit it. This was unconventional in the highest. Her eyes roved over the watermarked table and its disheveled pile of magazines afresh, and this time she understood that she was sitting in his private hide out.

"That smells nice," she murmured, spurred on as much by Professor Vector's inappropriateness as his candor.

Professor Vector eyed her bemusedly. "I really _shouldn't_ —"

"I won't tell," Astoria insisted.

For a moment, they were both silent.

"What made you decided to take this class?" he finally asked.

"I thought I would be good at it," Astoria answered, repressing the urge to shrug. "I was wrong."

"What do you normally do when you find that you are not good at something?" wondered Professor Vector.

"I give it up and pretend that I had no interest in ever being good at it in the first place," returned Astoria wryly, "but I suppose that won't do in this case."

"No, indeed it will not," Vector laughed again. He blew a grey smoke ring up toward the rafters. "You've a bit of your aunt's spirit, I see."

Astoria's shoulders stiffened again. "You know my aunt?"

"A little," returned Vector, but for all his calmness Astoria still felt as though a chill breeze had swept through the room.

"We were in the same year at Hogwarts," he clarified. "Only I was a Ravenclaw. I don't think we met properly until a few years after I graduated. I was working overseas as a translator."

Crude fantasies about her aunt and Professor Vector as playful youths began to dance behind her eyes—caged scenes from a freak show that she would rather _not_ visit.

"Did my aunt spend very _much_ time with you overseas?" Astoria wondered.

"No," said Professor Vector. He flashed her a small smile, perhaps guessing at her thoughts. "I happened to be employed by Aston Mendel at the time, though—so I _did_ see your mother quite frequently."

"Oh," Astoria startled.

Somehow, the fact that Professor Vector had known her mother was even more awkward than the idea that he had dated Belladonna.

"Of course, that was a very long time ago. You never knew her, did you?" continued Vector. "I suppose she must have been sent to Azkaban very soon after you were born."

It was a moment before Astoria found her voice again. She was not used to discussing her mother with strangers—especially strangers who already knew too much for her to manipulate the conversation to her own advantage.

"She was imprisoned before I was a year old."

"A waste," sighed Professor Vector. "Your mother was a charming woman, you know. Prettier than your aunt—although I'm very careful about who I admit _that_ to."

Astoria smiled uncomfortably. A part of her wanted to turn the conversation back toward her schoolwork, but another part of her was terribly curious. Professor Vector had a unique—perhaps even unbiased—perspective of the family she had never known.

"My mother was better looking?" Astoria snorted, trying to recall the shape of her mother's face from old photographs.

"Oh, yes!" said Vector. "Not to say that Belladonna doesn't have her charms, but Lucrezia was always the beauty."

Astoria mulled this over in silence.

"I suppose _that_ is the reason your aunt grew to be such a cunning woman," continued Vector. "She learned early on not to over-depend on her looks—not with your mother sulking around so attractively."

Well, wasn't _this_ an interesting picture? It was hard to imagine Belladonna riding second to anyone, let alone another _woman_.

"Sulking?" frowned Astoria.

"Your mother was an _infamous_ malcontent!" laughed Professor Vector. He stared past her, lost in reminiscence. "Lucrezia was excessively moody—but she pouted with such grace that people tended to forgive her for it."

A clump of ash fell out of Professor Vectors pipe, but he was no longer paying attention to it.

"You worked for Aston Mendel?" she pressed, her sense of unease tripling. "Then you must _still_ know the Mendels."

"Mhmm," confirmed Professor Vector, offering no further explanation. "Yes."

Astoria opened her mouth to pry further, but Professor Vector cleared his throat.

"I think I'll assign another book for you to read over vacation," he decided. "One with a few more numbers this time."

The shadow just below the surface of their conversation vanished, but Astoria had _seen_ it.

"Alright," she recrossed her legs and nodded. "A few more numbers this time."

0o0

On Saturday morning Astoria pulled on her mittens and prepared for the cold walk into Hogsmeade. Students departing for break would not do so until Sunday, so the halls were still very busy as she made her way downstairs.

Even amidst the bustling commotion, she could not help spotting a flash of brilliant red hair behind a suit of armor at the top of the marble staircase.

"Plotting something?" wondered Astoria, sneaking up behind the knight.

Fred Weasley jolted but recovered quickly.

"There's going to be a mutiny at dinner," he hissed. "Pass it along."

"I'll do that," Astoria chuckled. "Are you two going into the village?"

"We thought about it," said George slyly, "only Lee's got us both feeling rather down this morning."

"Why's that?" asked Astoria.

"He overheard Harry telling people he wasn't allowed into Hogsmeade last night," sighed Fred. "The poor bloke's planning to spend the day in the tower brushing up on his Divination."

George shuddered theatrically.

"I heard his uncle wouldn't sign his form," frowned Astoria, recalling a story she had heard in the early fall. "I mean, with Black on the run, I suppose it isn't the worst thing— but are his relative _really_ that nasty?"

"They are," Fred confirmed with a scowl. "Trust me. We had to break bars off his bedroom window when we rescued him last summer."

Astoria blinked, stunned.

"Why would Sirius Black have anything to do with it?" wondered George suddenly. He turned on her and frowned.

"Oh—I don't know," stuttered Astoria hastily, remembering at the last second that Draco's story about Harry's connection to Sirius Black was not common knowledge. "He's The Boy Who Lived, you know?"

"Isn't _that_ the truth," muttered Fred darkly. "Poor sod needs all the help he can get."

Astoria nodded her agreement.

"Still," insisted George, "it seems a pity to leave him cooped up in the tower all alone, doesn't it?"

"Why don't you take him through the secret passageway?" suggested Astoria at once, thinking of the one eyed witch with the hump on the third floor.

"We think we can do one better," leered Fred, rubbing his hands together mischievously.

"Oh yeah?" Astoria laughed. She late was meeting Tracey in the Entrance Hall, otherwise she might have pried. "Well, remind him to dress like an assassin—there's bound to be teachers in the village."

"Oh, I reckon Harry's got a real _knack_ for sneaking around unseen..." returned George tauntingly. He shot his brother a conspiratorial smirk. "Don't you, Fred?"

"I think he's got just the _cloak_ ," agreed Fred with a maddening little grin.

Clearly Astoria was missing something—something undoubtedly _good_ —but she was forced to say her goodbyes and hurry off before Tracey left the school without her.

"What kept you?" hissed Tracey, consulting her watch. "I thought I was going to have to give up my place and let these people go ahead of me!"

Astoria pushed into the line beside her, provoking several Ravenclaws to mutter about 'cutting'.

"Sorry," she panted. Filch poked her chin with his quill so she looked up to show him her full face. "I ran into the twins on the stairs."

" _Oh_?" brightened Tracey. Fred, George and the reputation for general mischievousness that surrounded them never failed to secretly amuse her. "What are _they_ doing today?"

"Plotting a mutiny for dinner," Astoria snorted.

Slipping past Filch, they both burst out into the brilliant winter daylight: cold, clean air filled their lungs like a song.

Safely past the Dementors, however, the wind began to chill Astoria's face and lash her ears to the point of discomfort. Tracey pulled on her cloak the minute they reaches main street, signalling a desire to duck into a shop and warm up.

They shouldered through the nearest doors and found themselves confronted by the front room of a very steamy and cramped tea house.

"Do you _want_ tea?" asked Tracey dubiously, wrinkling her nose.

The tables all stood impossibly close together, stretching toward the back of the building like crooked flower plots. Here and there, a few old ladies and several sets of obnoxiously touchy couples were sipping from pink teapots swaddled in cozies.

"No," Astoria decided at once, anxious to avoid the plump, curly haired proprietor heading their way.

Stumbling back out into the street, they winced their way through a large snowdrift into Twilfit and Tattings.

"I'm thinking of getting Daphne a Christmas present," said Tracey conversationally, pulling off her scarf. "Do you suppose that would make her happy? Or do you think she'd chuck it in the bin unopened?"

Astoria winced. She hadn't allowed herself to think much about what Christmas without Daphne would be like. They had never gone a whole holiday without seeing each other and Astoria suspected that she would feel Daphne's absence horribly.

"She'll like it," managed Astoria at last, fingering some gold tassels on a nearby rack. "She's not like Pansy—she'll appreciate that you were thinking of her."

"What are _you_ getting her?" asked Tracey, pulling an impressive headdress off a mannequin.

"I don't know," Astoria shrugged, properly blue at the thought. "I don't know what she wants. We haven't talked in months—a new quill, maybe? Give her a reason to send me a letter on boxing day?"

Tracey snorted, but pouted accordingly when she saw the look on Astoria's face.

"Get her something in France," she suggested, trying on the headdress."You know, something expensive and fantastic that Pansy _doesn't_ have."

"Like what?" Astoria grumbled. " _Class_?"

"Anything!" Tracey shrugged. "Trick Maudlin into paying for it, he's rich enough."

Astoria turned away. The idea of buying her sister's love was almost as repulsive to her as idea of tricking Maudlin into funding her.

"I'll probably get a her a book," she finally sighed. "Or maybe a pretty watch—she likes to be punctual."

"That she _does_ ," allowed Tracey, swapping her headdress for a gold turban. "What do you think of this on me?"

"Hmm," Astoria snorted, continuing down the aisle. "Try something in a shawl. Less of a commitment, shawls."

0o0

Laden with bags of gifts that neither of them needed, Astoria and Tracey pushed back out into the windswept street an hour later. Finding themselves in front of The Three Broomsticks, which looked very cheerful, they decided to stop in before the wind forced them up the hill.

It was even more noisy and crowded here than the tea shop had been—and almost all of the seats and benches were already claimed by other pink-faced students seeking refuge from the snow.

Astoria made a hand motion toward two vacant seats at a table already inhabited by several sixth year Hufflepuffs.

" _Alright_ ," sighed Tracey begrudgingly. "Go claim those chairs before someone else does. I'll get us drinks."

Astoria pulled off her gloves and slung her cloak over the back of the closest seat. The nearest Hufflepuff (whose name Astoria could not recall) graciously scooted down to give her room for her shopping bags.

Feeling faintly claustrophobic, Astoria settled down to wait. The area around the bar was packed elbow to elbow—it would take Tracey ages to cut her way through.

Just then, the bell over the door tinkled. A chilly wind pulled at Astoria's ankles, sending pine needles from a nearby Christmas tree scuttling across the flagstone floor.

Parvati and Padma suddenly filled the doorway. Flushing, Astoria quickly looked away and pretended to read the advertisement on her coaster. Then a horrible thought occurred to her: _she_ was sitting at the only table with available seats... What if the Patils decided to sit next to her?

"Excuse me, Astoria?" said Padma, pulling the chair that contained Astoria's shopping out from the table. "Do you mind if I move these? There isn't anywhere else to sit."

"Of course not!" Astoria croaked, cringing internally. "Here, let me help."

She did her best to push the shopping bags under her feet, but there were too many of them and they bulged dangerously when she crammed them against the table legs.

"Thanks," said Padma, sitting down and pulling off her knit cap. "It's mad in here. I can't believe you found a seat just for your bags!"

"Astoria always manages to find a way in," grunted Parvati, taking the seat across from her sister on the other side of the table.

"Here you go!" announced Tracey, returning from the bar with two foaming butterbeers. "Rosmerta wouldn't sell me any fire-whiskey, so these will have to do."

Astoria seized her beverage and sipped it gratefully. Tracey's eyes slid down the table and took in their new seating arrangement.

"Patils," Tracey nodded, dropping both girls a strange and sarcastic salute.

Astoria took another sip of her butterbeer, praying that Tracey would sit down and _shut up_ before she swallowed.

"I've never had butterbeer," remarked Padma, eyeing Astoria's spiced foam with interest. "Do you want one, Parvati?"

" _Sure_ ," sniped Parvati. "Why not?"

She passed her sister a few sickles from the pocket of her pea-coat.

"I'll be back, then," said Padma, standing up.

"I'll be _here_ ," returned Parvati tersely, "making sure Astoria doesn't _steal_ your seat."

Tracey froze with her drink against her lips, suddenly fever-red with the desire to laugh.

Padma frowned, perhaps unsure why Astoria would want steal her seat, but she continued across the packed dinning room without commenting.

A painful silence descended in her wake. Astoria cleared her throat awkwardly, suddenly desperate finish her drink and head back out into the snow.

"What are your plans over break, Parvati?" asked Tracey treacherously, surprising Astoria by providing the girl across from them with a reason to talk.

Parvati made a face and began the oddly sinister process of removing her gloves, pulling only one finger up at a time.

"Oh, friends, family," she shrugged. "You know."

"I just _love_ winter vacation, don't you?" effused Tracey, eyes blazing. "Both of my favorite holidays happen over break."

"Mhmm," said Parvati primly, yanking on her glove's middle finger.

Astoria drained the bottom of her butterbeer and glanced around weakly, hoping to spot a familiar face and excuse herself.

"Of course, Christmas is my absolute favorite," continued Tracey, "but then, _just_ when you think the holiday cheer has run out, around comes _New Years..._ "

Astoria caught Tracey's eye and made a quick jerking motion of dissent.

Parvati finished yanking off her gloves. Her chin stiffened with annoyance.

"Yes, _New Years_ ," she snapped. "What will _you_ be doing on New Years, Tracey? I certainly know where Astoria will be—"

"Oh, I think I'm going to that ministry party the McLaggens are hosting," admitted Tracey almost tauntingly. "Have you heard about—"

"Tracey," Astoria cut in coldly. "Will you go buy me another butterbeer?"

"How did you finish that so quickly?" grumbled Tracey. It was clear that she did _not_ want leave her seat, but Astoria shot her such an angry look that she stood up anyway.

"Sorry about that," Astoria muttered, determined not to look away and lose whatever dignity she was still capable of retaining.

" _Whatever_ ," snapped Parvati.

"And I'm sorry about Cormac," Astoria persisted. "I know he asked you to go to that party and I know he turned you down to go with me."

"Did _he_ tell you that?" asked Parvati sharply, suddenly wrathful.

"No, Lavender did," Astoria clarified. "After you slashed me with a stick during Care of Magical Creatures class. Cormac never said anything."

"You know this because _Lavender_ told you?" repeated Parvati, looking, if anything, even _more_ annoyed.

"Cormac did ask me first, for what it's worth," Astoria insisted. "I turned him down because I thought I was going to be out of the country. It's nothing to do with _you_ —he's probably only going with me because he feels like it's his duty or something."

"See, you want to know what I think?" clucked Parvati and, without waiting for an answer, she plunged on. " _I_ think you turned him down because you thought the party was going to be a bunch of drunk old men. Then you took him back when you realized how many people were going, _regardless_ of the fact that he had already asked someone else."

Astoria flushed, stunned by the perspicacity of Parvati's assumption.

"I suppose you thought it was just going to be the Saint Mungo's staff?" Parvati continued, sneering disdainfully. "Only it's _not,_ is it? Even Giambattista Valli is going to this stupid thing!"

Astoria paused. She was literally dripping with shame, but the fact that Parvati had mentioned Giambattista by name struck her as odd.

"I didn't know that you and McLagggen were a thing," she tested.

"We're not a _thing_ ," snapped Parvati, waving the notion away. "I barely even _know_ him. It just sounded like a good party, is all..."

Suddenly, Astoria was working very hard to repress a smirk. Poor Cormac—he couldn't get a date on his own merit if his life depended on it...

"Can't you just go with your father?" Astoria wondered.

" _No_ ," countered Parvati stubbornly. "He doesn't _want_ to go. He _wants_ to go to a dinner at my grandmother's. I tried to explain to him that Giambattista Valli almost _never_ goes to parties, but he _literally_ could not have cared less..."

"I did lie," admitted Astoria point-blank, pushing her empty glass aside. "I _knew_ McLaggen had asked you and I _did_ change my mind about the party when I heard about the guest list."

Parvati scowled, nonplussed.

"Specifically when I heard Giambattista Valli was going," Astoria continued. "In my defense, McLaggen will probably be a very poor date and—quite _frankly_ —if the tables were turned, it sounds as though you would have done the same to me."

Parvati mulled this over, working her jaw angrily.

"Alright, I suppose I can respect that," she finally sneered, letting out a long breath. "It's certainly less annoying than watching you pretend to _like_ Cormac."

"I'll make it up to you," Astoria promised. "I'll ask Giambattista to sign a cocktail napkin or something—I'll even have him write it out to you."

" _Would_ you?" beathed Parvati, leaning forward excitedly now.

"Sure!" Astoria insisted. "I'll get him to sign whatever you want, even if I have to lock him in a sitting room to do it."

"Ooh!" Parvati cooed. "That would be excellent! I'd probably have been too afraid to talk to him, honestly."

"Butterbeer, your highness," announced Tracey, sliding a second drink between Astoria's hands. "And that's the last one I'm fetching for you. It's a madhouse over there."

Padma squeezed past Tracey and handed Parvati a mug.

"So," said Parvati brightly, taking her very first sip of butterbeer, "who do _you_ think Giambattista is dating these day?"

0o0

"Back are you?" asked Theodore, pushing open her bedroom door. "You should have sent me a note."

It was only nine o'clock in the morning and Astoria was still knee deep in the process of unpacking. She had just returned from France—by means of a six o'clock portkey—and she'd barely had time to process the change of climate, let alone write any letters.

"I thought maybe I'd try having some breakfast before taking social calls," said Astoria, smiling up at Theodore's long face. "Or at least a coffee."

"Have Bonky get you one," suggested Theo grumpily, dropping onto the edge of her bed. "I don't want to walk down all of your stairs."

Astoria raised an eyebrow.

"What?" demanded Theodore. "It's not my fault you live in a tower."

Astoria finished folding a sweater and tossed it lazily into an open drawer.

"So," she began, hiding her smirk, "how has break been?"

"Lousy," returned Theodore at once. "As per _usual_. Dad's got it in for the holidays. It's a lucky thing summer has so _few_ of them..."

Astoria attempted to picture Theodore's wild father enjoying an pleasant eggnog by the fire and gave up almost immediately.

"Why _does_ your dad hate the holidays?" she wondered.

"The reason are multitudinous, I expect," said Theo in an offhand way, playing with a ribbon that had escaped from her luggage. "Mostly I think it's the falseness of it all—everybody sending cards to people they haven't talked to in ten years. The man's jumpy enough without a dozen parcels from distant family friends on the mantle."

Astoria chuckled and balled up a pair of pajamas. She leaned back and beamed them into the hamper.

"How was France?" he asked obligingly, spreading out to stare at the ceiling. "I suppose _your_ holiday was fantastic?"

"You know," breathed Astoria, "it sort of _was_."

"Have I mentioned how much I hate you recently?"

"We went to the coast," she gushed, tapping his feet off of her bedspread. "Aston's got a house in Nice, smaller than—well, than were he usually lives."

"You mean his proper palatial estate?" remarked Theodore snidely. "It's alright, you can say it. The man _is_ practically the Minister of Monaco, isn't he?"

"Anyway, he took all of us to the beach house for Christmas, so there weren't any parties," Astoria continued. "But Maudlin was there—his son, you know—and he was in a better mood than I've seen him in in ages. Probably because his friend Alec tagged along."

"Ohhh, _Alec_?" cooed Theodore falsely, keen to mock her story as much as possible. "Is Maudlin gay?"

"I don't think so," frowned Astoria, giving the idea an honest ponder. "He has a girlfriend at Beauxbatons."

"That doesn't mean anything," scoffed Theodore dismissively. "Anybody from a properly monied family _would_ keep a girlfriend as a beard. Everybody knows that."

"He certainly _does_ like to dress himself," allowed Astoria with a snicker. "So does Alec for that matter..."

"Gay!" shouted Theo, pressing his head between her pillows.

Astoria emptied the contents of a makeup bag onto her bureau and shook her head. "Why even ask me if I had a nice time in France, if you don't want to hear about it?"

"Isn't that what people do?" countered Theodore. "Ask other people questions even when the answers are bound to be boring—I think it's called being _polite_."

"Only if you pretend to care as a followup," amended Astoria.

She tossed a bra toward the hamper and let out an irritated sigh when it snagged on her bed-side table lamp. For a long second, Theodore stared at her bra the same way he might stare at an alien spaceship. Then he began to laugh uproariously.

"Alright!" Astoria huffed. Pulling the bra off the lampshade, she aimed a better shot towards her hamper. "Snicker away! At least I found a way to enjoy my Christmas. It's almost _warm_ in the south of France this time of year."

She glanced wistfully toward her windows. Grey snow churned violently outside—a stark contrast to the moderate coastal climate she had woken up in.

"It was the _also_ the first time that Maudlin and I have gotten along for an entire week," she continued. "Normally he just criticizes my hair or tries to push me off of something."

"He criticizes your _hair_?" repeated Theodore dubiously. " _Gay_."

Astoria smiled despite herself and shoved her now empty luggage toward the closet.

"I'm going for coffee," she announced, dusting off her hands. "I'll be back."

By the time Astoria returned, Theodore had moved away from her bed toward the window. He was staring out over the snowy windowsill, lost in thought. Something about his silhouette against the snow provoked a memory.

"I saw Professor Vector smoking a pipe before break," she ventured, blowing steam off the top of her drink.

"You did?" chuckled Theodore, brushing snow off of his sleeve. "How scholarly. Where did you catch him doing that?"

"I _didn't_ catch him," explained Astoria, raising an eyebrow. "He pulled it out while we were discussing my remedial reading."

Theodore blinked. "Well, that was forward."

"You _think_ so?" asked Astoria. "I couldn't quite make up my mind."

"Yeah," Theo frowned. "I think that's a bit weird. You're a student."

"I told him I wouldn't say anything," Astoria shrugged. "Honestly, I'm not entirely sure that anyone would be mad even if I did."

"Maybe not," allowed Theodore. "But it sort of throws off the balance of power, doesn't it? Wait a minute, why do you have _remedial_ reading?"

"Because I'm failing Arithmancy," Astoria scoffed, surprised that he hadn't noticed. "I'm waiting until summer to mention it to Aunt Belladonna."

" _Wait_ ," squinted Theodore. "You're failing his class, so he invited you to sit and smoke with him? Honestly, Astoria, it's like you're a magnet for the very _worst_ people."

"He talked about my family too," continued Astoria evasively. If anything, she had found Vector's desire to discuss Lucrezia much stranger than his casual pipe smoking. "Mostly about my aunt, but a little about my mother too."

"Urg! Do you think he dated Belladonna in the seventies?" Theodore demanded, pulling a face.

"The thought did occur to me," Astoria admitted."But then I figured he can't have done since he's still, you know, _alive_."

Theodore hooted and accidentally knocked a seashell off the sill; it tumbled down into the garden, where it was promptly devoured by snow.

"It's cold out," he shivered, pulling the window shut. "I don't know what McLaggen is thinking with this 'Garden Party in December' nonsense."

"Maybe he plans on decorating the living room with ferns and forced roses?" Astoria suggested wryly. "In any case, we'll find out tomorrow."

" _You'll_ find out tomorrow, you mean," Theodore corrected immediately. " _I'm_ not going."

"What?" Astoria exclaimed, positively crushed. "I thought you were taking Tracey with you!"

Truth be told, the prospect of spending an entire evening with Cormac alone was more than a little depressing.

"I _only_ said I'd take if my father was going," said Theo defensively. "He's not."

"That's rubbish!" Astoria spat. "Now what am I supposed to do? You were my backup!"

"I suppose you'll just have to use the extra time wisely. Why not get to know Cormac better?" suggested Theodore mockingly. "Serves you right for going with him in the first place."

0o0

It was early afternoon by the time Theodore left Belladonna's house, although the storm colored sky outside was dark and obscured most of the light. She had finished two cups of coffee, but the caffeine hadn't managed to stave off her sleepiness.

Astoria waited until she heard the telltale _whoosh_ of the fireplace across the hall before climbing under the topmost blanket on her bed. She closed her eyes, too tired to even take off her shoes; with a twist, she managed to make her feet hang over the side of the mattress...

 _KNOCK, KNOCK, KNOCK!_

Astoria startled awake, feeling disoriented and oddly guilty. How long had she been asleep?

 _KNOCK!_

Long enough—someone was rapping on her bedroom door, but the pale light outside her window told her it was not yet evening.

"What?" Astoria barked, trying to find a way out from under the tangled blanket.

"My mistress is sending me to fetch you," croaked Bonky through the gap under the door.

"Is she?" sneered Astoria sarcastically. Her sense of disorientation quickly transformed into something more like anger. "Well, you can tell your _mistress_ that I'm taking a nap and I'll be down in an hour."

"You is having a visitor, miss," Bonky insisted.

Astoria froze. Who could possibly be visiting her? Not Theodore, _he_ knew to come directly to the third floor.

Her mind flitted uncomfortably down her roster of remaining friends. Fred and George? She was out of bed in a matter of seconds.

"Who is it, Bonky?" Astoria demanded. She pulled her door open with a snap, revealing the hunched and crotchety old house elf in the hall.

"I is never seeing them before," shrugged Bonky elusively.

Astoria swore and danced around the elf, taking the stairs at a run. She could hear voices in the sitting room before she reached the bottom landing. Thankfully, none of them were male.

"There she is," called Belladonna lazily, catching sight of Astoria across the hall.

Astoria came to a hasty stop in the doorway, panting for air.

"Goodness, did Bonky tell you the house was on fire?" wondered Belladonna, eyeing Astoria's expression of sleep-tangled shock in a way that bordered on cold amusement. "Didn't you think to run a comb though your hair? Well, no matter now. Come in, we have visitors."

Tracey Davis was perched on the nearest couch; she was already grinning deviously. Meanwhile, nearer at hand, Astoria observed the back of a woman's head in the armchair opposite Belladonna. She supposed the woman must be Tracey's mother.

"Hello!" shouted Tracey merrily, displaying more confidence than Astoria was used to seeing in Belladonna's quailing presence. "How was France?"

Belladonna's gaze flicked toward Tracey again; this time there was a caress of interest in her gaze.

"Very French," Astoria muttered, still half asleep and vaguely confused. "Were we supposed to meet today? Did you send a letter?"

"No," said Tracey comfortably, plucking a biscuit from a tray on the coffee table.

"Oh," Astoria reacted, not entirely happily.

"Only I want to borrow something of yours for the garden party tomorrow," Tracey insisted, licking icing off her fingers. "Mum's spent the whole week in and out of St. Mungo's with my grandmother, so we thought it might do us some good to get out for a bit."

Astoria glanced fearfully at the woman sitting in the armchair. She had the same flat, sandy hair as Tracey, but if her lack of conversation was any indication, she had none of her daughter's temperament. This was not good, especially if she was going to be left alone with Belladonna.

As if on cue, Belladonna lit a cigarette and leaned back in her armchair. Turning her elegant head toward the ceiling she exhaled languidly. Tracey's eyes sparkled with fascination.

"Yeah," muttered Astoria, feeling cornered and playing for time. "Well, I don't want to cut tea short. Why don't I join you for a moment—"

"Nonsense," said Belladonna calmly. "It took you so long to come down that we've already run through the pot. Go along, darling. Take Tracey up to your room."

Belladonna made a shooing gesture with her unoccupied hand; a dark ruby ring on her pointer finger sparkled cruelly in the wintery light. Astoria stared long and hard at her aunt, attempting to convey her sense of desperation. _Please behave pleasantly,_ she pleaded in silence.

Tracey leaped eagerly to her feet. Seeing no other option, Astoria turned and ushered her out into the hall.

"Your house is nicer than mine." observed Tracey, running her hand across the entryway table. She lifted a finger as though inspecting for dust.

"Thanks," returned Astoria stiffly. "Tracey, _what_ are you doing here?"

"I wanted to see you," admitted Tracey, sniffing the bowl of tea roses near the mail organizer. "You know, my family doesn't have a house elf. Are you rich, then? Is this your aunt's only property or are there others?"

"This is it," answered Astoria cooly. "Everything else is entailed away to our male family members—Belladonna's brothers—who are all imprisoned."

"Oh, sorry," said Tracey, catching the edge in her tone. She stood up straight and left the roses alone. "Where's your room?"

"Come on," Astoria muttered, making for the stairs.

"Hasn't your aunt been married a few times, though?" Tracey persisted. "What happened to _that_ money? Or were they not very rich either? Perhaps that's how she manages to pay for the upkeep on the house, since she doesn't have a job? Does your aunt _always_ lounge about like that, by the way?"

Astoria shook her head, overwhelmed by such an onslaught of rude questions. Tracey paused on the landing, expecting to to head down the second floor hallway. Astoria tugged her arm to keep her moving.

"You sleep in the attic?" wondered Tracey, plainly amused.

Astoria's shouldered open her bedroom door. The bed was a mess after her hastily interrupted nap, but at least her suitcase was put away.

Tracey flopped down on her stomach and pulled a pillow under her chin. "This is fun."

"Sure," snorted Astoria darkly, "but mostly it puts distance between myself, my aunt and her spying house elf."

"I rather like your aunt," said Tracey, casually fingering the side of Astoria's pillowcase. "I think she's spunky."

"That's one word for it," said Astoria bitterly, pushing a stack of fashion magazines off of the chair in front of her dressing table to sit.

"You're awfully moody for someone freshly home from holiday," observed Tracey wryly.

"Sorry," muttered Astoria, shaking her head. "You and your mum woke me from a nap."

"Oh," Tracey laughed. "And here I thought you just weren't happy to see me."

"Save me the panic next time and use the floo in the storage room, will you?" Astoria added grumpily. "That's what Theo does and my aunt stays out of it."

"Dresses!" exclaimed Tracey excitedly. She pulled herself up off the bed, ignoring Astoria entirely. "You need to show me dresses!"

"Have you spoken with Theodore recently?" wondered Astoria gingerly, thinking of the conversation she had had with him earlier.

"Hmm?" asked Tracey. "Oh, no! He wrote me about a week ago and told me he wasn't going to the party, so I've made _other_ plans."

"Good," returned Astoria, thoroughly relived that she would not have to dash Tracey's dreams of attending the McLaggens garden party.

"Now, the invitation says 'black and white', but supposedly Mrs. McLaggen means that _literally_ ," continued Tracey, pulling open Astoria's closet door. "I'll need something in either of those colors. I think white might be the more feminine choice, don't you?"

Astoria gently pushed Tracey out of the way and began to feel towards the back of the closet. Most of her formal dresses were hung on a rack behind her coats.

"Hang on," Astoria muttered, rummaging about. "If you aren't going with Theodore, who are you going with?"

"Funny you should ask," cackled Tracey, her face lighting up, "as it's mostly thanks to _you_ that I've got him."

"Oh?" Astoria wondered, pulling out a white crotchet summer dress (which she vetoed immediately). An uncomfortable thought occurred to her. "Did you blackmail Malfoy?"

" _No_!" Tracey laughed. "Although that would have been hilarious!"

"Yeah," grunted Astoria dryly, unable to entirely agree. "A real laugh riot. How about this?"

She held up a mid-length ivory shift for Tracey's inspection.

"No," scoffed Tracey at once. "It's a garden party—I'm not getting married in a court house. You should _burn_ that."

Astoria tossed the dress onto the bed, prickling with annoyance.

"Anyway, after I got Theo's letter I started thinking about who _else_ might be going," continued Tracey, leering wickedly. "And I thought about how _you_ are only going because of Giambattista."

Astoria smirked.

"So I thought, well, who else might care about an Italian designer?" Tracey pouted. "And _then_ I realized that Blaise's mother is supposed to be very stylish..."

"You didn't!" Astoria laughed, excited despite herself.

"I _did_!" leered Tracey.

"Did you write to him?" wondered Astoria, thankful that the sound of their laughter was muffled by hanging garments. _Bonky would not be able to make out a word..._

"No, I hunted him down," admitted Tracey, eyes blazing. "His mum has tea on Sundays at this little parlor in Diagon alley. I went and just happened to bump into him."

"You're an outrage!" Astoria wheezed, holding up another dress for examination.

"Ooh!" exclaimed Tracey softly, taken by the silky fabric. "That one is nice. Hang on, I want to try it."

She yanked her brown cardigan up over her head and pulled the white dress down in its place. Astoria zipped the back for her and they both turned to have a look at Tracey in the mirror.

"It's nice," said Astoria, pulling the bust on the dress up a little higher.

"It's strapless and I don't have boobs," observed Tracey darkly, pulling at the bodice until sat correctly. " _Although_... It almost looks like I do from the _side_ though, doesn't it?"

"I think it's a winner," Astoria insisted encouragingly, fixing the flapper-style beadwork near the hem. "Wear it with pearls."

Tracey grinned, overcome with gleeful anticipation. For a moment, Astoria almost forgave her for barging in and waking her up.

"You don't mind if I take this, then?" demanded Tracey, twirling once for the mirror. "What will you wear?"

Affecting a look of mock enthusiasm, Astoria picked up the crotchet dress and held it against her chest.

"Lord!" exclaimed Tracey in a fit of delighted horror. "I thought you said you _didn't_ want Cormac getting handsy with you!"

Astoria snorted and dropped the dress into her hamper.

0o0

* * *

Correct me if I'm wrong, but I think this is the first installment that Draco hasn't made an appearance in? In any case, he'll be back in the next chapter and I'll be sure to make up for his absence in this one.

As always, reviews are just the best!


	22. The Garden Party Pt 1

Chapter Twenty Two

The Garden Party Pt. One

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0o0

Astoria spent much of the next morning fighting off a terrible case of the doldrums. Tracey's visit had left her exhausted, but—even worse—it had also caused her to reflect more seriously upon her own lack of enthusiasm. As a result, she grew more and more restless and gloomy as the day progressed. Adding to this sense of despondency was the fact that Belladonna had spent the entire morning being uncharacteristically absent.

It was a queer and unexpected reaction to what might have otherwise been a lucky break—Astoria had originally dreaded her aunt's corrective presence, certain that she would view her date with Cormac as an opportunity to unleash a million reminders about conduct. But as things stood, Belladonna could not be bothered: she had plans to leave for France later in the afternoon, and from what Astoria could tell, she intended to stay there for the entirety of New Years eve _and_ the following day. She had not so much as spoken to her niece, let alone seized the opportunity to dress her and—although Astoria would have sooner died than admitted it out loud—the divergence from their normal pattern was disheartening.

When Belladonna finally _did_ summon Astoria, it was only for a hasty lunch and a run down of scheduling, conducted with forceful zest over salads in the dining room. Her main focus seemed to be on George, who had written to tell Astoria that he would be collecting her at three o'clock and escorting her to the party from there.

"Do not allow him to be comfortably late," Belladonna scolded, coldly predicting negligence. "If he arrives any later than three o'clock, you must do your best to scold him in a way that punishes him personally. I know you're capable. You'll think of a way."

Astoria nodded halfheartedly, toying with the dandelion greens and chicken that Bonky had served. She had already determined not to say a word to her father, even if he forgot about her entirely. It was miserable enough to be at odds with Daphne. She did not want to upset her father, too.

After extracting a few hasty promises and suggesting for the fifth time Astoria consider spending the night at her father's house (Belladonna did not seem particularly keen to leave her home alone) she called for Bonky. She was in her cloak and through the floo in record time—on her way to her own party with barely a glance over her imperious shoulder at her wayward niece.

Astoria watched until the green flames that had swallowed her aunt slowly guttered and shrunk back into a smoldering orange flicker. Her promise to stay with her father—which had been as light as air in the first place—dissipated almost immediately. Unbeknownst to Belladonna, Daphne had not sent her so much as a Christmas card. The last thing Astoria wanted to do was invade her personal space on a whim.

For the next hour she lounged in the tub. Listening to the soft hiss of the radiator under the frozen window pane, she contemplated her own lousy prospects for the evening. Perhaps the best thing to do was to fake a headache? Spending the night submerged in water reading paperbacks was the only course of action that seemed likely to bring her any enjoyment. But in the end, her promise to Parvati Patil pulled her out of the bathwater and sent her ambling toward her closet.

Tracey had borrowed Astoria's best white dress, so she turned her eyes toward the ivory colored one that Tracey had dismissed.

It did not look much better on her body than it did on the hanger. Alarmed, Astoria tried on various necklaces in an attempt to make the fabric come to life. When that failed she added a bright headband. Then, admitting defeat, she gave up and sat, staring at her pale, despondent face in the mirror.

The clock downstairs chimed two: only an hour left to make herself presentable or she would _have_ to fake an injury.

 _The white dress is not your only option_ , Astoria realized, heartened by the sound of the clock bell. There was no rule that said only men were allowed to wear black... She simply would _not_ wear white.

Astoria opened her closet and had a fresh look. There was a short, black dress near the back that had never been worn. Even on the hanger, it reeked of her aunt's taste in clothing: well tailored, dark and faintly no-nonsense. She exchanged the white dress for the black one and studied the change of effect that this new color and fit had wrought.

Her first instinct was to be thankful that Belladonna had left early. Because, while the garment had surely been purchased by her aunt, it looked quite different on her body than it had hanging in the closet. Flat, the dress reminded Astoria of the sort of thing that a stylish lawyer might wear to a function—but stretched over human curves, it seemed to take on a new and mischievous life.

It was short, perhaps _too_ short for a girl of fourteen to wear on a date, but it was polished, simple and it drew the eye without begging for attention. The top only dipped low enough to elegantly display her collar bone, but the dress worked a subtle villainy at her hips, hugging her waist trimly before sloping downward like a loving caress.

Astoria chuckled. She pulled off the headband and pinched some volume back into her hair. _Better._ This was the sort of outfit that a person who had tricked their way into a party might actually _wear_.

Pleased and hesitant to add anything else that might ruin the effect, Astoria pulled on a pair of matching heels and was fully prepared to wait for her father in the living room when her eye caught the corner of an old leather jewelry box hidden beneath a stack of rune dictionaries.

It was the heirloom necklace that Belladonna had given her for Christmas the year she had started school. Astoria flicked the latch and stared at the diamond and ruby treasure inside. The sun struck each gem like a bell; each stone glowed against the black velvet lining of the box.

It was the sort of expensive statement piece that Astoria's life presently gave her no reason to wear. She was not getting married, nor had she been elected into magical parliament... and yet.

Astoria undid the clasp and pulled the rope of jewels around her neck, taking care not to look into the mirror until she had refastened it. The hook was wrought in the image of a tiny Lestrange family seal—goblin work, no doubt. She turned the seal around so that it was entirely obscured by her hair. Then she glanced toward the looking glass.

She felt her facial muscles twitch. In the reflective surface before her, Astoria saw herself smirk.

0o0

"Darling!" called George by way of a hasty greeting two hours later, launching himself out of the living room fireplace. "I'm running so abominably late! I was in a meeting that dragged on for ages!"

Astoria looked up from a collection of bird sketches that she had found on a nearby shelf and eyed the clock on the mantelpiece. It was nearly four o'clock. By Belladonna's standards, this probably merited t _wo_ separate punishments, but she bounded to her feet eagerly.

"Hello, dad! Don't worry—I was late getting dressed."

Afraid of harming the bird sketches (which were surely the amateur work of one of Belladonna's long-dead husbands) Astoria stuffed the book between the couch cushions and moved forward to hug her father fondly.

A small, niggling part of her wanted to ask who had called him into a meeting on a holiday, but she stopped herself just in time. The only thing worse than being lied to was having to watch her father fabricate an awkward answer.

"You look marvelous!" said George. He pulled out of their embrace and cast an appraising look at Astoria's necklace. "If I'm not careful, someone will steal you away!"

Someone had already stolen Astoria away: Belladonna, and she had done it _years_ ago. Still, Astoria smiled encouragingly, determined not to make any waves. It was months since she'd last seen her father and goading him struck her as a terrible waste of an opportunity.

"Come, come!" said George rummaging about for the snuff box of floo powder. He found it next to an antique portrait of a stern looking witch in a beret. "We were supposed to have arrived an hour ago."

They stepped out of the fireplace together into a wide and well-lit parlor. The check-room nearby was already bursting with cloaks and the dull murmur of not-so-distant voices belied a crowd. Astoria felt their lateness afresh and blushed. They were not the only latecomers, however; a few feet across the mahogany parquet floor, Ernie Macmillan and his father were shucking off hats and robes.

"I'll take your cloak," said George, spotting Mr. Macmillan. "Go find your friends."

Realizing that this was probably a ploy to catch Ernie's dad in a conversation, Astoria did as George suggested: she started off toward the nearest double doors without waiting.

These doors opened onto a wide hall containing many green couches in matching velvet. Various guests lounged about, conversing across mahogany tables—all of which all seemed to sport a pamphlet for the MacLaggen potion line and at least one piece of scrimshaw.

Faintly repulsed the self-promoting pamphlets and seeing no one that she knew, Astoria continued onward through a set of wide french doors.

A surprising glare of late winter sunlight shocked her into momentary silence on the other side. The mystery of the garden party was finally solved: between the long hall that she had just walked through and another wing of the house stretched a massive glass conservatory. The last golden rays of a December sunset fell through the transparent ceiling, setting the glass rooms on fire. Astoria glanced up through the blossoms of a nearby orange tree and blinked, very nearly blinded by a haze of orange radiance.

All around, a cacophony of guests mingled between flowering shrubs and trees of a dazzling variety. Beneath the stunning and unexpected foliage, tables draped with white table-cloths boasted a wide array of appetizers and drinks. While many of the guests had undoubtedly come to celebrate Mr. McLaggen's success, a quick glance confirmed that Giambattista Valli's presence had not been forgotten. Many of the older, better dressed wives seemed to be sporting his line.

A tower of pre-poured champagne loomed nearby. Astoria plucked up a flute and admired the scenery, happy to forgo the task of convincing a bartender that she was of age.

With a resinous hum, a string quartet began to play, although half the sound was lost amidst a suffocating display of tropical plants. Astoria headed in the opposite direction, hoping to postpone the task of greeting McLaggen by getting lost in their enchanted garden of flowering trees.

The conservatory was vast and ideally suited to this purpose: each new room seemed to supply a different wonder. False snow fell warmly in the next greenhouse, raining softly down between the low hanging boughs of plum and apple trees. If Mr. Mclaggen himself was devoid of good personal taste (and something about the room of scrimshaw indicated that he was) _someone_ —his party planner, if she had to bet—had certainly compensated.

"Astoria!" called a familiar voice.

Astoria pivoted, trying to sip her champagne and clear the dry snow out of her eyes at the same time.

Tracey Davis was waving at her from beneath a plum tree, wearing the dress that Astoria had loaned her and smiling very prettily.

Beside her, clutching a tumbler of brown liquid and looking very bored, stood Blaise Zabini and another boy that Astoria did not recognize. Slightly older with dark skin and even darker hair, he lingered behind Blaise's shoulder like an awkward afterthought.

"I _told_ you everybody would come!" exclaimed Tracey the minute Astoria joined them under under their tree branch.

"The only thing anybody wants to talk about is Sirius Black," complained Blaise smoothly, sipping what Astoria suspected was stolen scotch.

"I don't know," mused Astoria gazing up at the purple blossoms overhead. "I'm more impressed than I thought I would be. McLaggen better hold onto his party planner—did you walk though that horrible green hall of scrimshaw?"

Blaise laughed cruelly and finished the last of his scotch. " _Really!_ McLaggen would have done better to bring his guests in over the bloody lawn _._ I know I'd _die_ before I let one person set foot in that entry-room."

Astoria copied Blaise and drained her champagne. Anxious to avoid conversing with him any further, she switched her attention onto the boy she had never seen before.

"Oh, Astoria, this is..." began Tracey, indicating the third member of their party and blanching.

"His name is Vincent," drawled Blaise. "Of course, that's _all_ we know about him. He doesn't seem to be able to speak any English—not that it's stopped him from nattering on in Italian."

Astoria held out her hand and Vincent shook it, gazing at her shyly from under his long eyelashes.

Her heart immediately went out to him. He'd had the poor luck of stumbling into Blaise and Tracey right off the bat.

"Where's your date, Greengrass?" continued Blaise. "Shouldn't you be draped across a bench with McLaggen somewhere?"

"I've no idea where he is," said Astoria nervously, standing on tip-toe to see if he was near at hand. "I've only just gotten here."

She spotted the back of Lucius Malfoy's head near a room filled with giant rhododendrons and resisted the urge to duck.

"You must be dying to see him," leered Blaise, arching an eyebrow. "He was with his father by the string quartet the last I saw. They were requesting _sea shanties_..."

Zabini was plainly committed to his devil-may-care act, but his desire to laugh was also apparent.

"You look fantastic, Astoria," observed Tracey. "I can't believe you wore black. You look like a Countess."

"A Countess who fills the void in her life by doing things like sending her oldest daughter to fat camp," amended Blaise snidely, but he too seemed to approve of the look because he didn't offer any further insults.

"I think not so mean," ventured Vincent in a heavy accent. "Pretty."

Astoria smiled at him thankfully, but found herself distracted. Unbidden, her eyes floated back toward the doorway where Mr. Malfoy was standing. Draco was leaning against the same door frame by his father's elbow, committing half of his attention to Lucius's conversation and half to his friend, Montague from the Slytherin quidditch team. Astoria looked away, afraid that he would catch her spying.

"Oh, look," exclaimed Tracey almost immediately. "Malfoy is coming over and he's got Montague with him."

Only Blaise seemed remotely pleased by this news. Astoria made to take another nervous sip of champagne and realized that her glass was empty.

"Zabini!" called Montague, clapping Blaise on the back. He pointed at the empty glass. "Where'd you find that? All I've spotted is wine."

Draco leaned against the plum tree next to Blaise and Astoria felt his eyes slide coldly onto her. "Broken away from McLaggen at last, have you?" he sneered.

"It was hard to do," returned Astoria in a voice that was equally as cold. "He's _so_ fascinating. I just lose track of the time when I'm talking to him!"

"What, have you sent him off looking for a broom cupboard?" snapped Malfoy, his sneer deepening into a scowl. "Why don't you do us all a favor and go find him now. Spares us the trouble of having to look at him, you see."

"I'll _do_ that," supplied Astoria tartly, preparing to swivel.

"I thought you are just now arrived?" frowned Vincent, glancing between Draco and Astoria in confusion.

Draco made a faint sound of annoyance, irritated by Vincent's poor grasp of the English language _and_ his desire to interrupt.

"Why _were_ you so late, Astoria?" frowned Tracey. "I was starting to think you'd changed your mind about coming."

"My father didn't pick me up until four," admitted Astoria, ignoring Draco. "What time is it now? I really _should_ go find Cormac. He's probably spotted my father and assumed that I'm hiding in the bushes to be coy."

"Wouldn't _that_ be a merry game?" snorted Blaise.

"I'll take your glass if you don't want him to think that you went to the bar first," offered Tracey.

"Don't worry about it," Astoria sighed grimly. "I'll be stopping for a refill on my way."

Tracey tired unsuccessfully to hide her look of amusement.

"Vincent?" Astoria added as an afterthought, peering through the nearest glass wall. "Why don't you come along?"

"Me?" gestured Vincent, pointing at his chest and looking surprised.

"Yes," confirmed Astoria, privately convinced that it was borderline cruel to leave Vincent alone with a pack of Slytherins (particularly ones who had nothing to do _and_ had unfettered access to a bar). "Walk with me."

It only occurred to her after she had led Vincent into the crowd of people that having a second person along might come in handy. Perhaps she would not have to face Cormac or his family alone? She snagged a second glass of champagne almost cheerfully and handed one to Vincent. _Stay with me. Please._

"You come for Cormac?" asked Vincent. After a strained pause, Astoria finally understood what he had said and nodded.

"I know him from school," she explained. "Do you know him?"

"Little," said Vincent, holding up two fingers to express a minute measurement.

"Your first language is Italian?" Astoria asked. Despite the awkward rhythm of their conversation, she was desperate to communicate with him.

"First Italian. Then French. Some German. Not so good English," listed Vincent, plainly relived to find that he was no longer being ignored.

"French?" returned Astoria, perking up. "Oui? Je peux parler français."

"You speak French?" brightened Vincent, switching languages at once. "I should have started with it. The English do not know Italian as a rule?"

"I'm sure _some_ do," mused Astoria. Her thoughts immediately turned toward Blaise, whose mother was _very_ Italian. _He_ had certainly picked out Vincent's Italian accent quickly enough. In fact, it would not stun her at all to learn that Blaise was perfectly capable of understanding Vincent; forcing a foreigner to speak in lurching English for no reason seemed exactly like the sort of thing he might do for fun.

"I think you _will_ find that French is more common," she continued, shaking her head. "But, honestly, you're audience was terrible. If you were hoping to make friends, you couldn't have done worse on a first try."

"I think that is probably true," admitted Vincent, frowning slightly. "Were those your friends?"

"Sort of," Astoria frowned. Tracey certainly _was_ a friend, but she was also a treacherous companion at best.

"I didn't think so," Vincent chuckled, seeing this as permission to speak freely without the fear of insulting her. "They seem like snide assholes."

Astoria choked a little on her champagne and grinned at Vincent appreciatively.

"You used to date the blond boy?" Vincent went on, holding out a courteous arm to let her pass through into a room of low running shrubbery.

Astoria nearly choked again, this time less delightedly.

"There you are!" called out a loud voice. Astoria and Vincent both jumped. Cormac was working his way past a throng of old ladies and the look on his face was so preposterously jaunty that it verged on imbecilic.

"I was looking for you! Your father said you'd gotten lost. Oh!" Cormac exclaimed. "I see you've found Vincent! How's the party, Vinnie?"

Cormac clapped Vincent on the back so hard that even Astoria winced.

"Good party," said Vincent in his broken English, eyeing Cormac rather hatefully.

"He's not much of a conversationalist, ol' Vinnie, but he's a nice bloke!" delcared Cormac dismissively. He tossed an arm around Astoria's shoulders and made to pull her back toward wherever it was that he had come from. "This way—our fathers are holding down the bar!"

"Are you coming?" Astoria asked Vincent hopefully, switching back to French in order to include him.

Vincent shook his head, smiling wryly. He responded alike so that McLaggen would not be able to comprehend him. "When I said that I knew your date only a little, I'm afraid that was by choice."

Cormac frowned, unable to follow their conversation. Astoria bit her lip and nodded. She heartily wished that Vincent would tag along, but she was not yet ready to beg: she had made her own bed and now it was time to lie in it. After all, it would be unkind to subject another person to the same horror that she was being steered toward.

"You speak Italian?" Cormac demanded robustly, obviously surprised.

" _French_ ," Astoria squinted, half convinced that he was joking. Surely anyone with a greenhouse the size of a public monument had had a tutor as a child?

"Oh, that's right. You spend holidays there," mused Cormac disinterestedly. He swapped her empty glass of wine for a full one. "If my father asks, tell him that's your first drink."

"I'll _do_ that," promised Astoria stoutly, suspecting that this was already an unnecessary precaution. George was not the type to chastise under any circumstances and, sure enough, by the time they reached the bar it was quite obvious that both Mr. McLaggen and her father were well on their way toward a state of merrily intoxicated obliviousness.

"Cormac!" roared Mr. McLaggen excitedly, waving them over. "And look who you've brought with you! She's a peach, George!"

Mr. McLaggen made an odd twisting motion next to Astoria's cheek, as though he had half a mind to squeeze her face. He smacked his son on the back in the exact same fashion that Cormac had thumped Vincent.

"She is, isn't she?" declared Cormac fondly, gazing at her in a way that felt uncomfortably propitiatory.

"We've just seen Bertie," said Mr. McLaggen, making room for his son to stand next to him, "and he's had word from the head of the commission—"

Astoria immediately found their conversation hard to follow and the McLaggens' all consuming interest in Potion-Politics soon forced her to pretend that she was paying attention. More often than not, her thoughts slipped away from their dialogue and bent themselves upon more distant details: she admired a particularly good pant suit on a woman who approached for a gin and tonic (a Giambattista Valli in white with a mint green trim); she laughed automatically at her father's witty observations (why was it that men never wore pale green, as a rule?); but mostly she stared listlessly.

When Cormac attempted to drape his arm across her shoulder again, Astoria finally created an opportunity to escape. She finished off her third glass of champagne and excused herself to find the restroom.

This proved harder than she'd imagined—the greenhouse was vast and the crowd was dense. After several minutes of aimlessly searching, she concluded that were no facilities inside the conservatory and re-entered the house. When she reemerged from the bathroom she felt slightly better, but every muscle in her face still ached from the strain of pretending to be amused.

Sunset was beginning to considerably alter the light in the garden. Pale fairy lights glimmered softly in the overhanging foliage and a golden glow emanated from the base of several tree trunks.

In no rush to get back to her father and the McLaggens, Astoria took her time walking. She stopped to eat a bruschetta-topped piece of toast; then she admired the blooms of an ancient lilac. When she passed the table of refilling champagne glasses, she took another, wondering if it was at all advisable to keep drinking.

Then, as she neared a monstrous fountain, several things happened at once: first somebody darted out and seized her from behind; next a set of hands clapped over her face, obscuring her vision.

"Astoria!" Tracey's high pitched soprano squealed in her ear."There you are!"

Startled, Astoria wriggled free and Tracey's excited, slightly intoxicated face came into focus.

Behind her, Blaise, Montague and Draco were all sitting on the edge of the fountain that Tracey had jumped off of. Framed against the backdrop of a few magically lit banana trees, they had never looked more querulously ridiculous.

Blaise broke into a cruel smirk.

"Oh look, it's Astoria," he leered to no one in particular, "and she's managed to lose McLaggen. _Again_."

"What _did_ you do with him?" giggled Tracey, pulling Astoria's arm so that she would follow.

"His father seemed determined to have him for a cocktail," muttered Astoria. "I thought I'd leave them to it."

"Reasonable," snorted Blaise. "Although the way _you_ say it makes it sound as though McLaggen plans on consuming his son..."

Draco laughed unpleasantly.

"If _only_ ," Astoria lamented darkly.

"That's my mother going past," Blaise announced, standing up and brushing down his pants. "She won't notice if we go to the bar now. Come with me, Davis— _your_ parents aren't here, so you can carry drinks. What do you want, Draco?"

Draco held up his glass to indicate that he wanted another of whatever it was he was already holding.

"Do you want anything, Astoria?" asked Tracey, elated to be playing waitress for Blaise.

Astoria shook her head. "I'm sticking with champagne."

"Why?" sneered Draco irritably. "Afraid you'll embarrass yourself in front of your date?"

"Liquor stunts my ability to charm," returned Astoria, taking a savage pleasure in the knowledge that she was bothering him. "I came here with a purpose."

Tracey guffawed and tumbled unsteadily after Blaise.

"Booze doesn't stunt anyone's ability to charm," argued Montague. "Look at Flint! He's half in the bag every chance he can get now that he's seventeen and he's always getting into girls pants."

" _Is_ he though?" wondered Astoria doubtfully. "I mean, _really_?"

"He's a quidditch captain, isn't he?" retorted Montague defensively.

Draco snorted in a way that seemed to express that he shared a touch of Astoria's doubt.

"So is Oliver Wood," Astoria countered, running her fingers over the foreign bark of the banana tree. "Between the way he holds a broomstick and the amount of time he spends in the boys locker room, though, I'm half convinced he's never thought about a girl in his life."

Draco and Montague both laughed out loud, keen to savor any dig aimed at Slytherin's primary quidditch rival.

Astoria peeked at them over a flat palm leaf and smirked. She privately enjoying the hint of a verbal spar in the air—she certainly preferred it to her father's chummy jokes...

"You just don't know, because Marcus has never fancied you," sneered Montague, recovering. "What's that one trick he's always going on about? You know the one, Malfoy—you must have heard him talk about it at practice. The one he _swears_ by?"

"What—you mean the neck thing?" drawled Malfoy, forgetting his annoyance with Astoria just long enough to be properly amused.

"The _neck_ thing!" hooted Montague joyfully.

"What neck _thing_?" Astoria echoed, thoroughly lost.

"Flint's mad about it!" wheezed Montague. "Anytime he hears a bloke going on about a girl, he starts in on the neck thing! He says it's his magic ticket."

"What _is_ it, exactly?" asked Astoria, as intrigued as she was doubtful.

"That would be telling," jeered Montague. "It's like voodoo for woman."

Still snickering derisively, Draco stood up and dumped the ice from his glass into the magical fountain. Astoria repressed a smile, privately chuffed. This fit with her image of Marcus perfectly—he seemed like just the type of boy who would loudly promote bad dating advice with the passion of a seasoned prophet.

"You couldn't even tell her if you wanted to, Montague," Malfoy scoffed, turning his snide, delighted face toward her. "No one has ever been able to figure out what the _hell_ Flint is talking about because there must be sixteen steps involved."

"The steps!" moaned Montague. "Sixteen _painstakingly_ detailed steps involving a slow stroking of the neck."

"Huh," Astoria chortled, sipping her champagne. "Sounds like a _real_ winner."

Montague looked as though he was on the verge of saying something, but then he spied Malfoy's empty drink and hesitated.

"Did Zabini ask me what _I_ wanted from the bar?" he demanded roughly.

Malfoy shrugged carelessly.

"He didn't, did he?" rambled Montague, obviously annoyed. "He just took his date and ran."

Without warning, Montague struck out and paved a path through a patch of banana trees in the direction that Blaise had gone.

Malfoy's pale grey eyes slid onto Astoria and they immediately returned to the state of his earlier coldness.

"Better hurry off," sneered Draco. "No one's ever seen McLaggen Senior hold onto a cocktail for more then five minutes. They've probably already sent out a search party for you."

"An entire search party? Just for _me_?" quirked Astoria aggravatingly, suddenly alive to a new and fluid tension in her limbs. It was the same force that had compelled her not to correct Malfoy's assumption about her lateness earlier (she certainly had _not_ been wrapped up with Cormac). In fact, now that she was alone with Draco, her desire to lash out at him only seemed to be mounting.

"That's McLaggen's style, isn't it?" sneered Draco, flushing slightly under his mask of haughty indifference.

"What—oblivious and dramatic? Probably," Astoria admitted, draining the last of her champagne. She put the glass down on the fountain and made a mental note not to drink anything else until she had eaten. "I suppose that means it would be optimistic to expect a full sixteen steps of seduction from him?"

Malfoy's lip curled in disgust.

"Maybe five steps?" Astoria suggested cruelly.

Every twitch of Malfoy's face seemed to be awakening a vague urge to punish within her; _he_ was the only one holding her accountable for appearing in public with Cormac. _Why_ couldn't he let it be?

Rationally, though, Astoria knew that her anger would not be able to withstand an ounce of introspection—it would turn on her the moment she inspected it too closely. It was her own fault that she was stuck with Cormac, but the four glasses of sparkling wine she had consumed dulled this logic and made Draco's accusatory stare seem like the perfect scapegoat.

"I think you'll be lucky if he falls on you drunk without missing," spat Draco jerkily. His face twisted oddly at this visual.

"I think that actually has a higher rate of success than the _neck thing_ ," jeered Astoria snidely.

"Go back to your boxy date, then!" Malfoy sneered. He narrowed his eyes as though he had never seen her properly before. " _Get_ manhandled, if that's what you want!"

"He really _is_ boxy, isn't he?" Astoria cackled.

"Why come with him at all, then?" Malfoy snapped. The dull flush in his cheeks was growing even more pronounced. "You could have just come with your father and hung around with Davis!"

"But I didn't," supplied Astoria tartly.

"Yeah," leered Malfoy nastily, "because you wanted McLaggen to parade you in front of his guests."

"Are you _kidding_?" snapped Astoria, no longer even abstractly amused.

"It's not just McLaggen who knows Giambattista, you know,"continued Malfoy bitterly. " _My_ mother must have talked to him for an hour when we arrived. You could have found someone _else_ to introduce you!"

Astoria was dangerously close to hitting Draco. There was something oddly vulnerable about his face when he was worked up and, _somehow_ , the visible manifestation of his discomfort only made her angrier.

"Are you impressed by his father's madhouse out here?" he jeered. "My father has a greenhouse too, only he's never tried to shove a circus in it. If you ask me, McLaggen's whole family belongs in a _bloody_ zoo!"

"I did _not_ secretly want McLaggen to parade me anywhere," Astoria scoffed.

" _Didn't_ you, though?" Malfoy sneered. "For all I know, you're probably itching to get back to Hogwarts right now so you can give Marcus a shot!"

"Marcus?" Astoria laughed, eyes sparkling. "You think _that's_ what I like?"

Her anger was beginning to distill into a more clear-headed type of cruelty. It was sharp and wield-able now—like a knife.

" _Probably_ ," spat Malfoy, oblivious to the danger that was curling itself up in front of him like a snake.

"That's _not_ what what I like," insisted Astoria. Her voice was lethally soft—almost _toying_ —and altogether unfamiliar to her own ears.

Malfoy's eyes flickered and she knew that he had finally noticed something in her look that disarmed him. Astoria stared back unblinkingly.

"What then?" Draco bit out at last, blinking twitchily. He clearly hated himself for asking, but he seemed to be unable to resist doing so.

"You want me to teach you how to seduce someone, Draco?" Astoria taunted, tugging playfully on his tie.

The tie was silk—the color of the ocean at midnight and fastened by a silver tie clip.

"That's _not_ what I said," snapped Malfoy, suddenly very red and flustered. Still, he followed the pressure on his shirt front and shifted toward her instinctively.

"I can show you if you like," Astoria grinned, not entirely sure what she was doing, only knowing that it somehow restored her with a sense of the upper hand.

"Show me what?" asked Malfoy tightly. The sneer on his face was no longer genuine—it was stuck at an odd angle.

"Give me your hand," Astoria murmured, reaching for his arm.

More tightly still: "What?"

Malfoy's arm twitched back hesitantly, but Astoria tugged on his wrist; softly, he let her pull his hand toward her waist.

"I don't know about sixteen steps," said Astoria, placing her hand over his and sliding it lower until he was grasping her hip, "but if I was a boy, this is what I would do."

Draco let out a nasal scoff, but when Astoria reached for his other hand he offered no resistance. Mutely, she pulled his right hand forward until his fingers brushed the nape of her neck, his thumb near the hollow of her throat.

"I guess in the real world, this is probably when you would have to kiss her," Astoria smirked, her eyes flicking up toward Malfoy's hypnotized ones. "Otherwise you might be accused of forwardness."

Draco's fingers twitched against her collarbone, making her necklace shift. His gaze, which had been lingering intensely on her face, dropped lower. Astoria pushed her shoulders back, making her body as vulnerable as possible. Tilting her head, she studied his expression as she pulled his hand lower.

Her dress was lined but she could still feel the heat of his palm. Draco's breathing hitched slightly and then redoubled; she could feel it ghosting across her cheek, soft and irregular. The sneer had slid off of his face entirely and left his features to their rare, natural state: an expression that always reminded Astoria of an unsure and faintly covetous child.

Down further still she guided him, over the soft curve of her stomach, pressing back against him lightly. Over her hip and down until both of their hands had reached the hem of her dress. Astoria let go. She had reached the limit of acceptable teasing. This was the moment in which whatever she was doing must stop.

Draco's thumb shifted of its own accord, nudging the hem of her dress, just brushing against the inside of her thigh. Suddenly both of them were staring down at his hand in fascination. A strange idea now occurred to Astoria, accompanied by a surprising lick of suspense: if _she_ did not back away first, Draco might try to continue touching her unassisted—a concept that she found both horrifying and intriguing almost in equal measure.

"I've got two hands," said Blaise from the other side of the closest banana trees. "You could have come with me."

Astoria stepped away from Draco abruptly, faintly flustered.

"See?" she muttered lightly, brushing her hemline down with a shiver. "Leave the neck stroking to Flint."

"Isn't that what you brought Davis for?" grumbled Montague as they came into sight.

"Here you go, Draco," said Tracey merrily, offering him a glass of something golden on ice.

Draco had gone very still, perhaps trying to work whether Astoria would have actually let him up-skirt her.

"Cormac's looking for you," added Tracey, turning toward her. "He and his father are still at the bar. I told him you were by the fountain."

"Thanks for that," scowled Astoria.

" _Draco_?" repeated Tracey loudly, still holding out his drink. "Do you want this?"

"What?" snapped Draco distractedly before realizing his mistake. "Oh. Yeah."

"Astoria!"

This time it was McLaggen sneaking up through the banana trees. Zabini let out a snort of derision and turned toward the fountain.

"There you are, you slippery eel!" Cormac chuckled. "Sorry about that—I haven't seen my father in such a good mood since Christmas."

"Just five days ago, you mean?" wondered Malfoy snidely.

"He _is_ having a fantastic winter!" admitted Cormac. He attempted a knowing grin, completely missing the scorn in Draco's tone.

"Ooh, Draco!" exclaimed Tracey, distracted from the process of covertly inching toward Blaise. "Your mother looks pretty!"

Astoria followed Tracey's gaze through the nearest glass wall. Beside Mr. Malfoy stood a tall, rather thin woman with hair just a shade more golden than her son's. She was wearing a black dress—the first woman apart from herself to do so—and if a first glance was anything to go by, Astoria felt certain that she was not the sort of woman who ever made anybody feel comfortable by accident. Narcissa dressed with less showy intimidation than Belladonna, but there was no denying the similarity of effect.

"Look, Astoria! She _also_ wore black!" snickered Tracey, nudging her in the ribs. "You two are the only girls who didn't come in white."

"She's wearing Giambattista Valli," ventured Astoria quickly, anxious to prevent Tracey from highlighting any further similarities between herself and Draco's mother. "It's from the spring line—five years ago."

"How can you _possibly_ know that?" scoffed Montague.

"It was his first runway outside of Rome," answered Astoria at once. "It was the season that made him famous."

She studied the bead-work on Mrs. Malfoy's dress through the warped glass.

"It's probably an original, too," she added somewhat covetously. "That year was never mass-produced for stores..."

"You've heard of Giambattista?" demanded Cormac. "He's _here_ tonight!"

" _Is_ he?" wondered Astoria, all mock surprise. (Draco scoffed loudly.)

"I can introduce you," offered Cormac.

"Only if _you_ want to," Astoria shrugged, doing her best to conceal her fiendish enthusiasm.

"Come on," decided Cormac, throwing his arm roughly around her shoulders again. "And here—" he thrust another class of champagne into her hands, "—you aren't _drinking_ enough."

They walked around the fountain the long way and then cut across a patch of shrubbery. Astoria would have preferred to walk the path, as the soft soil made her wobble in her heels, but she managed not to disgrace herself by tumbling head first into the verge.

"Watch out," insisted Cormac importantly, guiding her around a low and very obvious tree—the least worrisome of all the obstacles he had dragged her across.

They entered a long, wintry room that opened onto the snow-covered lawn. Astoria braced herself, expecting a chill. When none came, she understood that the area was magically protected from the elements—and very elegantly so. Low tables and white couches dotted the snow strewn lawn; tiny, fantastic lamps made out of ice illuminated every crystal in the powdery drifts.

"Mother!" called Cormac, spotting his target. He let go of Astoria at once in order to stoop down and plant a short, dry kiss on his mother's rosy cheek. "Have you met Astoria?"

Mrs. McLaggen turned her milk-maid head and smiled. Trying not to stare at the woman's ample cleavage, Astoria extended her hand, but Cormac was too fast for her.

"And this is Bertie Higgs—" Astoria's hand quavered, no longer sure who she ought to present it to. " _This_ is Amos Diggory, and over there you have Royden Poke."

Astoria attempted to nod at each man in turn, but the effort left her slightly dizzy.

"The last two work for the Department for the Control and Regulation of Magical Creatures," explained McLaggen. "Don't bother with either of them—they're terrible bores!"

Royden Poke roared merrily and Cormac slapped him on the back.

"Kidding! Got to protect my assets, Roy old boy!" McLaggen flashed her a toothy smile. "Roy works in the Spirits Division, if you know what I mean!"

"Sometimes it's even my job!" exclaimed Royden Poke, toasting Astoria with his glass of scotch.

"Last but not least," Cormac went on with a wink, "is this man talking to my lovely mother! This is Giambattista Valli! Astoria was just marveling some of your work, sir."

Giambattista was a man in hell. Everything—from the look on his face to the way he was clutching his drink—spoke of a violent desire to be elsewhere.

"Was she?" muttered Giambattista in an accent that reminded Astoria of sunshine. He didn't bother to look at either of them. In fact, he didn't seem overly keen to look at anything south of the ceiling.

"Yes, she's quite a fan if I've managed to work it out right," Cormac blustered, oblivious to the way he was annoying his audience.

"All young women are," sighed Giambattista grimly. "For the life of me, I'll never understand why. It's the curse of my profession."

Cormac paused, unsure how exactly to respond to this..

"Isn't that a good thing?" Astoria ventured, keen to prevent Cormac from starting up again. "You're interested in selling a product."

"Young women are the _plague_ ," muttered Giambattista disinterestedly. His eyes flicked toward her for a half a second of analysis before returning to the ceiling. " _Especially_ the pretty ones. There are only two types of _those_ : the ones who are trying to get married and the ones who aspire to become alcoholic."

"Oh, Giam!" giggled Mrs. McLaggen nervously, swatting at his arm. "How repulsive!"

Astoria blushed, feeling very derailed. Royden began to laugh drunkenly.

"You think all pretty young girls want to be married or drunk?" Astoria repeated, causing Royden to snigger.

"Well, married _into money_ or intoxicated," amended Giambattista with a shrug.

"A friend of mine once told me that it takes either a great deal of money, a great deal of style, or a great deal of wit to make someone seem important," said Astoria, thinking of Aston Mendel.

Giambattista's eyes drifted back toward her face, blank and unreadable.

"I _do_ hope you are not trying to describe young women," he said at last, not bothering to hide his wince. "Otherwise, I suppose there is _some_ truth in your friend's analysis."

"Well, then," said Astoria playfully, sensing that she had his attention at last, "only one of those traits is obtainable through marriage—money. Suppose I would rather be stylish and witty than drunk? You don't know me."

Giambattista blinked. Cormac sucked his cheek confusedly; Mrs. McLaggen played with her hair.

Then, with a bark that made Mrs. McLaggen jump, Giambattista began to laugh heartily. The effect transformed his face.

"Come here, girl," he cackled. "I was about to take a stroll through the grove—for God's sake, walk with me!"

Astoria moved away from McLaggen's eager squid arm and nearly collided with Vincent.

"Have you eaten, Giam?" His eyes traveled past Giambattista and settled on Astoria. "Oh, hello! I thought I might see you again."

"You've met Vincent too, I see?" remarked Giambattista, maneuvering his way around Mrs. McLaggen. "That's your best recommendation yet. He has uncommonly good taste."

"I thought you disdained my taste," teased Vincent. His soft French had more of an Italian lurch than Giambattista's English did but it was the only way he could converse with both of them at the same time.

Mindful of Vincent, Astoria switched back to French.

"You two know each other?" she wondered. A dull flush crept into her cheeks as she thought about that way the Tracey and Blaise had treated Vincent earlier.

"Vincent is my assistant," confirmed Giambattista. "Without him I would be lost. Come, let's walk the garden. That's a proper English pastime, isn't it?"

"If it is, I'm a poor native," Astoria admitted, following them both out onto the snowy path.

To Astoria's extreme displeasure, McLaggen broke into a jog to catch up. Despite the fact that he could not understand a word that they were saying, he lingered just behind Astoria's elbow.

"Mother designed this garden," he finally offered for the benefit of everyone but Vincent.

"Your mother would design a concentration camp if she thought it would win her a blue ribbon," growled Giambattista, swatting his ivory topped walking cane at a nearby rose bush.

"Sorry?" drawled Cormac. A small, patronizing smile formed at his lips. "I don't speak Italian."

"He said 'the roses look lovely in the snow'," said Astoria, repressing a grin.

"Oh, yes," remarked Cormac, who was beginning to look rather bored.

A long silence fell.

"You know what, why don't I go tell my mother that?" Cormac finally offered, plainly ready to escape. "She'll be pleased. I'll just let you stroll—there's no need to translate for me."

"You do that, boy," said Giambattista. "While you're at it, why don't you lend her your dinner jacket? The poor, naked thing must be freezing."

Cormac quirked his head in Astoria's direction.

"He says 'yes, please do'," said Astoria, carefully containing her smirk.

"You did such an eloquent job of acquitting your gender earlier," complained Giambattista the moment Cormac had left. "You really ought to examine your choice of sweetheart."

"I barely know him," Astoria admitted promptly, causing Vincent to laugh. "I heard that _you_ were coming tonight and I was desperate."

They walked the entire path over thrice. In that space of time, Astoria learned a great deal more than she had ever hoped to about Giambattista: he was moody, messy, and slept irregularly; by Vincent's account, he was also prone to fits of self-doubt.

Little by little, parts of Vincent's story also began to emerge. He came from a very poor family, but had distinguished himself at a very early age. The year he graduated from Beauxbatons, Giambattista had attempted to hire him as a housekeeper. He now worked as an assistant tailor.

Neither of them were overly fond of the British. Giambattista regularly traveled between France and Italy and he had a small retreat in Germany, (Astoria assumed that this was why Vincent spoke such poor English) but he had not been to England in several years.

He was also extremely reluctant to receive any praise for his work—not that his humility stopped Astoria from trying.

"I'm no narcissist," he insisted, cutting Astoria's effusive compliments short. "I do enjoy vanity, though. _Vanity_ is amusing."

By the time the clock struck ten, they were all a little dizzy from their looping stroll.

"Time to go, I think," said Giambattista. "You know how I hate to be the last one standing."

"It's not even midnight yet," ventured Vincent. "Don't you want to ring in the new year?"

"Why bother?" snorted Giambattista, decapitating another rosebud with his cane. "I hate it already."

0o0

* * *

Well. _That_ escalated quickly.

Cormac's the worst, isn't he? Although, I freely admit: I find his inability to tell the difference between Italian and French hilarious.

As ever, reviews make me terribly happy!


	23. The Garden Party Pt 2

Chapter Twenty Three

The Garden Party Pt. Two

* * *

0o0

Astoria said her goodbyes to Vincent and Giambattista near the doorway to the cloak room. Feeling light as a feather (even though her feet were sore from her heels) and positively drunk on the experience, she pivoted about and began to contemplate the rest of her evening.

She passed back into green room that led to the conservatory. In her haste to be witty and charming, she had forgotten to ask Giambattista to sign a napkin for Parvati. With a surge of regret, she realized that it was too late to turn around and catch them again. Perhaps she could fake one? Would Parvati even know the difference?

Draco and Blaise were sitting on a couch nearby; both of them turned to look at her.

"Was that the funny foreigner from the garden earlier?" called Blaise curiously.

"Yes," returned Astoria flatly. "He's Giambattista's personal assistant and a tailor for his line, so it's a good thing that no one was _rude_ to him."

"We couldn't have known that," shrugged Blaise carelessly. "Nobody could understand him."

"Where's Tracey?" asked Astoria, looking about.

"Bathroom," Blaise smirked. "She's drunk."

"Perfect," Astoria muttered.

"What happened to McLaggen?" drawled Draco, looking decidedly more smug than he had before.

"Giambattista speaks English, but Vincent doesn't," admitted Astoria, unable to comfortably meet Malfoy's eye. "We had to talk in French—Cormac bailed before we got to the rose bushes."

Astoria sucked in a tight breath. Whatever stunt she had been trying to pull by the fountain had really only made sense while she was still angry. A bit of fresh air and a stroll with strangers had restored her sense of perspective: encouraging Malfoy to molest her was a mad thing to have done.

Theoretically, she was certain that her actions had stemmed from a desire to make Draco feel uncomfortable, but somehow the plan had backfired: it was _Astoria_ who felt embarrassed—if anything, Draco almost looked faintly proud of himself. Perhaps this was because he had _technically_ —albeit under bizarre and unkind circumstances—gotten to second base with Cormac's date inside his own house? Astoria neither knew nor cared. She had achieved what she had come to do: she had met Giambattista and held his attention for more then an hour. Her desire to go home and climb into bed was mounting.

"Oh, Astoria, you're back!" squealed Tracey, reappearing. She flung herself into a chair and dangled her legs over one of the arms. "I thought you had left!"

"I was in the garden, Trace," admitted Astoria, privately relived to find that her friend was not half-asleep or slurring. "I think I'm leaving soon, though."

"What?" gaped Tracey, unable to understand why anyone would want to leave a party early. "There's still two hours until midnight!"

"Yeah," agreed Blaise, flashing a crooked smirk, "two more hours until Cormac goes in for his new years kiss."

The threat of Cormac's mouth hadn't even occurred to her.

"Right, well, I'm going to go find my father and let him know that I'm leaving," Astoria announced.

"Wait!" cackled Tracey, jostling a scrimshaw tusk with her foot. She pulled herself upright, exposing an inch or two of inappropriate thigh. "Are you going back to your aunt's house?"

"Yeah," answered Astoria. "Why?"

"Take me with you!" Tracey breathed pleadingly. "I'm too drunk and that old man is staring at me— _OI_!"

On the other side of the room, a man in his late seventies jolted and turned an irritated shade of crimson. He promptly gathered his things and fled to the conservatory.

"Alright," Astoria relented, thinking of her silent, empty house. The promise of Tracey's company was almost heartening—she didn't really _want_ to spend the night alone.

"Actually, we should _all_ go!" continued Tracey, expanding with excitement. "Your aunt must have a liquor cabinet!"

"I don't think she'd be happy about a pack of teenagers stopping over," countered Astoria at once. "Especially drunk ones."

Blaise laughed, but Tracey forced herself up onto her knees. She peeked over the back of the armchair to look at Astoria's face.

"Only your aunt would never _know_ , would she?" Tracey insisted slowly, eyes sparkling. "She's in France for the night—she told me when I brought my mother over for tea. Your house is totally empty..."

"Yes, but _Bonky_ is home," hissed Astoria, beginning to feel cornered. She did not want to appear outwardly impolite, but the idea of Blaise touching her things was enough to make her nervous. "Belladonna will _know_ I had people over—that elf is half spy."

"So what?" scoffed Tracey baldly, unwilling to take 'no' for an answer. "It's New Years eve and she left you home alone!"

"Interesting," mused Blaise, mulling the idea over thoughtfully. He turned to Draco. "My mother hates Astoria's aunt, but we could tell _our_ parents that we're going to Montague's. No one will check if we're back just after midnight."

"Yeah," shrugged Draco, warming to Tracey's plan, "that would work."

"See?" declared Tracey. She flashed a dazzling smile; for the umpteenth time, Astoria realized that she had underestimated her.

"Fine," Astoria muttered, seeing no way out. "But no later than midnight or I'll get an earful when my aunt comes home."

"Of course, we'll have to invite Montague now," continued Blaise. "He'll be game for an empty house, though. I don't know where _else_ he thinks he can go to avoid his parents on a holiday."

" _Great_ ," added Astoria snappishly, put out by the insinuation that she was the only teenager in the wizarding world without a present guardian. "Well, I'll be back. I have to go say goodbye."

They headed straight for the bar off of the orange grove where she had last seen her father. Sure enough, she found him sitting between Royden Poke from the Spirits Division and Mrs. MacLaggen.

"Hello," said Astoria loudly. She put her hand on her father's back and attempted to push herself in front of Cormac's buxom mother.

"Oh, hello darling!" beamed George, pulling her closer so that he could hear her. "Are you having a nice night?"

"Yes," lied Astoria, conscious of the fact that she could feel Mrs. McLaggen's body arched against her back. "I'm going home soon."

Her father looked almost as surprised as Tracey had.

"Darling, it's still early! Why don't you go find Cormac and have him show you the gardens?"

"I've seen them already," insisted Astoria as firmly as she dared. "I have a headache."

"Well, alright, if that's what you want. Don't forget to say goodbye to Cormac."

Astoria quickly kissed her father's cheek, loathing the expression on Mrs. McLaggen's face as she did so. It was obvious that she was anxiously waiting to resume the flirting that Astoria had interrupted; she signed with relief when Astoria stepped away.

Tracey and Draco were waiting in the orange grove.

"D'you think anyone would notice if we stole something?" wondered Tracey, pointing toward the bar with a lively interest.

"Probably not," frowned Astoria. She popped up onto her tip-toes to scan the party for Cormac's curly head. "Not that you _need_ to—I'm sure my aunt has something she won't miss. Stay away from the bar..."

"Look at McLaggen's mother!" drawled Draco in a tone of chilly delight. "She's practically licking that man's ear!"

Astoria blushed, eager to make them both move before she was forced admit that Mrs. McLaggen was panting over her own father.

"Well, he's loads better looking than old Mr. McLaggen," Tracey snorted loudly. "I don't blame her!"

Just then, Astoria's father turned his head and Tracey, who had met George earlier in the evening, promptly stopped laughing. She shot Astoria a look of surprise.

"Let's _go_ ," Astoria muttered.

"What a mess!" leered Draco enthusiastically.

No longer smiling, Tracey gave Draco a shove in the direction of the floo. Immensely grateful for her help, Astoria fell into step behind them. It was a good thing that Draco had never met her father before. Perhaps he would never even make the connection?

"Astoria!" bellowed a jubilant, bouncing voice.

Cormac had caught up, so Astoria came to a reluctant stop. Over his shoulder, she spotted Blaise and Montague working their way past a table of finger sandwiches.

"You're back! Merlin, Giambattista kept you long enough!" Cormac chortled. "He must have liked you—I don't think I've ever seen him laugh before."

"Yeah, he's quite serious, isn't he? Listen, Cormac," Astoria took him by the arm and attempted to lead him away from Draco and Tracey, who were both watching him like predators, "I think I'm going home."

"Home?" repeated Cormac, taken aback. "It's not even midnight."

"My friend Tracey's had too much to drink, so I'm taking her back to my house," Astoria improvised, privately eager to prevent Cormac from speaking with Blaise. "I wouldn't want to embarrass your father—"

"We're _all_ going!" called Tracey eagerly, just loud enough to ensure that McLaggen would hear her.

"Oh, you're taking people to your house!" Cormac exclaimed; his knitted brow softened. "That's probably a good idea. It'll keep the underage drinkers away from dad's guests. Just give me a minute to let my mother know that I'm popping out."

Draco scowled irritably at Tracey.

" _You're_ coming too?" stuttered Astoria in surprise.

"Sure. Why not?" Cormac chuckled.

"Seems a bit rude to leave your guests," called Malfoy snidely, taking the words right out of Astoria's mouth.

"Oh, they're all dad's friends," said Cormac, waving this accusation aside. He stepped around Astoria and struck out toward his mother.

Tracey fiddled with her head band, smirking to herself.

"Need some help with that, Judas?" hissed Astoria.

"Come on," muttered Blaise in a low voice, bringing up the rear with Montague. "Let's get out of here before someone we know stops for a chat."

"We're waiting on Cormac now," muttered Astoria unwillingly, wishing she had slipped away without saying goodbye to anyone.

"You invited McLaggen?" scoffed Blaise. There was a hint of reprimand in his tone.

" _Davis_ did," sneered Malfoy, keen to make the distinction known.

"Shouldn't I have?" asked Tracey, all false civility. "He _is_ Astoria's date."

Blaise let out a soft noise though his nose and shrugged.

"We can use the floo in the study," declared Cormac when he reappeared. "No one's bothering with it."

He led them out of the conservatory and through a door into a dimly lit hall lined with portraits. Tracey tripped on the rug and giggled when Astoria caught her.

"Did you really spend two hours with Giambattista earlier?" she asked, grabbing hold of Astoria's arm.

"They took so many laps around the garden that I thought he was going to run off with her," called Cormac. He pushed open a heavy oak door and ushered them all into a low, wood paneled study. "I don't know _what_ you talked about, though. I thought they both seemed uncommonly glum."

"Nothing in particular," murmured Astoria, feeling Tracey's gaze of admiration on the side of her face. Cormac threw a fistful of floo powder into a fire.

"Maybe he'll ask you to model for him!" suggested Tracey, stepping back to avoid the crackling flames.

"I doubt it," jeered Blaise patronizingly. "Giambattista's famous. Astoria's from the wrong country and she's underage—why bother?"

"It _is_ a pity he didn't give you something," Tracey went on in a disappointed voice. "That would have _really_ been something."

"I don't think he carries goody-bags around," said Astoria, laughing.

They stumbled out of the floo into Belladonna's semi-dark foyer.

" _Wrong_ person," said Draco coldly somewhere behind her. Astoria peered through the gloom in confusion.

"Sorry!" returned Cormac's voice, punctuated by an embarrassed little chuckle.

Astoria paused, suddenly consumed by a mixture of dread and morbid fascination. What _part_ of Malfoy had Cormac grabbed in the dark? She lit the nearest lamp and brought the parlor into greater illumination.

Blaise was running his fingers though his hair, afraid that the soot had done something to disturb his dark, wavy roots; Montague was looking about with mild interest, and Draco was glaring daggers at Cormac.

"Where's your bathroom, Astoria?" asked Cormac at once, eager to temporarily vacate the room.

She indicated a short, blue and white wall-papered hall that looped about to the dinning room. Cormac took off for it at once.

"Did McLaggen just _grope_ you?" leered Blaise delightedly, turning on Draco.

"The young Mistress is home and she has brought visitors that she ought not be having," interrupted a croaky voice from the heart of the shadowy living room.

Every head turned in the direction of the eerie muttering.

"Go to bed, Bonky!" snapped Astoria.

"Mistress is telling me to go to bed," mused Bonky. "Mistress wants me to leave so that she can live lawlessly in the house that I am entrusted to keep and hold safe."

"It's not _your_ house," said Astoria angrily. "Go to the kitchens."

"What does mistress intend to do?" asked Bonky nosily, edging into the room. "Will mistress be making a mess and expecting Bonky to clean it, I wonder?"

"That's your _job,_ isn't it?" asked Astoria sharply, knowing that she would pay tenfold for every insult that she uttered the moment Belladonna returned to the country.

"Mistress ought not to have company while her aunt is away," Bonky growled. "Mistress is a brat with no sense of respect, but it is my duty to tell Mistress that she has mail waiting for her, to be attended to whenever it pleases her."

Blaise's eyes widened with gleeful disbelief. Perhaps none of _his_ house elves were likely to sass-mouth him in front of company?

"Thank you, Bonky," hissed Astoria through gritted teeth. "Take my cloak and go. _Now_."

"Bonky will take Mistresses cloak, yes, but he will not enjoy it, no," grumbled Bonky. He seized Astoria's coat and disappeared down the same hall that Cormac had rushed down.

"You ought to push that thing off the top of the house," ventured Malfoy the moment Bonky was out of sight.

"I _know_ ," Astoria sighed, moving to collect her mail from the hallway table, "but he's absolutely devoted to my aunt. Besides, the house has such awkward roof access..."

There were two letters addressed to Astoria in Theodore's handwriting on the table, but they were not what caught her eye.

"What's _that_?" asked Tracey, coming forward to have a look.

It was a large golden box with Giambattista Valli's insignia embossed in dark blue. Astoria stared, half in wonder and half in disbelief. Without thinking, she untied the ribbon and pulled the lid away to reveal a confection of folded tissue paper and a small envelope.

"It's not!" gasped Tracey.

"It's probably a gift from her father," laughed Blaise dismissively. "You expect me to believe that Giambattista Valli rushed home to send a teenage girl a present?"

Astoria took up the envelope and ripped off the sealing wax.

" _A_ gift for _Astoria with the quick tongue_ ," Tracey read out loud over her shoulder, shooting Astoria a very amused look. " _Some woman wish to marry, still others wish to meet prince charming. Do yourself a favor and wear this, never marry and remain forever charming. Giambattista."_

Astoria threw her head back and laughed. Blaise raised an appraising eyebrow, clearly impressed despite himself.

"What's _that_ supposed to mean?" asked Draco, unable to conceal the suspicion in his tone. "What sort of note is that? He's got to be fifty. He shouldn't be talking to you about _marriage_."

"It's a joke," said Astoria placatingly, not wishing to give Giambattista a bad name. "He didn't want to talk to me when I first met him. Something about hating young girls because they're only ever drunk or trying to get married."

"That elf of yours sure has a temper, doesn't he?" bustled Cormac, skittering back into the hall and looking harassed.

Astoria ignored him and unfolded the tissue paper inside the box. She withdrew a dark felt hat, ideal for wearing to ignore passerby and put it on her head. Brushing away her hair, she turned to examine herself in the mirror on the wall almost lazily; the hat was such a good fit that it required no pulling or adjusting.

"What's that—a Christmas present?" asked Cormac.

"Giambattista Valli sent her a gift," drawled Blaise. "Apparently it was love at first sight."

Before she could allow herself to become too fond of the new hat, Astoria swept it off of her head and tossed it back into the box. She had made the mistake of forgetting to have something signed for Parvati and _here_ was a ready-made solution: she would simply forfeit the hat and give it to Parvati in place of a signature.

She smiled as she re-fixed the lid, no longer regretting Cormac. The gift made up for everything. It meant that, in a Rolodex somewhere, Giambattista Valli had her address.

"This way," called Astoria, heading toward the living room.

It was a mark of how much power that the hat seemed to have bestowed that everyone followed without protest. Tracey coaxed the lamp on the table near the bookcases with her wand. Astoria intentionally avoided the couch and tossed herself into one of the red velvet armchairs, afraid that Cormac (or indeed, if she was being _truly_ honest with herself, perhaps even Malfoy) might try to cage her into a corner.

Astoria tilted her head back and surveyed the scene before her, suddenly alive to the strangeness of what Tracey had gotten them both into: Montague, the Slytherin quidditch chaser, was inspecting a photo of Astoria on the bookcase; Blaise Zabini was playing bartender, casually opening drawers and cracking bottles. Draco Malfoy was already sipping a scotch near an antique globe, twirling it about with two fingers, his face a mask of supreme confidence. It was such a strange picture that, for a moment, she felt like an intruder in her own home.

After all, it was _one_ thing to occasionally meet with a group of Slytherins and hang about at school—on those occasions, Theodore was usually present and Astoria felt herself to be in the company of a firm ally. It was another thing entirely to host so many of them in her home. Cormac was the only other non-Slytherin in the room, but he was faintly repulsive and Tracey was intent on wreaking chaos. Where did _that_ leave her?

"I'll have the scotch," said Cormac, pushing his glass closer to Blaise.

"Are you doing gin, Astoria?" asked Draco lazily. He sidled up and took the glass from Cormac, ignoring him completely.

"Mhmm," she confirmed, dangling one foot over the edge of her chair. Tracey sunk down on the armrest behind behind her head and began to pull a strand of Astoria's hair with her fingers.

Astoria's eyes shot toward Cormac and then returned to Tracey's face accusingly.

"What?" murmured Tracey in a low voice. "It's funny!"

"Funny for who?" returned Astoria quietly.

"Me!" leered Tracey, breaking into a shark-like smirk. "I don't think Malfoy agrees, though..."

"Did he say something?" asked Astoria nervously. Her voice was so quiet now that Tracey had to lean closer. Surely he wouldn't have said anything about what she had done in the garden?

"Who?" Tracey asked in confusion, following Astoria's gaze. "Draco? No, why?"

" _Shhh_ ," said Astoria, conscious of the fact that Montague had paused in his pursuit of Lestrange childhood photos to listen in.

"Gossiping, are you?" Montague leered, brandishing a picture frame. "Is this _you?_ In nothing but bathing suit bottoms and a hat?"

Draco and Blaise moved away from the bar, leaving Cormac to pour his own drink. Malfoy handed Astoria her drink before glancing over at the photo. He snorted.

"I'm five," scoffed Astoria. She sipped from the glass in her hand, pleased to find that he'd mixed tonic into it.

"You were an ugly child," Montague declared, moving down the shelf. "Is this your aunt when she was young?"

The photo he was holding was not of Belladonna, but of Astoria's mother, Lucrezia. It was the only picture of her on display in the house—the rest were all in photo albums. At the age of nineteen, Lucrezia was tall, youthful and almost glowingly beautiful. In the particular snapshot Montague was holding, she was clutching a broken umbrella (despite the fact that it wasn't raining) and laughing dazzlingly in the direction of the photographer. Her expression was both perplexed and endearing—as though the whole scenario of being lovely and clutching a broken umbrella was just as mysterious to _her_ as it was to anyone who looked at her photograph.

"No," admitted Astoria begrudgingly, "that's my mother."

Draco turned his head to look at the portrait, this time with more than just _faint_ interest.

"She's a looker," observed Montague.

"You're starting to bother me," returned Astoria. She did _not_ want to talk about her mother. "Tracey, do you want something? Cormac can make it for you."

"Yes!" cried Tracey at once, bouncing off the side of Astoria's chair.

"Why is she holding an umbrella?" asked Draco and Astoria realized that he was still looking at her mother's photograph.

"No idea," she returned honestly, wishing to be as obvious as she could that this was not a discussion that she was willing to have.

"Oh, look," said Montague, his face cracking into a wide smile. "It's baby Astoria—only this time she's armed."

He pointed to a small picture in a tin frame. It featured Astoria holding a bow and arrow aloft; the green lawn of an archery competition stretched out behind her like a splash of bright paint. She was old enough to be recognizable this time, but her face was still round and childish.

"Was that before or after you shot your teacher?" called Tracey in a sing song voice.

Blaise, who had heard this story before, laughed wickedly. Draco's eyes, however, were still lingering on Lucrezia and the umbrella, his expression distracted and unreadable...

A lick of fear went up Astoria's spine. She began to wonder if Draco might recognize her mother from another photograph he had seen—a photo of known death eaters from the late seventies perhaps?

"It's the same day, actually," said Astoria, wishing fervently to draw Draco's eyes away from Lucrezia's face.

"You really did shoot your teacher, then?" asked Tracey, betraying a touch of excitement. "I never knew if Pansy had made that up or not."

"I really _did_ shoot my teacher," confirmed Astoria enthusiastically.

"Wait—you shot someone and your aunt framed a photo of it?" asked Montague dubiously.

"She's an odd woman, Belladonna," sighed Astoria.

"Because it was an accident, I'm sure," rejoined Cormac chivalrously, sitting down on the couch nearest Astoria's chair. "There's no reason not to keep the photo..."

Draco blinked. Then, finally, he seemed to hear what Cormac had said and scoffed.

"Well, she _obviously_ didn't do it on purpose," argued Cormac, rounding on Draco.

"Have you ever seen her shoot?" asked Malfoy coldly.

"Enough with the photos, Montague," declared Astoria roughly. Draining her drink in two large gulps, she moved toward the couch.

Several minutes later, Blaise found a deck of cards hidden inside a small drawer in a side table, thereby ending all talk of Lucrezia Lestrange. Montague dealt poker, but Astoria could hardly remember the rules and Tracey seemed determined to play badly. After several miserable hands, it became obvious that they were not destined to enjoy themselves.

"It doesn't matter if they're all royal, Tracey," groused Blaise, "they have to be in the same _suit_ or else you need doubles."

"Mistress has _another_ guest at the door," croaked Bonky suddenly, making everybody jump.

"Who is it?" asked Astoria, startled.

Letting her card hand fold, she stood up and followed Bonky out into the hall. To her immense surprise, Millicent Bulstrode was loitering at the foot of the stairs. She turned to face Astoria, looking very unsure of herself.

A warning bell began to ring in her mind: Millicent was famous for ignoring Astoria at all costs—she had never been inside Belladonna's house before and she'd certainly never suggested that she had any desire to change that status.

"Millicent?" ventured Astoria, checking to be sure it was really her.

"Hello," returned Millicent dully, her eyes on the closed off living room. "Am I disturbing you?"

"No," breathed Astoria. "My house is probably the worst place in the country right now, trust me. What's going on?"

"I was wondering if you'd talked to Theodore today," continued Millicent suggestively.

"I don't think so," Astoria admitted, tensing. " _Why_? Is he all right?"

Her stomach churned as she thought about the two letters addressed from Theodore under the gift-box in the entryway. She hadn't read _either_ of them...

"He's fine," continued Millicent evasively, but Astoria could tell that she was willfully leaving her in the dark about something. "I just thought that it might be nice if you dropped in on him."

A surge of laughter erupted from the living room. Astoria could very clearly hear Draco's drawling voice from where she was standing halfway across the foyer. Millicent's face registered surprise.

"I mean, I'm a bit tied up at the moment," Astoria stammered ineptly. "A pack of people who secretly hate me are raiding my aunt's liquor cabinet. Can it wait until tomorrow?"

"Sure," said Millicent, shrugging in a way that was calculated to make her feel guilty.

"I can't go anywhere right now," insisted Astoria a little defensively, "so If something's _really_ wrong, you might want to tell me so that I can force this lot to clear out."

"It's not like that," murmured Millicent, her eyes still on the closed doors. "Just...go over later. If you can make time."

"After midnight?" asked Astoria doubtfully.

"I have a feeling he'll be up," returned Millicent.

Astoria reentered the living room feeling distinctly shaken.

"Who was it?" asked Tracey.

"No one," answered Astoria. "It was nothing."

But it _wasn't_ nothing: in truth, the fact the Millicent had come to do Theodore's bidding was very worrisome.

Draco had taken her seat on the couch, so Astoria sat in the new space between him and Montague, calculating how much time she had left before she could make her escape to Theodore's house.

What if no one was awake there? Or worse, what if Theo's father mistook her for an intruder and attempted to shoot her with that giant shotgun of his?

"So anyway," Montague went on, continuing a story he had been telling in Astoria's absence, "Nash wasn't arrested, but needless to say, he was never invited back for tea again."

Astoria shifted, trying to stop her stomach from doing uncomfortable flip-flops. Her gin was long finished and she's left her glass on the table near the armchair. Wordlessly, she reached for the drink in Draco's hand and took a small sip of the room temperature, unmixed scotch that he was drinking.

She winced, swallowed and quietly passed the glass back to him. He took it without saying a word and Astoria was grateful that he refrained from commenting.

"Wait a second, Astoria, you have to hear this!" exclaimed Tracey.

"She's probably heard it before," admitted Montague. "You know about Nash Goldstein, don't you?"

Astoria shook her head to indicate that she did not.

"You don't know the joke about Goldstein?" drawled Malfoy delightedly. "He's famous for getting drunk at holiday parties. Every year he manages to destroy a Christmas tree somewhere. I thought _everyone_ knew!"

Astoria blinked, slowly absorbing this explosion of new information.

"You don't mean _Anthony_ Goldstein's father?" she asked, thinking of the Ravenclaw boy she had come to hate in Ancient Runes class.

"Must be," said Malfoy lazily, going on in a rather satisfied tone: "Oh that's right, I _forgot_ you didn't like him."

Astoria blinked again. A bizarre mixture of nervousness and actual amusement welled up in her chest like a bubble. Without really meaning to, she burst out laughing.

For a second, Malfoy looked stunned, but then his attitude shifted and he began to appear unduly pleased with himself.

"Of course, he's done it so _many_ times now that his friends have name for it," Draco continued smugly. "Whenever Nash Goldstein destroys something, they say he's ' _Nashed'_ it."

"Like trashed," interjected Montague unnecessarily, "only with an 'N'."

Astoria snorted and tried to control herself—now that she had started laughing, she was finding it very hard to stop. Maybe it was the slow and steady consumption of alcohol making her chuckle? Or perhaps it was simply a way of venting her suddenly strung nerves. In either case, she hadn't heard anything else half so funny all evening.

Cormac gave a quick, half-hearted laugh in an attempt to join in. "Of course, his son Tony isn't like that," he added. "He's quite a neatnick, isn't he? Always top in all his grades."

Astoria was not at all surprised by this: it seemed perfectly natural that Cormac and Anthony would be school friends. They really weren't so different, after all.

"The way I hear it, Nash got himself into a bit of trouble recently," continued Malfoy jeeringly, made confident by Astoria's laughter. "Father says he cleared off a bit of his land—wanted to put in a guest house or something—only he didn't have any of the permits he needed."

"I'm sure Nash settled it with the ministry," returned Cormac firmly.

"He _did_ ," agreed Draco, smirking. "Of course, it turned that out the land he had leveled was a protected wilderness. He had to write a letter of apology to Fudge himself, didn't he? _And_ pay Merlin knows how many fines. In the end, it's almost like he _Nashed_ his own forest, isn't it?"

"I really don't see what is so funny about squandering national resources, Malfoy," scoffed Cormac pompously.

Astoria held her breath but the look of self righteousness on Cormac's face did her in; she blew out laughing again.

"Astoria, _really_ ," scowled Cormac.

Draco spread out in his seat, beyond gratified. His eyes flicked sideways toward her.

"Well," declared Cormac, clearing his throat, "it's nearly midnight. I should pop off and see how mum and dad are doing."

"Good seeing you," drawled Malfoy lazily, not even bothering to look at him.

"Walk me out, Astoria?" insisted Cormac, leaving her with the distinct feeling that he wanted to say goodbye without Malfoy present.

"Forgotten where the fireplace is already, have you?" returned Draco snidely.

"No, I was hoping to say goodnight to my date, actually," Cormac snapped.

Seeing no way around it, Astoria stood up and followed Cormac into the hall.

"Well, I'd like to say that this was fun," he began in a light voice when he reached the hearth, "but maybe fewer Slytherins next time, eh?"

Astoria tried not to pale at the idea of a next time and nodded her head enthusiastically, anxious to have him through the fireplace and on his way home.

"I don't even know how they happened to tag along, come to think of it," continued Cormac, frowning in the direction of the living room. "I suppose that's what you get for having Tracey as a friend, although she seems like the most decent of the lot of them."

"That's probably true," Astoria agreed. "Listen, thanks for everything. I had a great evening."

"It's almost midnight, you know," Cormac ventured slyly, indicating a clock on the table.

Astoria knew what was coming. She made level eye contact, hoping that she would frighten or disarm him, but Cormac came a step closer.

"For luck then," he murmured, leaning in to kiss her.

Astoria had not quite made up her mind about what to do when instinct kicked in. She turned her head at the last second, presenting him with her cheek. Cormac's lips brushed against her jaw. Astoria stared fixedly at the clock and did not close her eyes.

He let out a small irritated breath against her hair; the look of annoyance on his face when he pulled away sealed his fate. If he had appeared embarrassed or disappointed, Astoria might have taken pity on him. But as it was, he merely looked like toddler who had been refused a promising toy.

"It's bad luck to kiss before midnight," insisted Astoria, gracefully but firmly.

Cormac studied her face for a moment before shrugging. The look of irritation disappeared from his features. "Next time, then."

The door of the living room was still cracked when Astoria pushed it open.

"Well, Cormac's gone," she announced, throwing herself into the seat he had just vacated. "And by the looks of it, he managed to drink half of my aunt's best Scotch before he cleared out. Thank you, Tracey. I certainly hope you're happy with yourself."

Tracey let out a shriek of shrill, diabolical laughter and Astoria noticed for the first time that Blaise's arm was thrown casually over the couch behind her friend's shaking shoulders.

"Ah!" gasped Tracey at last, very red in the face. "It was so funny, though! That thing he said to Draco about national resources! I nearly smothered myself!"

"I suppose I'd better be getting back, too," added Blaise with a smirk, pulling himself up off the couch,

"Ugh," Tracey sighed, heaving a deep breath. "I can't go home like this. Astoria, can I stay here?"

"Suppose I said no?" Astoria threatened. She didn't really mean it, but it was hard not to feel a little resentful.

"You won't say no," Tracey scoffed. "You don't want to sleep all alone in an empty house. Don't be stern, it was just a joke. We'll spoon and by morning you'll forget all about it."

"The highlight of my night, I'm sure," Astoria muttered wryly, picking up the book of bird sketches that she had stuffed into the couch. "You can stay," she finally relented, "but I still have to go out for a bit."

" _Where_?" asked Draco rudely. "It's midnight, isn't it?"

"So?" quirked Astoria lightly. "I can go where I like. Who's going to stop me?"

The empty house seemed to speak for itself. Blaise finished off his glass and put it back down on the coffee table with a neat, satisfying smack.

"You're staying here, Tracey?" he asked, rummaging about his pockets to see if anything had slipped out while he was sitting.

Astoria followed them back into the front room and waited until all three boys had gone through, debating whether or not to read Theo's letters first or to rush over as soon as possible.

"Where _are_ you going?" asked Tracey, leaning against the stairway banister. "You can tell _me_. I don't care if you're off to boff a muggle—It's not like I'd try to talk you out of anything, you know."

"Theodore's," Astoria muttered, reaching for the floo powder.

"Oh," Tracey snorted, finding this anticlimactic. "Is he the one who came by earlier? Did he leave when he realized you had Draco and Blaise in the house?"

"No," said Astoria, tossing the powder into the fire, "that was Millicent."

"Oh?" quirked Tracey, intrigued. "I didn't know you even knew Millicent."

"Theodore is friends with her," Astoria amended.

"Oh, that's right," said Tracey slowly. She ran a finger across the top of the banister and hesitated. When she spoke again her voice was oddly cautionary. "Millicent is related to Pansy, you know. They're, like, third cousins."

"Fascinating," Astoria snorted.

"Just thought you should know," Tracey shrugged, her eyes suddenly bright. "They don't hang around much together—you know how shallow Pansy is, but they _were_ close when they were kids."

"So?" Astoria sneered, failing to understand the point that Tracey was trying to communicate.

"So," continued Tracey slowly, "they _talk_ sometimes..."

Astoria stared, recognizing a barely perceptible shift in loyalty. Since they had become friends, Tracey had never had any problem abusing Pansy as loudly and verbally as she dared, but this was the first time Tracey had ever attempted to give away a former confidence. It was a warning, Astoria realized.

"Millicent and I _don't_ really talk," Astoria argued. "I can't see that being much of a problem."

"Alright," allowed Tracey, beginning to walk up the steps, "but when Pansy makes a nasty comment about how you lured her favorite boys over on New Years, don't make the mistake of thinking it was because anyone who was here tonight told her."

Astoria nodded and tossed powder into the fire. She stepped out of the shivering green flames into Theodore's dark, unused living room and shivered at the unexpected cold.

Theodore's house was never particularly warm: Astoria had always had the impression that both Theodore and his father were prone to forgetting about about basic human comforts. But between the darkness and the silence, she felt the temperature keenly and worried.

A light was burning in Theodore's father's study; Astoria could see a thin strip of warm color dancing in the space between the closed door and the floor. For a moment, she debated what to do next. She was not entirely comfortable enough to go searching for Theodore by herself—in fact, she had never even been upstairs during the day. She settled for knocking twice on the heavy office door and waiting for a response. Anxious footsteps broke the heavy silence.

"Astoria" mumbled Theodore defensively, his voice dull with recognition. What are you _doing_ here?"

"Well, a happy New Year to you too," frowned Astoria, pushing around him in Mr. Nott's office.

It was considerably warmer in here than it was in the hall. She studied Theodore's face, happy to find him whole and well, if slightly pale.

"Oh, right," grunted Theodore distractedly, running a hand through his snarled hair. "You had your party. Did you just get my letters? You shouldn't have come over. Really, it could have waited—"

"I haven't even read them yet," admitted Astoria, moving closer to the fire. "Millicent dropped by and told me I should come see you."

Theodore blanched, so Astoria lifted an espresso cup up off the desk and sniffed it gingerly. "What _are_ you drinking?"

"Turkish coffee," supplied Theo at once. He shut the door against the hall gloom, his face puckering. "Wait, _Millicent_ came to see you?"

"Mhmm," Astoria confirmed, sensing that Theodore had _not_ sent Millicent himself. Her involvement was obviously a surprise.

"Why would she have done that?" Theodore snapped. "Listen, it's nothing. It's late..." he trailed off and Astoria was surprised to find that he looked faintly embarrassed.

"What's going on, Theo?" asked Astoria softly, leaning against the mantelpiece.

" _Nothing_ ," projected Theodore forcefully. He clenched his hand into a fist and knocked against the window sill; his shoulders slumped. He collapsed into the nearest chair, looking exhausted

"I had a bit of a problem with dad earlier," admitted Theodore heavily. "He went out—he was gone for hours. I finally tracked him down outside the village, half frozen and out of his mind."

"Is he alright?" asked Astoria tensely.

"He is _now_ ," sighed Theodore darkly. "I've had a healer over to take a look at him. She says everything will be fine, but it was a tense afternoon. I couldn't move dad on my own and you weren't responding to my letters, so I had to call in Millie..."

"I'm sorry," mouthed Astoria miserably, thinking of all the time she had wasted inspecting Giambattista's hat when she ought to have been reading her post.

"S'alright," said Theo thickly, "you were busy."

"I shouldn't have been!" Astoria insisted, craving forgiveness for a cruelty she hadn't even committed on purpose.

"You couldn't have known," sneered Theodore, his voice suddenly bitter. "Who expects to get a piece of mail like that? Nobody else's family members go mad and wander off into the frozen night!"

Astoria eyed the cup of Turkish coffee and began to search behind Mr. Nott's desk.

"What are you doing?" demanded Theodore confusedly.

"Looking for the good stuff," Astoria grunted. "I've already been drinking all night. It's New Years. Have a toast with me."

Theo thought about this for a moment. "It's in the bottom drawer on the left," he conceded.

Astoria yanked open the drawer and withdrew an ancient brown bottle capped with a dusty looking cork.

"You're sure this isn't rat poison?" Astoria wondered. "It _is_ a holiday—we might not be able to get the healer to come back twice."

"Eh, sniff it first," suggested Theodore unconcernedly. He got up to fetch two mugs from the tea set.

"Cheers," said Astoria, clinking her mug against Theo's. They both swallowed the oily substance within. Astoria had to close her watering eyes until the fire she had consumed reached her stomach.

Theodore swore and slammed his cup back down onto the desk.

"That's _awful_!" said Astoria, fighting against her gag reflex. "Did your father _make_ it?"

"A fitting end to my night!" coughed Theodore. "I bloody _hate_ the holidays."

Astoria smiled, studying Theodore's long face. For the first time, she appreciated how fully he was forced to live like an adult in his own home. George and Belladonna were guilty of many things, but Astoria was frequently guilty of complaining about them. Theodore, on the other hand, had a way of bearing the weight of his sadness in silence.

"You are my best friend, Theodore," confessed Astoria clearly, meaning it with all of her heart. "You prove that Gryffindors don't own bravery."

Theo did not turn to look at her, but she thought she saw a trace of color high in his cheeks.

"Thanks," he muttered at last. "Enough of this. How was your night?"

"Perfectly wretched," Astoria supplied, grinning despite herself.

"Serves you right for going out with Cormac," returned Theodore, cracking his first smile.

"It was Tracey's fault, actually," Astoria mused.

"Why does that not surprised me?" Theodore laughed.

"I had a house party," Astoria went on, savoring the look of revulsion on Theodore's face. "Just me, Tracey, and a couple of my favorite school enemies."

0o0

The sky outside was turning blue by the time Astoria returned home. She crept into her bedroom quietly, careful not to let the door creak.

Tracey's shock of sandy blonde hair was just visible above the top of Astoria's sheets and her heavy breathing filled the air with a soothing rhythm. Her face was greatly softened by sleep—there was something messy and wholesome about the way spit seemed to be pooling in the corner of her mouth.

Astoria slipped into bed and listened as the first bird song started up outside her window, feeling very grateful for the sleeping form beside her. Tracey gave a snort and yanked away when Astoria's cold feet came into contact with her blanket-warm legs. She waited for Tracey's body to relax, pushed her sheet between them and curled up against her back for warmth.

0o0

* * *

Gah, I just love Theodore—I couldn't go the whole chapter without him. Additionally, I think Theodore's got a lot going on in his life and is far less likely to talk about it than Astoria, so it's always interesting to force some intimacy on him.

In any case, it's been a while since anybody has gone to class, so I'll have everybody back at Hogwarts shortly! There's some great school drama coming up, after all.


	24. Stunt

Chapter Twenty Four

Stunt

* * *

0o0

Astoria awoke to the sound of her aunt's luggage hitting the parlor floor. For long a moment she lay awake, unable to remember why the sound made her so nervous. Then, with a terrible jolt, her confused thoughts finally dialed in on the mess she had left living room; glasses on the coffee table, cushions still askew. With a sense of dread bordering on conviction, she guessed that Bonky had not cleaned up after her party had left.

"S'at?" Tracey mumbled into her pillow, still half asleep.

"My aunt's home," returned Astoria tensely, pushing herself upright.

"Oh. Can I borrow something to wear?" Tracey yawned, blinking at the broad shafts of daylight. It was after one o'clock in the afternoon—had they really slept so late? "My dress has scotch on it."

"You mean _my_ dress has scotch on it?" Astoria snorted, untangling herself from the blankets.

"Yes, _fine_. It was worth it, though," sighed Tracey. "Last night was perfect."

"For you, maybe," Astoria retorted, fighting to pull a brush through her tangled hair. If she was being totally honest with herself, there seemed to be a faint odor of scotch lingering about _her_ skin as well. She hoped Belladonna would not notice...

"Blaise had his arm around you at the end of the night, didn't he?" she asked, trying to distract herself.

"He's _so_ good looking it makes my eyes hurt," effused Tracey. She sat up under Astoria's comforter looking hopefully smudged and adorably ruffled.

"Your children will be demonic," Astoria muttered, allowing herself a small smirk before unzipping her black dress and kicking it across the floor.

"What about you?" frowned Tracey. Her expression was convincingly worried, but a caress of something unmistakably wicked colored her tone.

"What _about_ me?" returned Astoria sternly. "Cormac tried to kiss me before he left, if that's what your hunting for. It was evil of you to invite him along."

"You should have seen Malfoy's face when Cormac took you into the hall!" cackled Tracey. "He looked _so_ relived when you came straight back—I _almost_ felt bad for him."

"They didn't get on well at all, did they?" remarked Astoria lightly. She took off her expensive necklace, carefully recoiled it inside its box and re-fastened the lid. "I suppose they _are_ a bit alike, come to think of it..."

Tracey made a face that suggested Astoria had missed her point, but a knock on the door prevented her from saying anything more.

"Miss's presence is requested for tea," croaked Bonky's bullfrog voice. Astoria waited for more, but apparently this was his entire message; a small whip-like crack announced his Dissapration back to the first floor.

"Help yourself to whatever you want from the bureau," muttered Astoria hastily, pulling a long sweater on over last-night's tights.

Belladonna was waiting in the sitting room. Meanwhile, nearby, Bonky appeared to be making a great show of tidying up the living room. He _had_ waited for Belladonna to return before starting in on the mess. Astoria glared at him, swept away by a surge of renewed dislike.

She studied the debris: a liquor glass on the coffee table—the rumpled couch cushions. How many times had Astoria come home to find that her aunt had left things in the same state? There had been no midnight seductions at _Astoria's_ party, no whispered plots. Any backlash from her aunt would count as hypocritical in the extreme.

"Darling," called Belladonna warmly. She stood up to kiss her cheek. "How was your party? Sit."

Astoria sat, feeling distinctly thrown and no longer certain how best to proceed. She had expected Belladonna to be angry; she did not know how to react to so much good humor.

"Fine," answered Astoria shortly, still waiting for the ax to fall. "How was France?"

"Well turned out. As always," shrugged Belladonna, pouring tea."But you know how it is—for every true wit, there are a half a dozen _poets_ lying in wait. The pretension of it all!"

Astoria sipped her tea warily. She couldn't remember the last time Belladonna had behaved so pleasantly. Either she had met a man on her trip or it was all a very clever act—one contrived to lull Astoria into a sense of false security. Personally, she hoped for the latter. Better an unexpected attack than a new uncle...

"I had people over," Astoria announced, perversely curious to test Belladonna's mood. "They were all underage and they raided the liquor cabinet."

"Yes, I noticed," returned Belladonna, sounding strangely un-bothered. "You might have kept them away from the scotch, you know. It's quite expensive."

"Good morning, Madam Lestrange!" cried Tracey brightly, bounding into view at the bottom of the stairs.

Irritated by the unexpected intrusion, Astoria turned and leveled her friend with a hard look. Hadn't she made it quite clear that Tracey ought to show herself out?

" _Mrs._ Lestrange will do," returned Belladonna wryly, recovering from the surprise of Tracey's entrance.

Astoria cleared her throat and volunteered the obvious: "Tracey spent the night."

"Are we expecting anyone _else_?" persisted Belladonna, this time with a little more of the dry sarcasm that Astoria was used to.

"No!" chirped Tracey, taking an empty seat between them. "It's just me. Astoria kicked everybody out at midnight because she said you'd want her to, only _I_ think she did it to get rid of all the boys vying for her attention. Astoria, may I use your plate for this scone?"

Astoria shoved her plate roughly across the table. Belladonna raised an eyebrow, torn between contempt and amusement.

"You can use the floo downstairs whenever you're ready," insisted Astoria tightly, passing along her butter knife.

"I'll _do_ that," Tracey snickered, eyes sparkling.

Astoria waited until the scone was gone and stood up to escort her friend to the fireplace in person.

"Nice having you," she hissed through gritted teeth.

Tracey beamed. Her gaze danced past Astoria, where it lingered on Belladonna's shoulders. "I'll see you tomorrow, then? We'll meet in the library—catch up on our Arithmancy?"

The moment the floo spun Tracey out of sight, Belladonna pounced.

"Is she stupid or is there some other trick in it?" her aunt snorted, producing a cigarette from the silver case she always carried with her. "I cannot understand your fascination. Not that I'm complaining, of course—it's a relief to see you courting company outside of Theodore Nott."

"I stole her from Pansy Parkinson," Astoria admitted, "but she's grown on me. There isn't a stupid bone in Tracey's body—its an act. She just loves chaos. Disorder is her favorite ladder to climb and the girl is a born mountaineer."

Belladonna laughed appreciatively but her eyes sharpened in a way that told Astoria the adroitness of her analysis had taken her by surprise.

"And what does she aim to achieve, this mountaineering fried of yours?" asked Belladonna slowly. "What does she want out of life? Her mother is only a second generation pureblood and her father is dead. What does she aspire to?"

"So far as I can tell, she doesn't want anything more than Seraphina Zabini's son, unfettered access to liquor and company of any kind," Astoria listed, unable to suppress a grin.

Belladonna laughed again, but the sound took on a edge of cruelty at the mention of Blaise's mother; memories of their old rivalry seemed to color her expression with shadow.

"I sometimes forget that Seraphina's son is your age," she mused. "It's been nearly a decade since I've laid eyes on her boy. I suppose _he_ was here last night?"

Astoria hesitated.

"I only approve if he was the poor fellow vying for your attention," Belladonna jeered, putting Astoria's fear of punishment to rest. " _That_ I might find rather amusing."

"He _was_ here," Astoria admitted cautiously, struggling to think of a way to describe Blaise to Belladonna, who had almost no interest in trivial niceties. "Truth be told, he doesn't like me much—and I'm not sure I like him, either. He's too smooth for his age. The epitome of carelessness, but it's intentional—almost _studied_."

Belladonna flicked ash from the end of her cigarette into a bronze ashtray. The inside of the bowl was painted with an obnoxiously cheery pattern of bucolic milkmaids and frolicking lacquered lambs.

"He pretends he doesn't care what's popular," Astoria went on, trying not to stare at the villainous pile of ash now obscuring the plump face of a painted maid. "But he only bothers because he's eternally preoccupied with proving how quietly competent and elegant he is."

"A masculine miniature of his mother, then," mused Belladonna, who was listening carefully—indeed, much more carefully than she had listened to anything Astoria had had to say in a very long time.

"Does he like your little friend?" Belladonna persisted. "She has a rather boyish figure, but that would be nothing if she really is as devious as you seem to think."

"He's _amused_ by her," griped Astoria, voicing aloud an idea that had been bothering her for some time. "Tracey's _obviously_ infatuated with him—and Blaise has an ego that appreciates that sort of thing—but he's not very nice to her. I don't know how she hasn't noticed—Tracey's usually very observant."

"Time has made you a rather observant force yourself, darling," returned Belladonna. She put out her cigarette and eyed her niece baldly. "I had no idea you were so keen."

Astoria paused with her teacup near her mouth, startled by the unexpected compliment.

"What a relief!" Belladonna cackled. "If you'd turned out to be simple-minded, we'd have spent the next forty years without anything to talk about!"

0o0

A mixture of thick, sludgy snow and rain fell heavily from dawn until dusk the next day, making Astoria's return to Hogwarts a wet and somewhat morose affair. Far from warm, the corridors stood long and damp, their windows misted over from the inside. The student body was equally unwelcoming. The state of agitation following Sirius Black's notorious break-in (excited still further by Harry's Potter's first loosing quidditch match) had finally worn off, leaving behind a subdued, post-holiday hangover. Astoria had to work very hard on Monday morning to avoid dozing off in class. The last thing she wanted to do after the lunch bell was trudge across the frozen grounds to Hagrid's cabin for Care of Magical Creature's class, but trudge she did.

"Miserable," muttered Theodore darkly, his mouth obscured by a thick and very worn-down scarf. "Tell me again why we signed up for this _miserable_ subject!"

"Because sometimes," panted Astoria, breaking off to regain her balance after slipping on a patch of wet ice, "students get attacked. And we don't want to miss _that_ , do we?"

Astoria had all of her hopes pinned on another bonfire lesson, but as they crested the hill, she realized that this hope had been in vain. Nothing stood between their class and the forest but a barren winter tundra where Hagrid, looking especially downtrodden, had arranged several boxes of flobberworms before the assembled students.

"Thas' it," crowed Hagrid, stooping over to feed lettuce to the contents of the nearest box. "Nice n' safe, see?"

"What's with Hagrid?" muttered Astoria suspiciously, falling in line next to Theodore.

"Dunno," snapped Theodore, shivering violently. "Don't care."

Astoria raked her eyes over the class until her gaze fell onto the backs of Harry and Ron's heads. She waited a beat before wandering over toward them.

"Do you two have any more lettuce?" Astoria asked. "I've dropped all of mine—cold hands."

Ron eyed her with his usual mixture of suspicion and even awkwarder dislike, but Harry promptly ripped a off few lettuce leaves and handed them to her.

"Also," continued Astoria, lowering her voice, "do either of you know what's going on with Hagrid?"

"What do you mean?" Ron demanded hotly. "This is a _fine_ lesson!"

"It's nothing," Harry answered quietly, trying to soften Ron's rudeness. "Malfoy's dad complained to the Committee for the Disposal of Dangerous Creatures about the hippogriff accident."

"Right," agreed Astoria, who had already heard this, "but that's not new news."

"They're trying to have Buckbeak—er, that's the hippogriff's name—executed," Harry explained in a rush. "There's going to be a hearing—Hagrid's really sweating it. He thinks the whole committee is in Malfoy's pocket and he's probably right."

Astoria took this in. "But they aren't _suing_ Hagrid or anything?" she pressed. "It's not like he's being fired?"

"No," Ron sneered loudly, "they're only trying to chop his off pet's _head._ Because _that's_ Malfoy's idea of a good joke and his father enjoys bulling people!"

A startling image of Lucius Malfoy as she had last seen him briefly obscured Astorias vision: milling about Mr. MacLaggen's party, wearing a disdainful smile and a pair of cuff-links that cost more than Hagrid's house. The entire Department for the Control and Regulation of Magical Creatures had been at that event. Astoria had personally overheard several members praise Lucius Malfoy's recent contributions to St. Mungo's and compliment his wife's lovely dress. What chance _did_ Hagrid have against such a force? _Almost none._

"Well," said Astoria slowly, swallowing a wave of sudden disgust, "wish Hagrid luck for me."

"Sure," grunted Ron, accidentally knocking a flaccid cascade of flobberworms into the snow. He winced. "We'll _do_ that."

0o0

Thankfully, Fred and George had returned to school in higher spirits than their brother. They walked her to class the next day and lost no time announcing that all of their free time over the holiday had gone to enchanting invisibility cloaks. Their line was now fully prepared to hit the shelves of the underground market at a moment's notice.

"We were thinking _you_ might keep track of the sales," admitted George hopefully. "You're excellent at book-keeping!"

"Alright," Astoria shrugged. "I'll add the sales record to the journal I use for quidditch bets. I can factor the profits into your savings."

"Here's another idea," joined Fred, lowering his voice somewhat conspicuously. "I spent a bit of time over break thinking about our market. Who's keen to purchase invisibility? The depressing conclusion: Gryffindors, sure, but just as many _Slytherins_."

"Yeah," agreed Astoria, wise to the wisdom of this assessment. The average Hufflepuff might occasionally creep forth for a midnight snack, but their common room was so close to the kitchens that owning an invisibility cloak hardly seemed necessary.

"So," continued Fred, panting from the long walk up the stairs to the seventh floor, "maybe you can put out word for us in their common room? Your sister must know people. You've got that pal—Theodore What's-His-Face. He's a Slytherin, right? That's more than we have to go on."

"Am I allowed to tell Theodore details?" asked Astoria curiously.

"Er," Fred evaded. "Can't you just tell him that you know _where_ to get the cloaks and leave it at that?"

"Theo won't say anything!" Astoria scoffed. "Not if I tell him that _I'm_ helping. He'd never get me into trouble on purpose."

"Proceed with caution at any rate," warned George. "We'll continue this over dinner."

The twins both broke away at the landing and backtracked to reach their History of Magic lesson. Astoria joined the Arithmancy queue and began to search for Theodore, but Draco Malfoy's drawling voice distracted her before she could make much progress.

"Of course, Father will have to actually _go_ to the hearing," he jeered, directing his bile toward Tracey. "Complete waste of his time. Still, he wants to make sure that they know all about my arm—you know, about how I couldn't use it for three months."

Astoria had been on the verge of moving toward Tracey. Now she paused, realizing what it was that Malfoy must be talking about.

"I honestly can't believe they're bothering with a hearing at all," continued Draco. "It's not as though anybody on the committee is holding out to hear that illiterate oaf's side of the story."

The same disgust Astoria had felt the day before came boiling up in her throat. The Malfoys were indeed pressing their case before the Committee for the Disposal of Dangerous Creatures—and Draco was certainly making no secret about how gleeful the prospect made him.

"Ugh," moaned Theodore, finally lumbering up the steps. Without pause, he bent over to grasp his knees. Then he let out a painful, gurgling cough and wiped his wet nose on the corner of his sleeve. "Class outside in the middle of winter. I caught bloody head cold..."

Astoria smiled sympathetically and discreetly angled her body away from him until the doors opened and they were allowed to file in. There was a new Theory chalked up on the blackboard in Professor Vector's handwriting—a bad sign on the best of days. Before she could so much as shoot an inquiring look at Theodore, however, a renewed fit of coughing sent half the table scurrying for cover.

"Seriously?" snapped Malfoy, pushing his freshly contaminated worksheet away with scowl.

 _Are you serious_ , thought Astoria irritably. She opened her book to the assigned page and aligned her legs underneath the table so that they were as far away from Draco's as possible.

"I can't help it, can I?" grumbled Theodore. "Share with Astoria if you have to!"

Under normal circumstances this might have been cause for a celebration: Malfoy was much better at Arithmancy than she was and with his help, Astoria would probably manage to scrape by with a passing grade. But these were _not_ normal circumstances and the just sight of his white-blonde head filled her with an irresistible desire to hit something. Draco turned toward her willingly; Astoria responded by shoving her own, untainted worksheet in his direction.

"Switch seats with me. I'll work with Theo," she insisted roughly. " _You_ can partner with Tracey."

Draco's eyes instinctively flickered, plainly taken aback.

"I'll work with you, Draco!" volunteered Tracey happily. "Astoria's rubbish at these!"

Draco stood up, trying very hard to hide his dissatisfied confusion. Astoria took his chair without a word.

"It starts with the problem on page one hundred and five," Theodore informed her, his accent so thick with mucus that every 't' came out sounding like a 'd'.

Astoria flipped the pages of Theodore's book as quickly as she could, touching the pages by nothing but their outermost corners. Sensing Malfoy's covert gaze on the side of her face, she bent her head and began to scratch out a solution to the first problem.

For the life of her, she didn't know why the subject of Buckbeak's execution annoyed her so much, but it _did_. Perhaps it had something to do with the fact that Buckbeak—a wild animal—had not done anything unnatural? It was Malfoy's own fault that he had been attacked, after all. Or, short of that, _Hagrid's_ for teaching a lesson that was inappropriate for third years. Why bring the bird into it at all? Then there was also the matter of Draco's attitude—no decent person should get such a kick out of a miserable scenario...

"Thad's wrong," muttered Theo, tilting his head upward to keep from dripping onto their shared parchment. "Id needs to be an eben number."

"Oh?" jerked Astoria, following the equation with her finger. "Yeah?"

"Here, gib— gib it to..." Theodore broke off just in time to smother a mighty sneeze in the crook of his elbow.

"Hospital wing, Nott!" Professor Vector called. He didn't even bother to look up from the problem he was explaining to Hermione. "Ask for a dose of pepper-up potion and you'll be feeling better by dinnertime."

Theodore shot Astoria an apologetic look and began to collect his things.

"The answer is a ten and two fives," drawled Malfoy bossily, craning to have a better look at her parchment—as though it was _his_ business. "You can't ever use a four when the Latin prefix is 'Bene' or 'Corpus'."

Astoria ignored his unwanted advice and carried on to question two, leaving her incorrect solution untouched.

0o0

The quidditch match between Ravenclaw and Gryffindor was fast approaching and tensions were already running high. It was doozy of a match—the one that would determine whether Gryffindor remained in the running for the cup—and almost no one could resist having an interest in the outcome.

"We'll take bets, but only if people come to us," George cautioned a week before the game. "Don't go hunting people down, Astoria. Harry fell off his broom last time, which means even the teachers are paying attention."

This logic—perfectly sound in theory—turned out to be deeply flawed in practice. People already knew that taking bets was something Astoria, Fred and George _did_. Between the hype of the game and what was clearly their own solid reputation as bookies, no fewer than forty perspective gamblers sought Astoria out over the next two days.

"It's like we _advertised_ ," Astoria griped after a surprise ambush by Michael Corner in the hall (ten Sickles on a Ravenclaw victory).

"Don't make eye contact with them," Fred growled. "Expulsion isn't worth the galleons."

"Start turning down people who think Gryffindor will win at least," added George in an undertone. "Play it safe."

"That's right!" agreed Fred. "Those are the people we'll end up having to pay out to. Don't forget that Harry got a Firebolt for Christmas—I reckon we really _will_ win the match."

But turning people down was easier said than done and it hardly quelled the ruckus. Sooner or later, Astoria expected the ax to fall. Sure enough, two hours after a particularly nasty fight with Anthony Goldstein during Ancient Runes, Professor Vector asked her to stay behind after class.

"Is there a problem, sir?" asked Astoria, breaking the excruciating silence after the bell.

"Not necessarily," sighed Vector, speaking in the direction of his his paperwork. "I'm sorry to keep you from your dinner, but it really couldn't be helped."

"What couldn't be helped?" demanded Astoria, already retracing trails and constructing excuses in her mind. _Micheal Corner,_ she chanted silently. _Micheal Corner told Anthony Goldstein who went to Vector._

"A student has approached me with an accusation of gambling—gambling within school grounds," admitted Vector. He finally looked up, but only to offer her a bashful smile. "I'm afraid they've explicitly named you as ringleader."

Astoria forced herself to listen to this news without reacting. Was it better to appear confused or offended? Which would Vector be most likely to believe? She did not know...

"Of course, taking bets of any kind at Hogwarts is strictly against the rules," continued Vector. "Not that banning the practice has done anything to stop generations of students from participating."

"Am I going to be punished?" asked Astoria coldly, finally settling on angry. "I didn't think students could be expelled for gossip."

"They certainly cannot," Vector reassured her, "and if expulsion _were_ in the cards, don't you think the headmaster would be present?"

"Then I have no idea what you're talking about," trembled Astoria. " It sounds to me like Anthony heard a rumor..."

Vector's face folded gently into a tolerant smile at the mention of Anthony's name but he made no move to confirm her suspicions.

"That is good to hear," he murmured wryly. "I'm a terrible disciplinarian and I'd hate to have to explain my position to your aunt."

Sensing dismissal, Astoria bowed her head and began to shuffle toward the doors.

"But Astoria—" he called after her, this time almost mischievously, "if it turns out you _do_ know something, put me down for five galleons on Ravenclaw. I'm afraid old house loyalties die hard—I hope you won't hold it against me."

0o0

"He did _what_?" hissed Theodore over a plate of eggs at breakfast on Friday.

"Goldstein ratted me out," repeated Astoria, for perhaps the third time. "I'm sure of it!"

"Not _that_ bit," sneered Theodore, "the part about Vector!"

"He asked me to put him down for five galleons," returned Astoria smugly. Now that the real danger had passed, she could not help but feel a little bit triumphant about the way things had played out. "Can you even believe it?"

"Not really," countered Theodore sharply. "That's the sort of thing teachers get fired for."

"He'd only get in trouble if I told someone," scoffed Astoria, backtracking slightly. "Besides, he was probably joking..."

A rumble of laughter undercut Theodore's grave expression. At the opposite end of the table, Draco Malfoy was miming the flailing death spasm of a bird without a head.

"No one can read the notebook that I've been putting my bets in," Astoria scowled, angling her body so that she did not have to witness Draco's show. "I'd have to outright report him to another teacher and Vector knows I won't do that."

"Still," worried Theodore, "it's really appropriate to favor a student like that."

Pansy's Parkinson let out a shriek of laughter that caused both of them to jump (Malfoy had begun pretend-blubbering into his hands).

"He doesn't _favor_ me," snorted Astoria defensively. "He's failing me!"

"He hasn't failed you _yet_ ," Theodore countered, "and he's been giving you loads of barely related side projects to bolster your grades!"

"What's everybody laughing about over there?" asked Tracey, slumping into a seat and pawing the sleep out of her eyes. "Did something fantastic happen?"

"Only if you think Hagrid's hippogriff getting its head lobbed off counts as fantastic!" shot Astoria tersely.

"Oh," Tracey deflated, rolling her eyes. "Boring."

"More like completely _ridiculous_!" Astoria retaliated. "Malfoy practically _begged_ Buckbeak to attack him. By that logic, the ministry should just exterminate _him_!"

"Buckbeak?" repeated Theodore witheringly.

"That's the hippogriff's name, isn't it?" Astoria snapped, feeling her cheeks flush a balmy red.

"Since when do you care about hippogriffs?" jeered Tracey, plainly flabbergasted.

Astoria let out a sound of irritation and poured milk over her cereal.

"Are you going to watch the match tomorrow?" Tracey wondered, wisely changing the topic.

"Of course she's going," taunted Theodore. "She's got to keep tabs for her illicit betting ring."

"Oh, that's _right_!" exclaimed Tracey, suddenly wide-eyed with excitement. "I forgot you and the twins did that!"

"Does _everyone_ know, then?" Astoria wondered out loud.

"Can I help you?" begged Tracey. "I'll hold things and add up sums!"

"No," returned Astoria flatly.

"Why not?" Tracey whined. "That sounds like _so_ much fun!"

"Because the bets are supposed to be anonymous," answered Astoria.

"Can I sit with you at least?" pleaded Tracey. "I won't snoop!"

"Sure," Astoria conceded, privately thankful that she wouldn't have to beg Theodore to come down with her. "The ledger is enchanted anyway—you couldn't snoop if you tried."

"I've heard Cho Chang is a really good seeker," continued Tracey, ignoring the insinuation that she was untrustworthy. "Ravenclaw won against Slytherin last term. I suppose they'll probably win again tomorrow."

"Ravenclaw doesn't stand a chance," Astoria bragged compulsively, thinking only of Harry's secret new broomstick.

"What's that?" demanded a displeased voice behind her. Draco had finished up his act and, accompanied by Crabbe and Goyle, he had came to hair-pin stop halfway toward the entrance hall.

"You think Potter's going to win tomorrow, do you?" he repeated nastily, leaning against the edge of the table. "I mean, I suppose it's _possible_. If he manages not to faint again, that is..."

Crabbe and Goyle both guffawed stupidly.

"He's not going to faint," clipped Astoria coolly. "And of course he'll win. He _always_ wins."

Delighted, Tracey raised a hand to cover her smirk.

"Not on his broken Nimbus, he won't," Draco retaliated, his carefully cultivated look of haughty indifference dissolving into a twitchy scowl. "What's he riding tomorrow—one of the school's old Comet Two-Sixties?"

"He got a new broom," teased Astoria, eagerly floating the possibility of a Gryffindor advantage. After all, Harry was going to play with his Firebolt on Saturday; surely there was nothing left to hide? She might as well have some fun at Malfoy's expense...

A whole new motive hijacked Draco's expression. "What model?" he asked sharply,

"One of those new ones," Astoria shrugged, experiencing a savage kind of pleasure at the sight of Draco's discomfort.

"A nimbus Two Thousand and One, then?" Draco demanded. "Who _cares_? That's the same broom _I've_ got and—thanks to _my_ father—so does everyone else on my team."

"He's playing Ravenclaw, not Slytherin," Astoria reminded him. "Besides, it's _not_ the same broom you have. It's the one that came out this year—the Lightning Rod or whatever it's called."

Draco's expression did not change, but his body froze.

"You're talking about the _Firebolt_ ," he finally grunted. "Those are still in their trial stage. There's no _way_ Potter has a Firebolt."

"That's the one!" declared Astoria serenely. "They're awfully good brooms, aren't they? Must be a lot faster than yours judging by the way everyone makes such a fuss over them. Harry got his over break."

"No he didn't," Draco sneered. "He probably just told you that he got one to _impress_ you. It worked, too, because you don't know enough about quidditch to tell the difference between a Firebolt and a _stick_."

Astoria shrugged.

Unable to stop himself, Draco leaned harder against the table. "What did it _look_ like?"

"Like a Firebolt!" Astoria laughed, cherishing the look of horror on his face. "You don't even have to take my word for it—since apparently I'm too stupid to read the side of a piece of wood. You'll see it for yourself tomorrow."

0o0

Harry Potter provoked a wave of applause when he entered the great hall the next morning. Because he was walking with his broomstick in hand, the rest of the Gryffindor team spread out like an honor guard and flanked him on both sides. There could be no refuting it now: Gryffindor was in possession of the finest broom that money could buy.

"Boys," scoffed Tracey, letting out a dry little laugh. "Can you imagine getting so worked up over a piece of wood? Don't they know how ridiculous they are?"

"Not _all_ boys do that," interjected Theodore, eager to separate himself from such foolish behavior. " _I_ don't own a broomstick—not even at home."

"No, but you _wouldn't_ ," laughed Tracey thoughtlessly. "You're not exactly the macho type..."

"What's _that_ supposed to mean?" demanded Theodore.

"It _means_ that you're confident in yourself as a man," insisted Astoria, speaking over Tracey's continuing dialogue. "Don't ever change."

Just barely placated, Theodore went back to his coffee. Meanwhile, at the opposite end of the table, the Slytherin quidditch team had put their heads together and were discussing the new development in lowered voices.

"I don't know why they're acting so surprised!" exclaimed Tracey. "It's not as though you didn't _tell_ Malfoy yesterday."

"Maybe he didn't tell anyone else," ventured Astoria.

"Malfoy?" snorted Tracey. "As _if_. He hates Potter more than anyone and he's got a huge mouth. You know how much he loves to be the first person with a bit of news."

As though to prove Tracey's point, Draco Malfoy stood up and elbowed Crabbe and Goyle to their feet. He sauntered across the hall in the shadow on his _own_ bodyguards, making a direct beeline toward Harry.

0o0

Tracey and Astoria set off across the grounds for the quidditch pitch the minute they were done eating. It was a clean and cold, late-wintery sort of day outside; for the first time all week, the sun dazzled radiantly off the icy snow crust. Emboldened by the freshness, Astoria closed her eyes, enjoying the hopeful, spring-like quality of the air.

"See!" declared Tracey, jabbing Astoria in the ribs as they located seats. "That's Chang. Apparently she's had loads of injuries this year. Doesn't she look sort of frail and delicate?"

Astoria snorted but found that she had to agree: Cho Chang _did_ have the look of a lost damsel.

"Five galleons says my brother has tried to ask her out," grumbled Tracey, her mouth twisting into a tight smirk. "I bet she turned him down every time, even if he _is_ team captain..."

The Gryffindors walked out onto the field, provoking a storm of shouting and clapping. Ignoring the way Tracey's hands remained folded neatly in her lap, Astoria joined in.

"Potter's getting taller, isn't he?" remarked Tracey, squinting at the far-off green. "Do you reckon he'll turn out to be nice looking? Or do you think he'll always be knobby?"

"I think he's already nice looking," Astoria admitted carelessly, taking out her notebook and flipping to the correct pages.

" _Do you_?" asked Tracey at once, turning to peer slyly at her.

"Yeah, sure," scoffed Astoria.

It took a moment for her to catch Tracey's meaning; when she finally did, she blushed.

"I mean, in an objective way," Astoria persisted. "He's _fine_ looking. Mostly I just think he's just a decent person."

The truth was actually somewhat more complex. The root of Astoria's interest in Harry was very obscure; so much so that she had never fully managed to understand it herself, let alone voice it aloud. Her confusion discomfited—taught her not to discuss the subject in public. This was because, in a vague and metaphorical way, Astoria could not help but occasionally feeling as though she owed Harry a debt.

Perversely, if it hadn't been for Harry, the Dark Lord might never have fallen and Astoria's mother probably wouldn't have been imprisoned. _But,_ if Astoria had known any tentative peace in her early life (and she felt that she had), it was surely _also_ because of Harry's influence. She had grown up in a world largely removed from war, from her mother's prejudices. Harry had done more than save the school when he had thwarted Quirrell in first year: he had also saved Astoria from the life she would have to live if Lord Voldemort rose to power a second time and a small, very guilty part of her was secretly thankful for his heroism.

Despite the way she occasionally made it sound around Theodore, it was not an enlightened moral code that prevented her from resenting Harry's popularity or the unfair amount of attention he always seemed to receive—it was an unshakable feeling of a debt that she not only owed, but actively concealed. There had never been a wide-spread connection at school between Astoria's mother and the Dark Lord; she had never suffered the ugly indignity of being socially 'grouped' together with the children of old Death Eaters by her teachers. Why? Because Harry Potter had banished Lord Voldemort before Astoria was old enough to speak—and lost his own parents in the process. But how could she explain such an idea to Tracey without revealing herself in a hideous and vulnerable way?

"I guess his hair _is_ sort of roguish," Tracey amended, quirking her head. "If Malfoy pops up to hiss poison about how rubbish Potter is on his top of the line Firebolt, you should casually mention that he looks sexy in his quidditch uniform. I'm sure _that_ would keep me laughing until dinner time."

"I did _not_ say Harry is sexy," Astoria chided, laughing despite herself. "I said that I think he looks _fine_ —or at the very least, that I don't think he looks _knobby_. He hasn't been knobby since first year."

Gryffindor was already leading by eighty points to zero. Despite Ravenclaw's best effort, it seemed as though Oliver Wood's training and Harry's superior broomstick were paying off. Up in the air, Cho was marking Harry, imitating his every move, but it wasn't enough: Harry broke off and tore across the pitch in a soaring arc. Everyone turned to look, because there could be no mistaking this motion—Harry Potter must have seen the snitch.

Only something was wrong; Harry clung to his broom like a parachuter and the rest of his teammates had stopped playing. An unexpected darkness crept forward near the bottom of Astoria's vision.

"Oh!" cried Cho, falling back.

The look of horror on Cho's face was enough to send Astoria's eyes flying toward the grass, where she was startled to spot several darkly-robed figures sweeping out onto the field.

"No!" moaned Tracey, pitching forward in her seat. "No, not again!"

But before the wave of cold that accompanied all dementors could reach the stands, Harry dived. Plunging his hand into his robes, he withdrew his wand; a vast and silvery-white ghost burst forth and shot in the direction of the cloaked figures. The row of dementors buckled and—miracle of miracles!—collapsed very ungracefully, rendered into a puddle of fabric and limbs by the spell.

"What?" muttered Astoria, trying desperately hard to understand what she had seen.

A second roar of sound told her that Harry had caught the snitch, but her gaze lingered uncomprehendingly on the writhing black figures. People on either side of her were beginning to stand. Harry had won the game; it was over. Only Tracey was still bothered, still staring at Astoria with the same look of baited terror she could feel animating her own features.

"Where those even dementors?" panted Tracey, wild with panic. "They didn't _feel_ like dementors!"

"Well, if they _were_ , then Harry must have killed them," Astoria answered grimly. She felt no trace of the characteristic and overwhelming command to faint that she had come to associate with a dementor attack...

The mystery briefly deepened at the bottom of the stairs.

"Disgraceful!" Professor McGonagall roared, towering over the robed figures. "An unworthy trick!"

From their new vantage point at the bottom of the stands, Astoria could finally see the dementors properly. A pair of shoes twisted uncomfortable near the bottom of one of the cloaks; someone _else_ appeared to be trapped in the hood. Not _real_ dementors, then, surely?

"That's Flint," whispered Tracey in a low, awed voice, pointing at the nearest cloak.

"And Crabbe and Goyle," Astoria murmured back, gesturing to two sets of boat sized shoes.

"Oh-ho-hoo!" cheered Tracey delightedly, grasping her knees. "That's _Malfoy_ kicking around in the top!"

"Detention for all of you—and fifty points from Slytherin!" rasped McGonagall, eyes roving wildly, clearly beyond herself.

"Bloody hell!" Tracey cursed, no longer laughing. "Not worth it! They didn't even stop Potter from catching the snitch, the idiots!"

"Ow!" roared Goyle, finally managing to extract himself from the bottom of Malfoy's cloak.

"Get out of it then!" snarled Draco's voice from somewhere deep within the voluminous folds of fabric.

"C'mon," urged Tracey, pulling Astoria away. "I can't watch—I'm afraid McGonagall will take more points for sheer stupidity."

They wandered back up to the castle in silence, jostled about by the crowd. With every jarring step, Astoria found herself replaying the image of the tangled Slytherin quidditch team until her heart sang with the preventable villainy of it all. _She_ was the one who had told Draco about the stupid Firebolt; _she_ was the reason they'd had enough time to put together their plan...

When they reached the entrance hall, Tracey broke the silence by suggesting that they find Theodore and have lunch.

"I can check the Slytherin common room for him, if you want," Tracey reasoned, sounding high-pitched and overly helpful. Did she know that Astoria was angry with herself? Had she perhaps guessed at the source of her irritation?

"No, let's grab some sandwiches to go," returned Astoria distractedly. "I bet he's in the nook by the Divination tower."

Tracey readily agreed to to tag along. She had never been to Astoria and Theodore's favorite study nook before, so they stopped in the Great Hall just long enough to stack a dozen tuna sandwiches between napkins before setting off for the seventh floor.

They found Theodore in the exact spot Astoria had imagined: quietly reading a book about trolls in his favorite, frayed armchair by the window.

"How was the match?" he asked between mouthfuls of tuna and lettuce. "If Astoria's expression is anything to go by, I'm guessing Gryffindor won."

"They won," confirmed Tracey, eyeing her shabby surroundings approvingly. "But the real gossip happened later. Marcus Flint staged a field invasion."

"Whad'ya mean?" frowned Theodore, swallowing a hunk of crust the size of his thumb.

"Flint, Malfoy, Crabbe and Goyle tried to scare the spit out of Potter by going out onto the pitch dressed as dementors," explained Tracey. "But Harry shot them with a giant ghost cloud and caught the snitch anyway. McGonagall's taken fifty points off of us for it."

"Seriously?" Theodore deadpanned. "Little twits! Marcus is team captain, for merlin's sake! He should _know_ better."

" _Honestly_ ," agreed Tracey. "It was Malfoy's idea, though—you really shouldn't have told him about the Firebolt, Astoria."

Unwilling to outwardly accept blame, Astoria stared stonily out the window.

They finished lunch in agitated silence. Afterwards, Tracey grew restless so Astoria agreed to accompany her on a quest to the library. Tracey babbled during the walk down, making up for Astoria's sullen mood by doubling up her merry train of complaints. She fell silent when they neared the librarian's desk, however.

"Overdue!" exclaimed Madam Pince. Her voice—cruel and unexpectedly shrill—cut through the muffled quiet like a foghorn, startling Astoria back to her senses.

" _Yes_ ," agreed Tracey, somehow managing to ignore the check-in stamp quivering under her nose, "that's why I'm bringing them _back_."

"Books are to be returned on time," seethed Pince, flipping open the next several covers to inspect _their_ due dates.

" _Move!"_ hissed Tracey, eyes wide with warning.

Astoria pivoted, knowing what would happen next.

"Every one of them—OVERDUE!" Pince's voice echoed tremulously, already several feet behind them. "DISORDER!"

They shot around the corner and darted along a row of books, moving as quickly as they could, pushing into each other and snorting with mirth. Finally, just as a stitch was beginning to form in Astoria's side, they toppled into a long and unfamiliar chamber where stacks of maps pushed up against the eaves and scrolls of magical blueprints cluttered the shelves. This low, noisy room was lit by long windows and their sudden arrival stirred up a cloud of floating, sun-dazzled dust particles.

It was a very odd room. A large globe hung overhead, suspended from the rafters by unseen magic. Even in broad daylight, this globe appeared to be oddly fluid—pulsing, shifting and glowing from within. Far below it stood several varnished study tables, all dappled by the orb's strange illumination. Stacks of atlases crowded every surface, lending the space a very shut-in and closet-like feel. But luckily, several feet away, a door leading to the fourth floor stood slightly ajar.

Astoria made for the door, dragging Tracey along by her sweater sleeve.

"Tracey!" hollered Flora, startling them both by popping up from behind one of the long, claustrophobic tables in the shadow of the globe. "Was that _you_ Madam Pince was yelling at? What on Earth did you do to her?"

"Turn your books in late _again_?" suggested Pansy, smiling a thin smile. " _God_ , you'd think there would be a learning curve for that sort of thing..."

In addition to these two of Astoria's least favorite people at Hogwarts, half of the Slytherin quidditch team also seemed to be loitering underneath the illuminated globe, basking in the last few hours of winter sunshine streaming in through the tall windows.

"Congratulations, Greengrass!" called Marcus, sitting up far enough to see over his feet (which were propped up on the _Directory of Swamps of Great Britain)_. "I hope you made a pretty penny off of Golden Boy Potter, because that was his last win of the season."

Adrian Pucey laughed and elbowed Lucien Bole. They both turned to stare.

"Yeah," returned Astoria brusquely, faking her best impression of true neutrality. "We'll see."

"Hear that, Malfoy?" leered Montague. "Greengrass reckons you're going to let Potter beat you in the final!"

Astoria suffered a fresh stab of annoyance the moment she spotted Draco's pale, arrogant face a few seats down.

"After the stunt you lot pulled earlier, I'm surprised they'll be letting anyone play," snapped Astoria. Her gaze moved past Flint, where it hooked coldly on Malfoy. "I see _you've_ finally got Goyle off of your head."

Malfoy flushed, Montague laughed and Pansy made a great show of scoffing loudly.

"It's a competition, isn't it?" Pansy demanded. "Potter's got a Firebolt—so why _shouldn't_ our team be able to dress up like dementors?"

This was the most failed logic Astoria had heard in a very long time. What was more, she could tell by the way that both Marcus and Draco held silent that even _they_ weren't especially keen to latch on to her argument either.

Draco continued to stare back at her, scowling reflexively. Clearly he found her expression frustrating.

" _What_?" he snapped defensively.

"Nothing," Astoria sneered. "Only, were you _really_ so afraid of having to face Harry in the final? Is that why you sabotaged the match?"

"I'm not _afraid_ of facing Potter," spat Malfoy and his nasty sneer told Astoria that her dig had struck home. "Are _you_ trying to tell me off for cheating? Everyone knows the reason you're upset—did we upset the secret betting ring going on behind the teachers backs!"

Hearing this, Pansy affected an expression of false shock and turned to grasp Floral's shoulder. Astoria wanted to slap her across the face.

"It wasn't even _good_ cheating," Astoria exploded. All of the annoyance she'd been feeling over the past week seemed to be rising to the surface; Draco's imitation of Hagrid weeping at breakfast, his stupid obsession with having Buckbeak executed. "Harry literally hexed you so far into your own hood that you got _stuck_ there!"

Montague laughed again and—unless Astoria's eyes deceived her—she thought she saw Flint shoot half of an amused glance in Draco's direction, too.

"Harry shouldn't have used that spell!" argued Pansy primly, moving around Flora to stand nearer to Malfoy. "It's against the rules to play quidditch with a wand—everyone knows that!"

"Yeah, well, it's also against the rules to invade the field" Astoria snapped back, feeling that Draco richly deserved this taste of shame. "So good for Harry for having his wand, I say!"

Draco sneered, but a dull flush of embarrassment was creeping up his neck—a clear sign that her verbal attack was taking him by surprise.

"It's only detention," Flint shrugged soothingly, correctly sensing that the argument was close to reaching its boiling point. "Potter still won his match, Greengrass. There's no harm done."

"Really!" agreed Pansy, spinning around to nod at Flint. "If anything, it's Marcus and Draco who were nearly harmed—they had some weird _spell_ shot at them! I can't believe McGonagall took fifty points off and never said a word about Harry's wand!"

"Yeah?" Astoria jerked tensely. "Because _that's_ crazy? Right, well, come on Tracey."

"What's _with_ you?" sneered Draco, too stupid or too stubborn to let the matter drop.

Pansy's eyes flicked between Draco and Astoria with an twist of poorly concealed annoyance.

"Nothing," Astoria snapped. "Plot all of the embarrassing quidditch subterfuge and hippogriff executions that you like, Malfoy! I'm out here."

Marcus Flint whistle behind her as she strode out into the hall, but Astoria did not turn around to yell at him. She could hear Tracey's dogged path behind her; eyes down, doing her best to avoid the inquisitive stares of her housemates.

"I can't even handle that room right now!" Astoria flared, ripping aside a tapestry to reveal one of her favorite shortcuts.

"No kidding," agreed Tracey wryly. "Penny for your thoughts?"

"The whole lot of them are such a pack of idiots!" Astoria sneered. "Pansy with her snotty little _looks_ and Flint with his whole 'big brother' act? I don't know how you can stand sharing a common room with them!"

"Are you alright?" wondered Tracey, suddenly blunt as a hammer. "Only, you seem a little piqued, Astoria. You've never had such a problem with Marcus before—"

"I'm _fine_ ," Astoria shot back, but it was obvious from the tone of her voice that she wasn't. She heaved a sign and rubbed her eyes.

"I'm just—I don't know. I'm not in the mood to sit around and listen to DracoMalfoy brag about how impressive it is that he's using his family name to have someone's _pet_ killed!" she rambled, trying and failing for a sense of cutting clarity. "Listening to Pansy stand up for him is even worse—' _Potter got a Firebolt, so why can't our team dress as dementors?'_ Is she serious?"

"Pansy's always been like that, though, "Tracey shrugged. "For that matter, so has Draco. I don't know how any of this is different from the thousands of other times they've acted the same way."

 _Because my sister prefers Pansy over me,_ thought Astoria, stiffening as the bolt of self loathing struck. _And listening to Malfoy talk about Hagrid the way he does makes me sad._

"I think I'm just going to go have a nap," she sighed at last. "Maybe it'll put me in a better mood."

Tracey seemed disappointed by this—most likely because Astoria's fit had effectively prevented her from being able to return to her friends in the library—but she didn't raise any objections. So, heart-sick and soul-tired, Astoria beat a weary path back to the Gryffindor common room alone.

0o0

* * *

You guys, Mrs. Zabini (Blaise's mother) has no name in canon. I decided to go ahead and try to name hermyself and I settled on Seraphina, which literally means 'ardent or fiery' in Latin. (Bonus Points: The name is also a reference to the highest ranking angels, the Seraphim. While Blaise's mother is notoriously murderous, she is _also_ quite famous for being enchantingly lovely to look at and I rather think the name does her a type of justice.)

As always, thanks for reading and reviews are a treat!


	25. Black Night

Chapter Twenty Five

Black Night

* * *

0o0

A party for the Gryffindor quidditch team was in full swing by the time Astoria made her way through the portrait hole.

"To Harry Potter," cried Oliver Wood, holding his bottle of butterbeer aloft, "the best seeker that Gryffindor has ever had!"

"Thanks," Harry murmured uncomfortably. "Really, Oliver, it's lucky that they weren't _real_ dementors."

Even in a better mood, Astoria still would have found it hard to join in the fun. Felling emotionally drained and behind on her work, she dodged Fred's offer of a butterbeer and settled down in a far corner to read. Her nook, though far from quiet, soon became the only spot in the room that afforded any possibility for concentration. It wasn't long before she was joined by Hermione Granger and Neville Longbottom. Together, their collective wall of homework material was enough to seal out the party completely.

"I'm not _so_ bad when I brew for practice, you know" confessed Neville softly, copying down a sentence Astoria had corrected for him while Hermione was busy. "But I can't do _anything_ in front of Snape—especially now that he knows what I did with that boggart!"

Poor Neville's face crumpled and his chin began to pucker under the weight of a swollen lower lip. To spare him the shame of an 'almost-cry', Astoria directed her eyes across the room. Fred and George were juggling butterbeer bottles near the hearth. For a moment, she amused herself by trying to predict which of the flying beverages would spin loose and shatter first.

"You know what? _Forget_ what Snape thinks!" Astoria suggested. "The more you let him get to you, the more you'll mess up and give him a reason to bully you. That's all he is you know—a bully. Pretend he's someone our own age and ignore him."

"I can't ignore the bullies our own age, either," Neville admitted quietly. "I let Malfoy step on my sunglasses a few days ago. He _pretended_ it was an accident. I didn't say anything. I just picked them up and kept walking, but I've been taking the long way around to the owlery ever since..."

This story did nothing for Astoria's mood. Almost at once she began to wish that she had never heard it.

" _Yeah_?" hissed Astoria. "Next time you'd do better to throw snow in his face and tell him that he owes you a new pair!"

"I can't do that!" gaped Neville, recoiling with a stricken jolt. "He's always got Crabbe and Goyle with him! Besides, look what he's doing to Hagrid. And Hagrid's a _teacher_!"

"Tell you what," Astoria backtracked, recovering just enough to repress a wrathful quiver, "if Malfoy breaks any more of your things or tries to push you around, come tell _me_. I'll deal with him for you."

"I'm not going to do that," muttered Neville. "It's not _your_ fault that I'm pathetic..."

0o0

The party started to wind down after supper, but a small collection loyalists remained curiously loud and insatiably rowdy late into the evening. Finally, at nearly one o'clock in the morning, Professor McGonagall arrived to put her foot down. Looking very much the part of Wrath Incarnate in her fluffy tartan robe and hair net, she scolded, corralled and threatened liberally until even Fred and George began to pack up their things.

"Brilliant game, Harry!" shouted Seamus Finnegan boldly, making his begrudging start up the dormitory steps. "The cup is gonna be ours for sure!"

Astoria watched the room clear out, curiously immune to McGongall's attention in her far distant corner. Even though she _knew_ that she was tired she also felt very little desire to head off to bed, reasoning that her thoughts—which had been confused and turbulent all day—might be kept at bay as long as she remained sitting upright.

The sound of Neville's thoughtful quill scratches and the occasional snap of a log in the fire were soon all the remained of a once bustling crowd. A heaviness crept into eyelids as she watched the coals in the hearth, lulled by their smoldering and radiant heat. Without meaning to, her head drooped and the motion startled her back into consciousness. Dizzy and almost sick with fatigue, she closed her eyes again, this time allowing them to rest for a twenty second interval.

 _One, two,_ she counted. _Three... four..._

Halfway between two worlds, Astoria began to slip into a dream. She was only distantly aware of the couch pressed against her face; of the smell of musty, communal fabric against her skin...

Because Tracey was in the Gryffindor common room and that was more important. But _what_ was she doing there? Ah, of course. She was demanding that they go sledding. But Astoria did not _want_ to go sledding—it was after one o'clock in the morning, wasn't it? She wanted to stay right where she was...

" _You're always such a_ _disappointment_ " Dream Tracey huffed, triggering a retaliatory spasm of irritation in Astoria's chest.

A real and very strangled yell punctuated her consciousness like a slap.

Astoria sat up on the couch, blinking rapidly in the dim light. The fire had mostly burned down and the air was growing chilly. She cleared her throat and attempted to gather her scattered surroundings: Neville Longbottom was sleeping with forehead pressed into the spine of his potions textbook; the common room was silent but for the groan wind outside the tower windows.

 _Still_ , Astoria was certain that someone had yelled. She got up and crossed the hearth rug, heading in the direction of the dormitories. A sudden, panicked clattering in the stairwell caused her to freeze before she could think of climbing them.

"Is everyone alright?" she called out shakily.

Silence. Astoria sucked in her breath to call out again but the words immediately turned to dust in her throat. There was someone on the stairs. Even worse, at the sound of her voice, the figure had fallen into a fast, startling _crouch_.

All at once, Astoria knew that she was in trouble; that the hairs on the back of her neck were not mistaken, that the nightmare wouldn't gently resolve itself if she just ignored it hard enough. The thing in front of her was _not_ built in the form of a hunched child, or even that of a teenager—it was too tall, too broad and decidedly masculine.

The stooped shape slowly unfurled from its crouch, revealing an adult man in a heavy cloak. His face was partially obscured by a deep hood, but a strip of flesh near his tattered hairline caught what was left of the firelight, exposing a single dark and sunken eye. It glistened menacingly at her.

For a long second neither of them moved.

"You gave me that letter..." Astoria murmured stupidly, instinctively recognizing the stealthy (and decidedly shifty) manner of the stranger she'd met in the Hog's Head so many months ago.

Without warning, the man lurched down the stairs. In the flickering light of the nearly extinguished fire, Astoria observed the outline of a long and very dirty knife grasped tightly in his white knuckled hand.

"Out of the way, girl!" he rasped.

His voice broke the spell: with an electric snap, Astoria's mind caught up with the situation. The man on the stairs was obviously Sirius Black. Who _else_ could he be? He didn't appear to be carrying a wand, but his knife was as long and sharp as a Hippogriff's talon and a scream had just been silenced in the boy's dormitory.

Realization and cold dread took hold of Astoria's limbs—the only thing left between him and the portrait hole was _her_.

Her eyes flicked toward the couch, searching for the place where her _own_ wand wand lay uselessly on floor. There was nothing left to do but yell. Her mouth was already halfway open before she knew what she was doing.

"Make a sound and I'll gut you!" Black growled.

There was no time to think. Harry Potter and the rest of the boys in the dormitory were probably already dead or dying and Astoria was next. If Sirius Black was going to murder the lot of them, she bloody well wanted to make sure that somebody knew about it...

She sucked in her breath, pushing every last ounce of force into the act. "AAHR—"

A flash of steel and a sickening stab of pain; something sharp made contact with the side of her head and her legs crumpled. The floor and a corner of the stone wall rushed up to meet her—she braced herself a fraction of a second before her already aching forehead collided. Flash bulbs of pain popped behind her eyeballs. Before she could even begin to recover from the first staggering blow, a pair of rough hands seized her from behind. Black was pushing her down into the dusty oriental carpet; she gasped and choked on lint and the smell of old shoes.

Terror, terror as she had never known before exploded inside her chest. _She was going to die here, in a puddle of her own blood. The floor was the last thing she was ever going to see..._

Then, another source of noise drew the attention of her overloaded senses: a thud followed by a wail. The hands on Astoria's back suddenly withdrew.

"Don't touch her!" someone shouted.

She heard the muffled footfalls of a physical struggle: the rough scrape of jostled furniture and then a second crash as objects were knocked off a shelf. Panting, Astoria managed to lurch forward and turn over. Her face was wet—with blood or tears or both—so she squinted and peered hard into the gloom.

Neville Longbottom had thrown himself over the couch at Black, toppling an armchair in the process. Even as she watched, he managed to lock both of his arms around the fugitive's neck from behind. The struggle, which really ought to have been one-sided, suddenly seemed liable to go either way. Neville was young (and rather soft, even for his age) but Sirius Black's time in Azkaban had clearly robbed him of a good deal of his physical strength. Though larger, he was also feebler and he could not immediately pry back Neville's arms.

With another great crash, Sirius Black bashed his back (and by extension, Neville) against a cloak cupboard

There were footsteps moving about in the dormitory now; voices overhead. Astoria prayed that they wouldn't be too late...

"Let go, boy!" Black choked, heaving both of their bodies back against the cupboard. A tinkling sound told Astoria that Neville's elbow had punctured a pane of glass in the cupboard door. "Let _go_ , if you know what's good for you!"

"Umph!" said Neville. A second pane of glass broke and suddenly Black was free. With a snap of his long cloak, Black barreled through the portrait hole and vanished into the dark corridor beyond.

"Neville?" Astoria gasped. "Neville!"

She began to crawl toward him, gingerly picking her way around the sticky glass. She could see blood on his hands and even more on the carpet around him; Black had forced his arm through the glass front of the cupboard at two angles...

The sound of thunder overhead began to trickle into the stairway. Between the noise of the fight and Astoria's screech, more than half the house was awake and moving around.

"What's going on?" somebody was saying.

"Who screamed?"

"It was Sirius Black!" exclaimed a voice that Astoria immediately recognized Ron's. "He was _here_! He slashed my curtains!"

"What are you all _doing_?" demanded Lavender Brown. "Professor McGonagall told us to go to sleep!"

"Are you sure you weren't dreaming, Ron?" muttered Harry Potter.

Astoria breathed a sigh of relief. If Harry wasn't dead, then no one was. She began to pull Neville upright, trying to coax him into a sitting position. He whimpered and sucked in a wet breath, but complied as best as he could.

The overflow of pajama clad students finally rumbled down the last few stairs and exploded into the common room.

"Are we carrying on?" asked George excitedly, rubbing his hands together.

"Back upstairs!" snapped Percy, pushing toward the front of the crowd. " _Everyone_ , right now! If I don't see some cooperation, I'll—"

His eyes met Astoria's and he froze mid-sentence.

"What happened?" It was Fred this time, looking pale and horror-stricken. "Neville? _Astoria!"_

"Somebody fetch Madam Pomfrey!" ordered Percy, seizing control at once. "Back up, you lot. Back up!"

The crowd, which had fallen silent to gape, shifted back a wary step.

"What happened?" demanded Percy, crouching down to have a look at them. "Who did this?"

Unable to find her voice, Astoria shook her head and then wished hadn't when her vision lurched and pitched.

"It was Sirius Black!" Ron shouted, taking a stout step forward. "He ripped up my bed hangings with a knife. When I yelled, he ran. I reckon he must have met Astoria and Neville on his way out!"

"I was going to shout," Astoria managed slowly, "so he hit me. Neville tried to stop him and got rammed through the cupboard."

"You _saw_ Sirius Black?" Percy's voice was sharp and eager for clarification.

Astoria nodded again even though doing so made blood pound in her ears.

"Does that mean 'yes'?" pressed Percy, oblivious to her discomfort.

"Give her a minute, Perce," muttered Fred. He eased down onto his knees and pulled Astoria's hair back to inspect her cut. "This looks bad. Someone should get a towel—"

George immediately bolted for the boys showers.

"It _was_ Sirius Black," Astoria finally managed, gritting her teeth against wooziness. She wanted to confirm Ron's story before she got sick or fainted. "And he did have a giant knife..."

0o0

It was a long night in the hospital wing. Madam Pomfrey was able to mend Astoria's cut in a matter of minutes, but the nausea did not subside until she finished drinking a draught of steaming potion that stripped her throat as raw as sand paper ever could.

Then came the teachers.

Professor McGonagall questioned her first. Astoria sat with her feet hanging over the edge of the infirmary bed and did her best to answer. Unfortunately, she found that she could recall very little; the assault had happened quickly and she'd spent most of it concussed, half-blinded by blood with her face in the carpet.

Madame Pomfrey waited until McGonagall left to pour her a second measure of medicine. She was just choking down the final dregs when Professor Dumbledore arrived with Snape nipping at his heels. Eager to get _this_ interview right (because who knew what Dumbledore would make of the matter) Astoria endeavored to sit up straighter, thankful that her dizziness had finally passed. Just as she'd suspected, Dumbledore's line of questioning proved curious and his logical obscure: he did not want to know what Sirius Black looked like, he did not even ask if she had any idea how he had managed to enter the castle. Instead, he focused on specifics that had not struck her as especially important or relevant in the heat of the moment: Did Sirius Black linger? Did he use any magic?

"He didn't have a wand," Astoria volunteered. "Like I've said, he was holding a knife. When I tried to scream, he hit me with it—he didn't curse me."

Dumbledore prodded the side of Astoria's face with his long fingers, his expression pale and unreadable. "You said he hit you? He did not try to stab you?"

"No," Astoria shook her head, pondering this small mercy for the first time. "He didn't stab me _or_ Neville. I cut my head when I hit the wall."

"And he took action only when it became evident that you were going to raise an alarm?" Dumbledore murmured, gently releasing her face.

"Yes," agreed Astoria. "He was trying to get away. He hit me so that I wouldn't wake anyone up."

"Then he has managed to penetrate our walls twice _without_ the aid of a magic," Snape interrupted coldly. "Dumbledore, do you _really_ imagine that he could have done so without aid?"

"I do not believe that anybody inside this castle would have knowingly helped Black enter it, Severus," answered Dumbledore, calmly but firmly. "As I have told you some dozen times at least. Our intruder knows these grounds. It is my belief that he is using a means of disguise that we, in our limited capacity as foes, have simply not managed to understand yet."

By the time Dumbledore and Snape finally left her alone, the sun was beginning to rise. Neville was fast asleep in the bed next to her, his chest rising and falling slowly. When they'd first arrived, Astoria had watched Madam Pomfrey remove shards of glass—some the size of sharks teeth—from his shoulders and arms. She prodded his bandages with her eyes and repressed a shiver.

But no, she shouldn't be worrying. _They'd gotten him help in time._ Astoria lay back against her starched white sheets and willed her mind to calm itself. Professor McGonagall had wisely excused both Astoria and Neville from class for the day. But even though she had nowhere to be (and her body ached and her eyes felt as dry as parchment) she sensed that sleep would elude her.

A cloud shifted and the sun suddenly broke through the infirmary curtains. Dazzlingly clear light the spilled into the room, brightening up even the most sterile looking surfaces with its hopeful rays. Astoria rested her tender face against her pillow and studied the slanted shafts of light. If it hadn't been for Neville, she might very well have died before sunrise. She was lucky to be alive—she did not _want_ to go to bed. No, what she wanted was a slice of toast and a shower...

Astoria slid her blankets down and got of out of bed, catching an accidental glimpse of herself in the shiny surface of a water pitcher as she did so. A wan, poorly mopped up mess blinked back at her. Hoping against hope that she would not run into anyone that she knew, she set of at a half-jog to Gryffindor Tower

She found the common room empty and a quick glance at the clock confirmed that it was breakfast time. During her short absence, a cadre of house elves had returned order to the room: the broken glass had been swept away and the ruins of the cloak cabinet removed. Thankful to have the run of the place, Astoria headed for the bath and stripped out of her filthy robes. She showered slowly, appalled by quantity of dried blood that slid through her fingers and puddled around the drain. At first, she took care to soap her hair as tenderly as possible, but Madame Pomfrey had done her job well—so well that after a only few moments of scrubbing, she began to forget which side of her head had been struck. Indeed, it was almost as though she had never been hit at all.

Her pale reflection in the mirror told different story, though: a tale of blood loss and sleeplessness. Dressing carefully to avoid the appearance of being frail or damaged, Astoria dragged a brush through her hair and got a move on.

0o0

The great hall was just as deserted as the Tower had been. Taking advantage of the fact that she was still trailing an hour behind, she hovered over the Hufflepuff table (a bold move) and inhaled two pieces of toast and half of a cantaloupe in complete silence. The magically enchanted ceiling overheard showed a bright, spring-colored sky; clean, blue and profusely hopeful. Astoria finished off the last of her fruit and checked the time. The bell was about to ring. If she hurried, she might still manage to make it to her second period class.

The crowd outside the potions corridor was noisier than usual—a fact that Astoria immediately (and nervously) attributed to residual excitement left over from the night's break-in.

"Pity he didn't just stab Weasley and carry on to Potter," Draco's snide voice carried up the hallway, bringing Astoria to an abrupt halt. Without really thinking, she ducked back around the corner she'd just turned. Out of sight, but just barely...

"Weasley screamed," explained Zabini. "That's what the Ravenclaws are saying, at any rate. He probably forced Black to make a run for it."

Astoria debated turning around, but a cagey sort of embarrassment held her rooted to the spot. She peered around the wall.

" _Assuming_ the Ravenclaws know what they're talking about," sneered Malfoy impatiently. "Where's Astoria? She'd know—it's _her_ common room. I don't know _why_ she'd skip breakfast on a day like today..."

"Obnoxious, really," agreed Blaise with a tiny smirk. "But I suppose it was a long night for her—celebrating Potter's win and all that."

Malfoy scowled.

"Besides, judging by what Bole says, it sounds as though she needed a little stress relief," Blaise continued slyly. "He saw her in the library yesterday. Fit to trot."

"I was _there_ , Zabini," snapped Malfoy tersely, already knowing how this story ended.

Tracey's voice joined the mix: "Are you talking about Astoria?" Next minute she appeared, sliding through a gap in the crowd near Blaise's elbow.

Astoria sucked in her breath, torn between morbid curiosity and a desire to put her friends at ease. Surely the right thing to do was to announce herself? Then again, who knew what they might say if they didn't know that she was listening?

"Where is she, anyway?" Tracey persisted. "I want to hear about the break in."

This was typical but hardly heart-warming. Astoria already knew that she was the most socially acceptable—and therefore primary—source of Gryffindor gossip for the Slytherin third years.

"Hey!" hollered Tracey, flagging down the nearest girl in a red and gold tie. "Brown! Where's Astoria?"

"Sirius Black breaks into our common room and suddenly you're curious about our news, are you?" sniffed Lavender. But her primness was clearly a front—Lavender loved gossip and it was obvious that even now, in front of Slytherins, she was fighting to contain herself. "You _really_ haven't heard? Some friend you are, Tracey!"

"What's that supposed to mean?" countered Tracey, frowning her displeasure.

"She's in the hospital wing, Davis," sighed Lavender. "She and Neville both are."

"Why?" Tracey dead-panned.

"Because Sirius Black broke into our common room last night and started attacking people with a knife!" explained Lavender in the most alarmist way possible.

Astoria watched, entranced, a guest at her own funeral...

" _So?"_ countered Malfoy roughly. "What's that got to do with Greengrass?"

"She and Neville fell asleep doing homework, since you're so interested," Lavender continued, dangling the carrot. "They were in the common room. Black ran into them on his way out and there was a fight."

" _Who_ had a fight?" demanded Tracey, failing to piece the story together in its absurdity.

"I mean, no ones knows for _sure_ what happened," Lavender whispered, "but the _screaming_ woke us all up..."

" _What_?" snapped Tracey.

Tracey's tone had taken on a nervy edge. Astoria could not help but find the sound of it slightly gratifying.

"We only saw them for, like, a _minute_ before Professor McGonagall arrived," Lavender confessed, clearly enjoying herself. "But there was blood _everywhere._ "

A chilling silence descended.

"She's making it up," snapped Malfoy, his jaw working tensely. "Go ask someone else, Davis. Granger's too much of a goody two shoes to lie. Ask her."

"I am _not_ making it up!" huffed Lavender. "McGonagall rushed them away before we could get the whole story but, honestly, it looked like they'd both been _stabbed_."

"What the _hell_?" gaped Blaise, making no effort to hide his extreme delight.

"That's _ridiculous_ ," sneered Malfoy. He narrowed his eyes at Lavender and turned away from her rigidly. "It's _not_ true, Blaise."

"Is she alright?" jolted Tracey.

Astoria sensed that the moment to step forward had finally arrived. It was wrong to let Tracey to worry, but the prospect of having to deal with so many eager, nosy Slytherins... She recoiled weakly at the thought.

"Dunno," Lavender shrugged. "She wasn't in first period."

"I'm going to the hospital wing," declared Tracey.

"If you skip Snape's lecture, he'll put you in detention," cautioned Blaise, lazily inspecting his thumb for a hangnail.

On the spot, Astoria finally made up her mind to dislike him.

"Maybe Theodore's heard more," muttered Tracey, backing away.

Malfoy's sharp eyes followed Tracey's retreat down the hall. He was still sneering absently.

The bell rang. Try as she might, Astoria couldn't pluck up the energy or the courage to follow the rest of her class into the dungeons. Instead, she decided to seize her rare day off. She retreated to the library where, determined to remain hidden until dinnertime at the _earliest_ , she carefully selected a spot so deep within the stacks that only Theodore (with his love of obscure and dusty corners) would think to search for her. She buried herself in a pile homework and waited for him.

To her surprise, however, it was _not_ Theodore who found her first: it was Draco. He appeared in the late afternoon, accompanied as always was at that hour by Crabbe and Goyle. The fact that he had no apparent reason for being in the library stacks did not seem to trouble him and he made no attempt to come up with a cover story. He spotted her—his face registered an immediate mixture of relief and annoyance—and he marched toward her like she was his business.

" _There_ you are," he sneered accusingly. " _Seriously_ —you're skipping bloody class? Do you have any idea what people have been saying about you around school?"

Curiously, his irritation seemed to double as he took in her aura of general health and well-being.

"What are people saying about me?" returned Astoria flatly.

"That Sirius Black tried to _murder_ you last night!" snapped Draco doubtfully.

Astoria stared at him. There was something like an inquisition buried in his gaze—was he looking for a _confirmation_ of the whole absurd tale? A reason? Was he angry that he'd been left out of the drama in some way? Was she supposed to bloody well cry for him?

"It didn't work," Astoria grunted, scratching out a sentence with her quill. " _Obviously_."

Crabbe was toying with Astoria's eraser, bouncing it up and down on the table. She wished that he would stop—the unwanted motion frustrated her.

"Sirius Black _stabbed_ you?" repeated Draco skeptically. He reached out to grab Crabbe's arm mid-bounce. "I don't believe you—you look fine. _Stop it_ , Crabbe!"

"He didn't _stab_ me," Astoria snapped back, suddenly irritable. "He punched me in the head and threw me into a wall."

Malfoy sneered to hide his discomfort.

"I look fine _now_ because I was in the hospital wing all night," Astoria continued waspishly. "Frankly, though, I washed a pint of blood out of my hair this morning and I'm really not in the mood for this."

"I thought you said Black was after _Potter_ ," grunted Goyle thickly.

"In the mood for _what_?" snapped Malfoy. "He _is_ after Potter, Goyle, I've told you a thousand times!"

"Sirius Black went to Azkaban for blowing up a street full of muggles," Astoria sneered, rounding on Goyle. "He doesn't _care_ about hurting the people who get in his way. I met him on the dormitory stairs and I screamed."

" _Why_ would you scream?" demanded Malfoy, plainly disgusted.

"I don't know," Astoria admitted, yanking her books away from Crabbe (who'd begun pulling out all her bookmarks). "I guess I figured he'd already stabbed everyone in the boys dormitory. If _I_ was about to die, I wanted someone to know about it."

"You should have just _moved_!" Draco gaped, his expression clouded by a touch of bizarre stubbornness. "He's not after children from old pure-blooded families! What were you _thinking_?"

"He didn't actually ask me my name before pummeling me, Draco," hissed Astoria. "Neville's a pureblood, too—but that didn't stop Black from pushing him through a sheet of glass, did it?"

"That's different!" Malfoy sneered. " _Longbottom's_ a waste of space—"

" _Longbottom_ slide-tackled a notorious mass murderer to save me from being stabbed last night!" returned Astoria wrathfully. "In my book, that makes him a hero. Black was manhandling _me_ when Neville jumped on him. What would you have done, Malfoy? Cowered in the corner?"

Draco recoiled, possibly sickened by the visual that she had conjured for him. Then, realizing that she had called him a coward, his scowl quickly returned. The bell rang overhead.

"So you're just _not_ going to class today, then?" Malfoy fumed.

"McGonagall gave me the day off," Astoria bit back passive-aggressively. "Have fun freezing with Hagrid. You certainly deserve it for campaigning to have his Hippogriff beheaded."

"C'mon, Draco," said Goyle. "S'the bell."

Draco shook off Goyle. "What do you mean I _deserve_ it for having his hippogriff beheaded?" he spat. "That monster tried to kill me!"

"Because it's a wild animal—that's what they _do_!" yelled Astoria.

" _What_?" Draco sneered. Genuine confusion suddenly off-set his anger. "You're an animal lover now or something?" he fumbled. "Return them to the wild to run free— _that_ sort of nonsense?"

"If you had just _listened_ to Hagrid in the first place, Buckbeak never would have attacked you!" Astoria insisted. "It's your _own_ fault that you got injured! I don't know why you're so bent on punishing other people for it!"

"At least I bothered to find out if _you_ were alright!" countered Draco resentfully. "When, I'm _sorry_ — _Buckbeak_ , was it?—nearly ripped my arm off, you just sat around with Nott and had a laugh!"

"Your arm was fine!" Astoria shrilled, flinching as the unreasonable pitch of her own voice echoed back at her off the shelves.

"Not at first, I wasn't!" Draco snarled.

A tense, bitter silence hovered between them like a wall.

" _Fine_ , Greengrass," he hissed tersely, "I _faked_ a lingering injury to move Slytherin's quidditch match back, but there's a reason that irresponsible _moron_ is crying in his filthy hut about it! His monster pet nearly took my arm off!"

"Your arm is still attached, though, isn't it?" Astoria demanded through gritted teeth, ignoring his confession because she had known it all along. " _Why_ can't you just leave it alone?"

"Why _should_ I leave it alone?" demanded Malfoy. He squared his shoulders. "Since when do you care about Hagrid? And what the hell is a ' _Buckbeak'?_ —the sound the thing makes when it chokes?"

"That's the Hippogriff's name!" sneered Astoria fiercely. "Harry told me last week. Why would he make up something so _stupid_?"

Draco sucked in a sharp, hideous breath.

"Oh, _Potter_ told you!" he repeated nastily, his expression taking a turn toward ferocious. "What are you listening to Potter, for? It's not _my_ fault if he's unnaturally attached to Professor Oaf! That's the sort of thing that _happens_ when people have no parents!"

"He told me because I asked him!" Astoria snarled, dropping her quill. Her hands were trembling wrathfully. "This is _ridiculous_! Harry may be an orphan, but he's saved the entire school twice! What have you done?"

"Are you _kidding_?" spat Draco, close to losing control of himself.

"You're the heir of an ancient family! Your father has half of England trembling in their boots and all you do is spend your time trying to make an uneducated giant cry!" Astoria yelled. "What the _hell_ is wrong with you?"

A muscle near Draco's mouth twitched. He stood so still a passerby would have guessed that she'd slapped him instead.

Before he could say a word, Astoria knew that she had gone too far; the truth had come bubbling up out of her uncontrollably, more like an exorcism than a complete thought. She began to feel a twinge of hasty regret.

"Is _that_ what's been bothering you all week?" sneered Malfoy jerkily. He'd recovered just enough to speak, but his mouth still twitched involuntarily. "You know, sometimes I think Pansy's right about you!"

Astoria cringed instinctively.

"I hope they make Potter and Hagrid _watch_ when the executioner chops that filthy hippogriffs head off! _Come on_ , Goyle!" Draco snapped.

Pushing Goyle ahead of him—as though it was _his_ fault that they were now late for class—Draco elbowed his way roughly out of the stacks. Astoria watched the three of them go, feeling somehow even more miserable than she had before.

0o0

"You didn't even bother to find me!" Theodore berated her later that evening. "Everyone thought you were dead! I had to hear it from Malfoy that you were just hiding in the stacks!"

Astoria still hadn't moved and, truth be told, she was not especially impressed by how long it had taken Theodore find her. Ironically, now that he had finally managed it, she almost wished that he'd go away again: she was attempting to faithfully recount the whole incredible story for him, but Theodore, who had already managed to gather a startling amount of information on his own, wouldn't stop interrupting her long enough for her to finish it.

"I haven't moved all day!" Astoria protested. "It's not my fault Malfoy found me first!"

"He found you _here_?" Theodore cocked his head, frowning distractedly. "What was he doing in the stacks?"

"I don't know," returned Astoria dully, feeling some of the energy drain out of her. "Being nosy, I expect. If it makes you feel any better, I was a total savage to him. He'll probably push me down a set of stairs the next time I see him."

Theodore scoffed in a way that suggested how _very_ much doubted this, but Astoria wasn't so sure. She had never seen Draco look as mad as he had when he'd stormed out of the library earlier. She had a funny feeling that he wasn't going to excuse her behavior on account of shock.

"I still can't _believe_ you were attacked," exclaimed Theodore, dropping into a scratched-up wooden chair. "I mean, how often do you _nap_ in your common room? What are the odds?"

"Never a dull moment in my house," Astoria grumbled.

"I don't get it, though," he burst. "Why didn't you just get out of Black's way? _You_ were unarmed and he had a knife! You must have known he was trying to get out of the school as quickly as possible—and it's not like he could have hexed you. Why _bother_ provoking him?"

"I thought he'd already murdered half the tower!" Astoria enunciated, beyond exasperated. Why did she keep having to explaining this?

"Why not wait for him to leave and _then_ raise the alarm?" scowled Theodore. " _That's_ what any sane person would have done..."

"I don't know, alright?" Astoria huffed. "I panicked, I guess."

"You're lucky that Black didn't stab you!" Theodore muttered.

" _Yeah_ ," agreed Astoria rather bitterly, "he just cracked my head open, is all..."

"I wonder why he _didn't_ stab you," Theodore mused, turning speculative. "After all, that's what I would have done, if I'd been in his place. I'd have slit your throat so that you couldn't bear witness against me."

"Lovely," Astoria deadpanned.

"At any rate, you'll be a school celebrity tomorrow," Theodore continued miserably. "Don't sit with me at breakfast. I don't want to watch Malfoy hounding you while first year Hufflepuffs beg for a dramatic reenactment."

"It won't happen," Astoria assured him. "The Hufflepuffs'll have Neville and Ron to get the story from and Malfoy won't want to speak to me."

0o0

Astoria turned out to be quite right on both accounts, but correctness did not make the fallout less miserable to endure.

Ron Weasley, enjoying his first ever burst of celebrity, spent the next week telling anyone who would listen about everything he had seen. In loving detail, he described the way Sirius Black's face had looked as it loomed over him in the dark. Without even a trace of shame, he described fist-fights he hadn't had, and mad dashes to raise the alarm that had never taken place. All things considered, it was the least flattering display of his character that Astoria had ever witnessed. As far as she was concerned, Neville alone deserved praise.

Poor Neville's intrigue, however, was more than a little complicated by scorn. The more people came to understand that he was at least _partially_ responsible for letting Black into the common room in the first place, they less they wanted to hear his side of the story.

"I didn't mean to lose the passwords," Neville muttered sadly. "I just couldn't _remember_ them all. Sir Cadogan's always changing the words around!"

The fact that Neville had come to Astoria's defense seemed to be the only thing separating him from Professor McGonagall's wrath. Sir Cadogan, who could claim no such bravery, had been removed and the Fat Lady had once again taken up her post guarding Gryffindor tower. Fully restored from her slashing but visibly nervous, two new security trolls had been also been hired to stand guard on either side of her portrait.

They were not the only signs of heightened security. Over the next several days, Filch went about boarding up mouse holes and interrogating passerby. At the same time, if Ernie Macmillian was to be trusted, Professor Sprout had begun enchanting the hedgerows around the entrances to the grounds to recognize Sirius Black's face on sight.

Meanwhile, stalking about in a black mood and sneering at these new security measures, Draco Malfoy had never been louder.

"It's not as though Black slipped in through a crack in the wall," Astoria heard him complaining loudly to Crabbe, Goyle and Pansy's Parkinson's gang of Slytherin girls between class. "The man doesn't even have a _wand_ , for God's sake!"

Astoria tried not to look up and let him know that she had heard, but her eyes seemed to gravitate toward him as though magicked to do so.

"He's probably not even dangerous," Draco went on in a raised voice, knowing that Astoria was listening. "Black didn't even manage to off _Longbottom._ How competent can he actually be?"

All week, the sound of Pansy Parkinson's delighted laughter had been ringing in Astoria's ears. Once again, hearing it was enough to make her want to crawl into bed and sleep for a week.

"I don't know what you said to Malfoy," Theodore complained in a low voice as they skirted around Pansy's laughing gang, "but you might want to consider apologizing. He's been a complete tit ever since and _I_ have to share a dorm with him."

Astoria shrugged anxiously. "Hasn't he always been a bit of a tit?"

"Sure," agreed Theo, "but last night he pushed Harper off of the back of a couch for _breathing_ too loudly. I don't care if you're actually sorry. Just tell him that you think his plan to have Hagrid's hippogriff executed is brilliant and spare the rest of us."

This was the smartest way forward in theory, but Astoria did not _want_ to apologize. Not because she didn't feel badly—on some level she _did_ feel a little guilty for taking such a personal stab at him—but because she was beginning to see a pattern in her own behavior that she was very uncomfortable with. She had always toed the line between friendship and argumentativeness with Malfoy. A fight was nothing new. Only Draco rarely targeted Astoria with real, intentional unpleasantness: when he did, it was almost always because she had provoked him first. The more Astoria considered this, the more she began to sense a greater, intentional manipulation on _her_ part.

The fact that she sometimes instigated Draco on purpose was not what bothered her—she already _knew_ that she found nettling him to be occasionally pleasant. What bothered her was the realization that, on the rare occasions when she had pushed Malfoy just far enough to properly hate her, she had always gone out of her way (in as subtle a manner as possible) to lure him back again. A puppet on a string.

This clear-headed concept had taken Astoria fully by surprise. Not only did it go directly against the way she had always imagined her relationship with Malfoy to be, it forced her to take a hard look at her own motives.

True to form, less than a day after calling Draco an immature waste of his heritage, Astoria had begun to feel the first stirrings of a powerful urge to make him forget that they had ever argued. Even though she'd meant most of what she'd said, she found the idea of Malfoy _really_ disliking to be very unsettling.

And she had been in the same place before, hadn't she? The more she thought about it, the more she realized that she had. The time she'd hit Draco in second year? She had apologized less than a day later! And what about the MacLaggens' New Year's party? Astoria had driven Draco to disgust by talking about her date with Cormac on purpose and she knew it.

It was as though they'd been playing a head game together for ages; a silent, psychological war that she was only now coming to understand existed. Perhaps he already knew this, and that was why he was reacting the way he was? Astoria did not know—what she _did_ understand, though, was that Draco was not playing alone. Her reactions were quieter than Malfoy's were and her motives harder to guess. But she was certainly, _unquestionably_ reacting.

Draco's role in the proceedings was not so very hard to understand: in fact, Astoria had an idea that Theodore had pointed several factors out to her over the years. Draco possessed an overwhelming desire to be seen as impressive and he craved approval almost childishly—Astoria almost never gave him peace on either account. Therefore, luring him back after an argument was as easy as allowing herself to feed him a taste of something hard-won, something that she generally withheld.

What Astoria was getting out of the arrangement, however, was much less obvious to her. Just examining the idea filled her with a sense of self-loathing because it required her to admit some essential truths about herself that were not pleasant to think about.

The most glaring of these truths, of course, was the fact that Draco had an uncanny habit of paying _attention_ to her when other people didn't.

It was not the sort of shallow attention that she got from Cormac, either. Nor was it the faintly absent sort she got from her father. Malfoy's attention was a shrewd, sharp thing that did not stop at exteriors. If Astoria was privately impressed by something or prone to a certain type of behavior, Malfoy _noticed._ Even more embarrassing to admit was the fact that he was probably the _only_ person who did.

At heart, she suspected that _this_ was the coveted prize she was chasing. Otherwise, wouldn't she have stopped being pleasant to him years ago? Despite the fact that Draco was self-conscious, cruel and embodied all of the qualities of death-eater culture, Astoria could not quite bring herself to _want_ to give him up as a friend. This was troubling for a multitude of reasons, but mostly, if Astoria was honest with herself, it meant that it was within Draco's power to upset or hurt her and _that_ she could not abide.

Astoria blamed her father for her lack of male security. Astoria blamed her aunt for instilling her with such a habit of manipulation. Above all, Astoria remained silent. She did not apologize. She did not allow herself to look as upset as she felt; she was determined to dedicate her time to healthier life choices.

"I'm not apologizing, Theodore," Astoria returned firmly. "He'll forget about it eventually."

But Draco didn't forget and by the end of the week, it was becoming clear that between Astoria's reluctance to be sorry and Draco's desire to get back at her, the whole thing was culminating to be the worst fight that they had ever had.

In an attempt to get a rise out of her, Malfoy progressed from needling Astoria by talking about how pathetic Neville was to actually mentioning Daphne's apparent lack of concern for her safety.

"You know, when half of the school thought that your sister was dead, I don't think I heard you worry even once," she heard him drawl in Daphne's direction on Wednesday during Care of Magical Creatures class. "It's like you were secretly hoping she'd snuffed it."

Daphne blushed. Pansy laughed uproariously— _she_ did not care how uncomfortable this comment made Daphne feel, because it was it was a direct jab at Astoria and the fact that Draco had taken to making these lately seemed to be the cause of her greatest happiness.

Pansy's glee was hard enough to swallow, but the idea that Malfoy's scorn might infect Daphne was hell.

Astoria could not help noticing that her sister had begun to glance at her in the corridors again. At first these glances were tentative, even shy, but she could sense a current of annoyance running through them. Perhaps she privately felt that Astoria deserved the flack she was receiving and was determined to watch her suffer?

The grace period that Astoria's new friendship with Tracey had won her was over. She could feel herself falling back into the same dark hole of glumness that had affected her for most of the early fall term.

0o0

* * *

This was a bit of an odd-duck update (what with half of the chapter being dedicated to a physical attack) but I just couldn't see any way around it. I went way out of my way to write in that Sirius Black/Astoria letter scheme, so I figured I shouldn't miss the opportunity to connect the dots! We'll be back to regular and non-violent business as scheduled in the next post, though, I promise!

As always, reviews are an awesome treat!


	26. Revisions

Chapter Twenty Six

Revisions

* * *

0o0

Astoria awoke on her birthday feeling blue and decidedly out of spirits with the day before she had even climbed out of bed. This attitude was reflected back at her by the late January weather, which was a moody, winter grey. Clouds hung overhead, pregnant with a chilly rain that was refusing to fall.

An early letter from her aunt was already waiting for her at breakfast. Astoria poured herself coffee and opened her aunt's card, privately hoping for something that might cheer her up because Belladonna's notes had warmed considerably since Sirius Black's break-in.

 _Astoria,_

 _Happy birthday, darling! Another year older! We will celebrate properly when I see you in June, of course. Until then, I leave you with this package and a bit of news concerning the Quidditch World Cup..._

Astoria opened the package and found a few pots of fine quality ink in royal purple and a variety chocolates. Astoria opened the tin of chocolate and read on, curious to see what her aunt had to say about the quidditch world cup and soon learned that, not only was it scheduled to be played in England, but Aston Mendel, (at his son, Maudlin's behest) was already making plans to attend.

"Happy birthday!" said Tracey, snagging a chocolate from Astoria's tin and peeking over her shoulder at the top of Belladonna's note. "These are good!"

"Yeah," said Astoria, folding up the letter. "I don't know where she buys them, but they're always nice."

"Are you excited to be fourteen?" asked Tracey, her mouth bulging with truffle filling.

In truth, Astoria did not feel as though it had been a very heartening year and being reminded of the milestone did nothing to cheer her. This was not the sort of mood that was appropriate for anybody under the age of thirty however, so Astoria tried a feeble grin.

The regular mail arrived moments later and Astoria could not keep herself from searching the owls to see what else her birthday fate had in store.

A large barn owl brought a hastily scribbled letter from her stepmother, a second note on a thick piece of parchment and a long brown package.

"What's this?" asked Tracey dubiously, lifting the long parcel as if to weigh it in her hands.

"That's a broomstick," said Draco, who had been walking down the table behind them, coming to an abrupt halt. "Who would send _you_ a _broomstick_ , Greengrass?"

Astoria, however, thought she had a good idea who must have sent it.

"It's from Maudlin," said Astoria under her breath to Tracey. The card had been fastened with twine, so Astoria pulled it away from the brown paper.

" _Why bother_?" asked Malfoy snidely.

"You don't even fly," added Tracey ruefully.

"You don't fly _because_ of Maudlin Mendel," said Malfoy, correctly remembering that it had been Maudlin who had pushed Astoria off of her first broom and ruined the sport for her forever. "Why would he waste a broomstick on you?"

"He's got his pre-ordered tickets for the world cup," said Astoria. "He's probably just excited."

"To watch you fall off a broomstick twice?" asked Malfoy nastily before stalking off down the length of the table toward Crabbe and Goyle.

Tracey began to unwrap the front of the broomstick as Astoria read Maudlin's card.

"Astoria," said Tracey quietly, "this is a bloody Nimbus Two Thousand and One."

"So?" asked Astoria, beginning to feel a little annoyed with this pointless gift herself, thinking that perhaps Draco had a point and that it had been good money wasted.

" _So_ ," said Tracey faintly, "it's the second most expensive broom on the market, and it's never been used."

"Morning!" said a bright voice. Astoria glanced up from the letter and was surprised to find that Fred and George had braved the Slytherin table to catch her during breakfast.

"And a happy birthday, we might add," said Fred merrily.

"What are you two doing over here?" asked Astoria nervously. The Slytherins typically tolerated Astoria's table invasion because she had always done so and mostly only sat there in the mornings.

Fred and George were a different matter entirely and Astoria could feel the looks of accusing annoyance all around her. George produced a paper bag from behind his back and grinned.

"Delivering your present in person of course," said George happily. "We didn't want to wait until lunch."

Feeling faintly uncomfortable, Astoria took the bag and peered inside. "What is this?" she asked.

"Oh, a little of this and a little of that," said Fred, leaning against the table and causing Harper, a dour faced Slytherin second year, to stand up and move.

"Its a pair of slippers, an enchanted hat and a box of tea that we bought off of some bloke near the entrance to Knockturn Alley," said George excitedly.

Astoria pulled the box of tea out of the bag and read the label.

"Erotic tea?" she asked flatly, shooting the twins a look.

"We reckon it was supposed to say 'Exotic Tea' only they printed the box wrong," said George. "It would explain the discount we got. All the way from Africa it is, that stuff. We bought it for only three knuts. Funny, isn't it?"

Astoria stared at them and suddenly, she was fighting a bizarre urge to cry.

"Not that we think you only deserve misprinted tea boxes or something-" said George hastily, misreading the look on her face.

"It's perfect," said Astoria, working to get ahold of herself. "Here, I've got something for you as well."

Astoria picked up the broomstick and thrust it into Fred's hands. Fred turned the handle over mutely and was able to read the inscription where Tracey had ripped the packaging away.

"Er-" said Fred with a look of mingled horror and awe.

"You can't be serious!" said George, snatching the broomstick away from Fred. "Astoria, do you know how much this broom is worth?"

"Not a clue," said Astoria, still feeling misty eyed. "It was a gag gift anyway. I never fly. The person who gave it to me was basically making fun of me by sending it. Take it in good health."

Fred blinked at her, torn between guilt and extreme excitement. Further down the table, Astoria saw Marcus Flint tap Montague's arm and point at the broom in George's hand.

"Take it!" Astoria insisted. "Practice on it before the final."

"I can't believe you just did that," said Tracey darkly the moment Fred and George had left. "That broom is probably worth more than a thousand galleons! You should have pawned it, if you hated it so much! Why would you give it to the Weasleys?"

"Where would I even _begin_ pawning a broomstick?" Astoria snorted. "This way, at least someone I like gets to use it."

"What the are you going to tell Mendel?" gaped Tracey.

"I'll tell him I gave the broom to my impoverished, blood-traitorous friends and that it serves him right for sending me an insulting birthday present," said Astoria flatly, scooping eggs onto her toast.

"How do you know he didn't send it to be nice?" Tracey pressed, becoming more doubtful by the minute.

Astoria was about to respond when she was suddenly distracted by Daphne, who was standing behind Tracey and peering at them both with a pinched face.

"Hi," said Astoria a little breathlessly.

"Hi," said Daphne, biting her lip and frowning.

Astoria looked both ways to be certain that Pansy was not sitting nearby but Astoria and Tracey were separated from the nearest students by several seats thanks to Fred and George's pop in.

"Where's Pansy?" asked Tracey a little cooly. "I thought you were her shadow these days."

"Shut up," muttered Astoria at once, not wanting to do or say anything that might frighten Daphne away. Tracey scowled but fell silent. "What's going on, Daph?"

"I was going to come say happy birthday," said Daphne a little stiffly. "I didn't realize that I'd be interrupting you."

"You're not interrupting anything," said Astoria hastily, desperation coloring her tone.

"Yes, I am," said Daphne even more cooly. "You're giving out broomsticks to the Gryffindor quidditch team."

"Just one," said Astoria, a little puzzled, "and it was a gift I never would have used! Sit down with us!"

Tracey rolled her eyes and Daphne stared at the nearest seat dubiously.

"No, that's alright," said Daphne at last. "Happy birthday, Astoria."

"Daphne!" called Astoria, standing up at once and following her sister out into the hall. "Daph!" she gasped, grabbing her sister's arm when she caught up. "It was just a broomstick. I haven't talked to you in ages- come back!"

"It's always _something_ though, isn't it?" snapped Daphne in exasperation.

"What do you mean?" asked Astoria nervously, her voice becoming faintly pleading. "Are you afraid Pansy's going to be rude to you for talking to me? Because it's just one meal on my birthday. I can say something to her-"

"No!" said Daphne, hot with annoyance. "That's not- it's just- _why_ can't I ever walk up to you and find you doing homework like a normal person? Why are you always leveraging broomsticks or taking bets or plotting to steal friends like a human trafficker?"

"I'm not," said Astoria dumbly, taken aback, the hopeful flame that Daphne's presence had provoked burning up and turning to ashes.

"Yes, you are!" Daphne hissed. "You know what, I'm sorry I disturbed you, ok? Really, I am. Happy birthday."

"Daphne!" said Astoria, giving chase again as her sister sped off toward the dungeons. "Look, it wasn't as bad as any of that! Come on, won't you please talk to me? I _miss_ you!" They had reached the stairs that led off to Snape's potions classroom and Astoria began to feel the first pangs of shame knowing that she would not succeed in stopping her sister's flight. "I never even saw you over Christmas!"

"Because you were too busy with MacLaggen trying to meet _famous_ people and then sneaking Slytherins back over to your aunt's house!" shot Daphne.

"I wasn't- I didn't even want to have people over! That was all Tracey's fault!" sputtered Astoria desperately, thinking of what Tracey had said about Millicent being in close contact with Pansy and realizing she had probably been right.

"You _never_ mean it, Astoria!" said Daphne, turning on her with a look of pity. "That doesn't make your life any less chaotic or excusable, though! Do you _know_ what Blaise Zabini said about you last week?" Daphne demanded jerkily. "He said that you're pretty and irresponsible but have a keen mind for making money so you should probably just start a blow job club and charge your members!"

Astoria blushed, unsure what she had ever done to make Blaise Zabini think she was game for loose blow jobs.

"What about blow jobs?" asked Tracey avidly, coming up behind them. Astoria blushed even harder, wishing that Tracey would go back to the great hall, certain that she would only incite Daphne further.

"Apparently Blaise reckons thats how we should be making our pocket change," said Astoria in a tight, offhand voice.

" _Really?_ " asked Tracey, her face lighting up with glee.

"Yeah," said Astoria sarcastically. "I guess that means we know who to leave off the invite list when we start the club."

"Speak for yourself," leered Tracey.

Astoria shot Tracey a very quelling look, trying hard not to smirk.

"See!" said Daphne. "You're laughing at that! It's not funny, Astoria! It's your dignity!"

"I'm not- Daph, it was just a stupid joke!" Astoria backtracked.

Daphne stopped on the bottom stair and turned back to stare at Astoria, her gaze trembling with finality. "It might only _seem_ like a joke now, but do you really want people to hear your name and laugh all the time? Just- _grow up_ , Astoria!"

As far as birthdays went, fourteen was rapidly becoming Astoria's lousiest on record. All through Ancient Runes class, Astoria was obligated to sit alone, tearing herself apart as she dismissed anxieties as ridiculous, only to have fresh ones occur to her.

Not only had Daphne found a way to scorn Astoria yet again but she had basically insinuated that Astoria was a silly girl, who the entirety of Slytherin house thought was destined to become either a slut or a joke.

Tracey's influence was certainly no help in a situation like this and Theo didn't socialize enough to turn the tide. Perhaps Malfoy might been counted on to shut down this type of talk for her a week ago, but the recent cold front between the two of them left no doubt in Astoria's mind that he had probably heard Blaise's comment and turned his head away. Did everybody think that Astoria was just a fool with no self respect?

Astoria was not even sure why it mattered to her. She had made the decision not to care about what people thought about her the day that she had begged the Sorting Hat to put her in Gryffindor. Still, it was a jarring thing to learn that not only did people talk about her, they tended to be cruel or mocking when they did so.

Astoria was late reaching Arithmancy and the line outside the classroom doors had already filed in and taken their seats by the time Astoria was jogging up the last of the stairs. Draco and Tracey had vied for their preferred seat in her absence, leaving Astoria the spot near the window that nobody wanted.

There were instructions written on the board in chalk; the ominous promise of a lecture class. Astoria had a love-hate relationship with these days. On the one hand, they meant that Astoria did not have to do any work, but on the other, they meant that she would have to take notes on a variety of new topics that she surely would not understand any better than the old material.

Draco's back stiffened as Astoria sat down next to him and for the first time in nearly two weeks, Astoria allowed herself to be physically aware of his proximity without ignoring him.

Professor Vector entered the room, dressed in a grey and brown tweed suit. He immediately commenced to erasing the chalkboard so that he would have room to write while he spoke. Most of the class had already taken out quills and parchment, having guessed what was coming.

Astoria tried to follow Vector's lecture but her mind was elsewhere. Had Daphne merely been parroting Pansy's opinion of Astoria or had those words been attached to ideas that Daphne herself had been working on for some time?

The freezing rain that had been threatening fall all day finally began to patter and ping against the windows. The room was a warm and dusty refuge against the barrage of ice and water and Astoria began to loose track of Vector's lesson entirely.

Her eyes slid covertly onto Draco, who was listening idly and taking notes every few moments from new lines. Perhaps it was the unnatural darkness of the classroom, but Astoria had never before appreciated just how blonde Draco's hair was; an inimitable color that could never have been achieved by unnatural means, almost silver and always well kept. People often said that Astoria was nice looking but she was terribly lazy about her hair...

Draco made a small sniffing noise and crossed out a line of writing on his paper. He touched his angular nose in thought and then, because Astoria had been staring at him for several long moments, finally felt her eyes burning into him at last.

His pale gaze shifted onto her, more surprised than properly irritated. Astoria looked away immediately. Several seconds went by before she heard him scoff under his breath.

Perhaps Astoria had been too hasty to shuck off Malfoy. Perhaps she was being stubborn unnecessarily? Astoria had plenty of _other_ friends who did things that she did not agree with. For instance, Astoria did not wholly approve of Tracey's fondness for stirring up trouble for no reason, nor was she much for Theo's method of avoiding people at all costs. Granted, Malfoy's idea of being disagreeable involved campaigning to have living things beheaded, but perhaps it was none of Astoria's business to decide if this was just? Perhaps Daphne was right. Maybe Astoria _was_ an irresponsible friend and she was in no condition to turn away others for _their_ faults, when she apparently had so many of her own.

Astoria toyed with this idea uncomfortably, beginning to feel real regret that she had not just apologized to Draco when it could still have been considered timely. Almost two weeks had now gone by and Astoria had done nothing to prevent Malfoy from becoming more and more annoyed with her, first for being rude and then for not caring. It was possible that even if she tried to say sorry, Draco would recognize her for the annoying, confused presence that she was and brush her off.

There was also the fact that Astoria had never actually had to think about convincing Draco not to be mad at her before. Astoria had always simply acted as it had appeared natural and necessary without any introspection at all. Astoria reacted best when her actions were forced by a spur of the moment scenario, it seemed. Astoria was very good at controlling a scene when it was forced upon her by surprise but the act of having to think about saying sorry and finding a way to do tactfully was not in her wheelhouse at all.

Professor Vector droned on. The freezing rain continued to fall heavily, warping the windows with runny curlicues of water.

 _Don't make it a plot,_ Astoria thought to herself, thinking of what Daphne had said about her tendency to be ridiculous. _He's properly mad, you'll have to be genuine._

Astoria sat up straight and pushed herself as close to the table as she could, her nerves tingling. The only thing worse than being wrong about refusing to say sorry, was actually saying it only to be told to get lost. Malfoy was proud and not particularly generous when it came to forgiving the wrongs of others against him. There were so many ways that this could go wrong.

Astoria nudged Draco's leg with her knee. She knew that he felt it because his hand promptly went still in the middle of the sentence he was writing but, perhaps because he did not want to be caught overly paying attention to her movements, he pretended he had not noticed.

Astoria nudged him again, this time so deliberately that ignoring it would be foolish and she left her knee against his leg as a threat.

Malfoy turned his head, a look of tense annoyance already in place.

Astoria hesitated _._ This was as far as her scheme had taken her.

"I'm sorry," she mouthed.

Draco's face remained still for a very long moment. Then, with a twitch, he narrowed his eyes at her in disbelief and sneered.

Vector noisily wiped the chalkboard again. "So as you can see, the most important thing to remember..."

Draco's eyes went back to the board but Astoria could tell by the stillness of his body that two weeks worth of resentment was ready to pour forth, as though he was itching to say ' _For what?'_ as snidely as he could.

Astoria leaned forward, afraid of loosing him to Vector. Draco jerked his elbow out of her way so Astoria continued to lean against his leg and took up her quill. She scrawled her message again on the margins of Draco's notes.

' _I'm sorry.'_

Draco sneered at his parchment. His arm twitched forward to write something but then he seemed to think better of it and froze. Astoria waited, unsure of herself, suddenly afraid that he would not respond and would go directly to Blaise after class to laugh about what a fool she was.

Finally, with a face that belonged on a person sucking down a lemon, Draco began to write on the parchment. Astoria, fully expecting him to deny any knowledge of what she was even talking about, continued to stare at the front of the room until he had finished writing.

' _Are you sure Potter gave you permission to apologize?'_

This was not what Astoria had been expecting at all. It was passive-aggressive and faintly immature, but at least Malfoy was not ignoring her. Astoria leaned forward again.

' _I don't know what you're talking about.'_

Draco made a scoffing sound and tried to flip the paper over, finished with whatever it was that Astoria was trying to do. Astoria put her hand down on it quietly to keep him from turning flipping the parchment, weighing her options.

Finally, Astoria decided on the truth, knowing that this was riskiest tactic of all because anything that she wrote down, Draco would keep and could therefore show to others. If she failed to placate him, there would be a good deal of laughter in the Slytherin common room that night, but at least Daphne could not accuse Astoria of shaming herself by not caring about anything.

' _Thinking about Hagrid crying makes me sad,'_ she wrote, throwing all caution to the winds. ' _Listening to you talk to my sister like you both wish I was dead makes me sad. I'm sorry. Please stop.'_

It was succinct. It was vulnerable. It was half insane. Astoria kept her eyes fixed on Professor Vector, not moving, unwilling to even look at Draco.

After what felt like a very long time, Draco flipped the page over stiffly and reloaded his quill. He was taking notes again, Astoria realized. Pansy was going to loose her mind with delight when she discovered how pathetic Astoria was. Blaise would try to make a sexual innuendo out of it and would likely succeed, to the hilarity of everyone present.

The idea that Hagrid crying caused Astoria distress would haunt her in the halls. It would become a running joke. Astoria never should have written it down.

Malfoy twitched a hand through his hair irritably and Astoria caught a bit of the scent that she had come to associate with Malfoy's shirts, a mixture of soap and freshly ironed fabric. It suddenly occurred to Astoria that ironing was the real smell of money. Such a lazy, nice smell that nearly always meant that someone else had been paid to labor over you. People whose shirts were always pressed never realized that they didn't _come_ that way; never considered the effort that had gone into something as unremarkable as the care of their clothing.

Malfoy made another sound that could have been mistaken for a hiss of self-loathing and sat back in his seat. His leg was suddenly pressing back against Astoria's under the table, solidly but surely.

At first, Astoria did not move, feeling as though an electric shock had just passed through her. Then, hesitantly and because she had nothing left to lose, Astoria slid her knee softly under his, testing to see if the motion had been accidental. Draco continued to watch Professor Vector, his eyelashes fluttering for an instant as, hidden below the desktop, Astoria slowly and intentionally shifted closer to him.

Vector began to write an equation on the board as an example. For a moment neither of them moved. Then, Draco's knee pushed closer so that Astoria's leg was no longer pulling on his pants but resting softly, flush against him. Then he fell still.

Astoria breathed a sigh of relief. This was as clear an indication of Draco's forgiveness as she could have hoped for. Somehow, miraculously, her speechless appeal had worked. For a moment, Astoria half allowed herself to wonder if Draco hadn't been waiting for her to apologize and was simply relived that she had finally done so, no matter how sloppy the actual execution. Either way, Astoria was relatively certain that he would not show Pansy or Blaise the note.

The rain continued to fall coldly outside the window. Astoria listened to it drop like the boots of a distant army over the grounds until the bell rang.

0o0

The dreary weather persisted all throughout the weekend and into the next week. February arrived wetly, a splotched green and white world shrouded by an unforgiving mist.

"Hogsmeade next weekend," remarked Tracey on Monday morning during break.

"Brilliant," said Astoria sarcastically. "I'll break out my wetsuit."

Theo snorted, agreeing with this sentiment entirely but Tracey was adamant.

"Come on!" she begged. "There's nothing going on at Hogwarts that we'll miss for a day! Filch will still be prowling for Sirius Black and the corridors will be just as cold when we get back. I say, let's embrace the fun."

This was the exact wrong sentiment to appeal to Astoria at the moment however, as she had spent the weekend actively embracing non-fun. Between Daphne's scorn for Astoria's lack of seriousness, Astoria's looming failing Arithmancy grade and the damp weather, Astoria had barely left the library.

The courtyard was wet but the entrance hall was too busy for Theo's liking, so they braved the icy-slick cobblestones outside, sticking close to the eaves to avoid becoming drenched.

"I was thinking I'd try to get some studying done," said Astoria, earning a wildly enthusiastic smile from Theodore, who didn't want to go in to village anyway. "I've got an extra credit essay from Vector to make up for my recent bout of classwork."

"Who cares, if you're just going to fail anyway?" asked Tracey bitterly. "Let's go see what Zonko's is all about, we haven't been yet!"

"My aunt will disown me if I fail that class," insisted Astoria grimly. "I've got to at least scrape by with a pass."

"Oh, you will!" said Tracey carelessly. "Just start copy down everything Malfoy does on _his_ worksheets- or make friends with Goldstein!"

Astoria had not yet forgotten that Anthony Goldstein had tried to rat her out to Professor Vector for gambling however, and copying Malfoy was likely more trouble than it was worth.

Theo ducked behind a stone column and lit a cigarette with his wand, cupping the flame with his hand against the freezing rain and wind.

"I don't know why you even bother hiding with that thing, Nott," drawled Malfoy, who had been crossing the stone walkway with Crabbe and Goyle, coming to a lazy stop at the sight of them. "Mcgonagall can probably smell it in her office four floors up."

Astoria had seen little of Draco over the weekend but they had sat through three breakfasts at the same table without him insulting her once. Astoria had taken this to be a good sign.

"Piss off, Malfoy," said Theo hotly. "I don't care what Mcgonagall thinks."

"Tough guy," drawled Malfoy lazily. "I suppose _you_ wouldn't mind having to miss Hogsmeade for a detention, would you? You never go anyway."

"How was _your_ detention on Saturday?" asked Theo pointedly. "I suppose Mcgonagall made you scrub bedpans for trying to sabotage the Gryffindor seeker, did she?"

"Not that it's any of _your_ business," said Malfoy sneeringly, "but we wrote lines. Father complained to the governors after my last detention- the one where Hagrid nearly got us killed in the forest?"

"Your dad isn't even a governor anymore," said Theo moodily. "I don't know where he gets off complaining so often!"

"He complains because this school is run by crackpots," said Draco scathingly, beginning the same tirade they had all heard many times before. "The whole place is constantly just a _step_ away from going to the dogs."

"Maybe you should just try getting fewer detentions?" suggested Theodore, looking toward Astoria for support.

"Don't look at me," said Astoria with a shake of her head, determined not to start a fresh fight with Malfoy until spring thaw at the very least. "I'll back Draco's father's problem with the forest detention. We saw a blood sucking demon. It was complaint worthy."

"You saw a _what_?" asked Tracey, eyes widening.

Malfoy made a self-satisfied noise and leaned against the column that Theo was hiding behind confidently, peering at Astoria out of the corner of his eye, clearly reliving the memory fondly now that so much time had passed.

"There are blood sucking demons in the forest?" Tracey pressed, staring off across the grounds.

"I haven't seen one since," said Astoria, privately thinking that the whole scenario had probably had something to do with Professor Quirrell and Harry Potter's claims about Lord Voldemort that year.

"Where are you lot going, anyway?" Theo asked resentfully, obviously wishing that Draco would leave and take Crabbe and Goyle with him so that he could smoke his cigarette in peace. "Break's about to end."

"Is Daphne going to Hogsmeade?" asked Tracey suddenly, thwarting Theo's attempt at running Malfoy off. "Do you know, Draco?"

"Probably," Malfoy shrugged lazily. "Why wouldn't she be?"

"I don't know," said Tracey irritably, "only Astoria and Theo are both staying here, so I have to find someone else to go into town with. Maybe I'll tag along Daphne. Hah, Astoria! She can tell me more about what Blaise said about you and the blow-"

"I bet she is going, Trace!" said Astoria loudly, prepared to strip down and dance around in a circle naked if it meant keeping Tracey from mentioning her sister and the blow job comment in front of Draco. "Why don't you ask her?"

"Are going to be mad at me, if I do?" asked Tracey, blinking in confusion at Astoria's outburst.

"Aren't _you_ going?" demanded Draco at once. "Nott I understand, he hates people, but that's no excuse for _you_ to have to have to stay just to keep him company."

"She thinks she's failing Arithmancy," said Tracey gleefully.

"I _know_ I'm failing Arithmancy," said Astoria stoutly, ignoring the look of surprised amusement on Malfoy's face at this news.

"You're _not_ failing Arithmancy!" said Tracey exasperatedly. "Not with all the extra credit essays Vector's giving you-" she turned to Draco, "-they're not even about Arithmancy! He keeps having her write about Transfiguration instead, so he can pass her. You should come this weekend, Astoria, _really_."

"That's not true!" said Astoria, blushing as the bell rang in the distance, signaling the end of break. "They're not all on Transfiguration!"

"He assigns you off-topic essays?" Draco drawled in disbelief, following them back toward the castle.

"She's his golden teacher's pet, haven't you noticed?" said Tracey, rolling her eyes. "Your homework is _awful,_ Astoria. He would have kicked you out by now if he wasn't going to pass you."

Astoria turned to Theo, expecting him to stand up for her but, to Astoria's hearty disappointment, Theodore was smirking down at the cigarette he was putting out with his foot.

"He _did_ tell you that he knows your aunt," said Theo in an undertone as Malfoy bullied Crabbe and Goyle up the marble stairs case toward the sixth floor and Tracey peeled away to collect books from her dormitory.

"Yes," said Astoria quickly, "but in my experience, Theo, that's generally a _bad_ thing."

"Maybe," said Theo. "I don't know. Goldstein tried to turn you in for taking bets on the last last quidditch match, but instead of taking points away or giving you detention, Vector put money on Ravenclaw."

"Shhh," said Astoria, looking about. Astoria was very grateful to Professor Vector for letting her off the hook and she did not want to do anything that would get him in trouble for his mercy.

"Made up with Malfoy, have you?" asked Theo, dropping his voice further still, watching Draco's receding back as he climbed the staircase.

"You were the one who told me that I should," said Astoria a little defensively. "At least he's being pleasant again."

"Yeah," said Theo, frowning, "but he's also doing that thing where he hunts you down and then pretends he's run into you by accident again. I'm not sure which is worse, really."

0o0

The weather had plucked up its misty skirts and worked itself into a towering mess of heavy rain by Saturday. From the Gryffindor tower bathroom, perched on the warm, tiled windowsill, Astoria watched as lightning cracked above the treetops of the forbidden forest, feeling more at peace with her decision to stay at Hogwarts instead of visiting Hogsmeade than she had all week.

Parvati Patil was applying eyeliner in the fogged mirror behind her, adjusting the Giambattista Valli hat that Astoria had given her on her head. Lavender Brown, tired of admiring Parvati's hat and anxious to be away from the castle, had already gone down to the entrance hall.

"I can't believe that he sent this to you himself," said Parvati for the thousandth time. "Have you felt the fabric? Do you think I should wear it today or wait for the weather to pass?"

"Wait for the weather to pass," said Astoria at once. Between the steam from the showers and the deluge outside, Astoria already felt as though she was sitting in a warm bath.

"Cormac asked me to go to Hogsmeade with him today," said Parvati in an offhand way, smudging black kohl into the corners of her eyes. "I told him I was going with Lavender. I suppose he asked you first?"

"No, actually," said Astoria, thinking of the cold way she had bid Cormac goodnight on New Years. "I haven't even talked to him since I got back."

"Really?" remarked Parvati, in a light voice that only just barely disguised her keen interest. "I'm surprised. I thought, you know, since you were his date for the party, that you would be the first person he'd ask to go into the village."

"I'm not sure he had a very good time on New Years," said Astoria honestly, remembering the way Draco Malfoy's story about Anthony's father, Nash Goldstein, had made Cormac bristle.

"Really?" asked Parvati again, now watching Astoria's expression in the mirror. "I mean, not that a boy would even have to have a great time to want a second date with _you_ -"

"If you like him, you should ask him to meet you somewhere today," said Astoria firmly, toying with a palate of Parvati's blush. It contained several compact powders in sparkling crimson and plum, which Astoria imagined must look ravishing on Parvati's warm brown skin, but would do nothing for Astoria's pale complexion except make her look like a vaudeville hooker. "I'm sure he'd love it if you did."

"So you're _not_ interested in him, then?" asked Parvati in a rush. "I mean, not at _all_? You _don't_ want a second date?"

"I definitely don't," said Astoria, trying not to let her real distaste for Cormac bleed into her voice when Parvati so obviously fancied him.

"Why not?" asked Parvati suspiciously. "Is he a troll in private?"

"No, we just didn't get on," said Astoria lightly, handing Parvati her blush. "If you decide to meet him though, wear the hat and bring an umbrella."

The hallways were unnaturally dark because of the storm and, as most of the school appeared to have braved the rain for a bit of shopping, they were also uncharacteristically quiet. Astoria made for the seventh floor nook near the divination tower, hoping to find Theodore.

Theodore was sitting in his careworn chair, flipping through an academic Charms magazine when Astoria slouched in. Theodore had the window thrust open against the storm and a packet of rolling tobacco was spilling messily across the watermarked table.

"We should become Animagi together," said Theo distractedly, moving a pile of books off of the moth eaten couch so that Astoria could sit down. "Turn ourselves into animals, you know? Like Mcgonagall, only we'd choose bigger creatures with proper fangs and _claws_."

"You'd be a spotted owl, for sure," said Astoria at once, looking at her wise, long faced friend.

Theo blinked over the edge of his magazine, studying her. "You'd be a seal," he said finally, "mischievous and clever."

"Let's _not_ become Animagi?" Astoria suggested lightly, putting her feet up on the table.

"Yeah, no," said Theo with an intake of breath, casting the magazine aside. "Rubbish idea, really."

"Why the interest?" asked Astoria, studying the wall of rain coming down outside the tower windows.

"I dunno," said Theo. "It was a good article. What do you reckon there are people who learn how to do it and then don't report themselves to the ministry record keepers?"

"What do you mean?" asked Astoria, puzzled.

"I mean, say for instance you could turn yourself into a mouse or something- and then you didn't tell the ministry that you could do it?"

"Sounds like a one way ticket to getting fined by the Ministry," said Astoria.

"But what if they didn't ever find out?" remarked Theodore pensively. "You'd be able to spy on whoever you wanted or break into houses or leave the country without anybody ever being the wiser."

"I guess," said Astoria, faintly uninterested.

"You don't even need a wand to do it..." said Theo, trailing off. "What if Black can turn himself into a cat or something, and that's how he's been getting into the school?"

"He didn't look like a cat when I saw him," said Astoria pointedly. "You're starting to sound like poor Susan Bones. Have you heard her theory about how Black can turn himself into a shrub?"

"No. Please don't tell me," said Theo, with the ghost of a smirk.

They passed an hour or two together doing homework but eventually, the chill from the open window began to work its way into Astoria's fingers and pulling her sweater tighter no longer kept the cold at bay.

"Library," Astoria muttered, standing up and balling her fists into her sleeves. "I'll be back. I need a book."

Theo shrugged so Astoria let herself out and wandered down the staircase, bored and chilly, wondering if Tracey had managed to find her sister for lunch. Perhaps that would be a good thing? If they talked about Astoria, Tracey was liable to say something nice.

Then again, Tracey seemed to love the outrageous parts of Astoria's personality the most and those traits seemed to be Daphne's chief problem with her of late. On second thought, perhaps it was better if they did not meet.

Astoria paused on the second floor because it had several high, floor-to-ceiling windows that afforded a vast view of the lake. Astoria stared out at the gathering rain. Most of the snow had melted away from the grounds and, even though it was still winter, Astoria could feel the silent budding energy of growth in the wilderness as it prepared for summer again.

The sound of footsteps behind her drew Astoria eyes away from the watery scenery and back onto the dark reflection of the hall in the window glass. It was Draco Malfoy followed, as he always was, by Crabbe and Goyle.

"Seen your pal Potter, lately?" called Malfoy triumphantly, his white-blonde hair wet and sticking to his wind swept face. He was wearing a damp looking cloak and an expression of supreme smugness.

"No," said Astoria dully, wondering what Draco was on about.

"No, of course you haven't," Draco went on at a clip, "because he snuck into Hogsmeade under an invisibility cloak."

"Invisibility cloak?" repeated Astoria nervously, thinking of Fred and George's charmed cloaks, beginning to feel the first stabs of panic.

"Yeah," Draco drawled, looking inordinately pleased, "can you believe it? Half of the teachers in this place have been throwing themselves over to keep him safe from Black and he's sneaking out anyway. They should just chuck him out and be done with it!"

"What did the cloak look like?" asked Astoria evasively. "How did you even see him, if he was invisible?"

"He threw mud at Goyle," said Malfoy, twitching his head to indicate his wet, boulder shaped friend. "Then, he tried to trip Crabbe but Crabbe must have pulled on Potter's cloak with his foot because next minute, Potter's head was _levitating_ in front of us."

This sounded like one of the twin's cloaks for sure. Astoria swore under her breath and pivoted, trying to think if Fred and George might be in the common room.

"Where are you _going_?" sneered Malfoy, obviously thrown by her lack of interest in his story.

"Common room," Astoria muttered.

"Thinking of taking a last look?" Draco sneered. "I've just been to see Professor Snape. I imagine Potter's probably packing his things as we speak."

Astoria turned at this, distracted and nearly ran headlong into Anthony Goldstein in her confusion.

"Watch it, Greengrass," said Anthony grouchily.

"Watch yourself, Goldstein," scowled Malfoy.

"She ran into _me_ ," said Anthony snottily. "Where are you headed in such a rush anyway, Greens? I didn't think there were any quidditch matches to fix for another month at least."

Astoria shot Anthony a very dark look, determined to ignore him.

"I'm _sorry_ ," Malfoy sneered, "was anyone talking to you?"

"Forget it," said Astoria, trying to inch her way around Anthony. "Go tell Vector, Goldstein, if you're so suspicious. You're good at that."

"Fat load of good that'll do," said Anthony, still refusing to get out of her way. "How _did_ you talk your way out of that one anyway, Greengrass? I'm curious."

"What is he talking about?" sneered Malfoy.

"Astoria's got an illegal betting ring, didn't you know?" said Anthony almost merrily.

"Everyone knows that, Goldstein," said Draco scathingly. "What, do you want a medal for figuring it out?"

"Cut it out," said Astoria sharply, no longer sure who she was talking to.

"You know what, Greengrass? I _did_ tell Professor Vector," said Anthony. "I'd even be impressed that you avoided detention if I actually thought that you got out of it by being clever."

"Well, considering you gave him _no_ evidence," said Astoria angrily, "I'd say avoiding detention wasn't exactly an olympian feat."

"I don't get you, Greengrass," said Anthony, his tone as patronizing as it was annoyed, taking a step back so that Astoria would have to listen to him. "You're one of the sharpest people in Ancient Runes, but you always show up to Arithmancy turned out like you were born under a rock. Do you think you can just sweet talk your way through the classes with male teachers or are you just an idiot savant who can only translate runes and everything else is a struggle?"

Astoria stopped trying to find a way around Anthony and fixed him with a level look. "What's _that_ supposed to mean?"

"It means that, unlike _some_ of us, you skate through Arithmancy without doing any work," said Anthony, squaring his shoulders challengingly, "and when you _don't_ know the answer to a translation in Ancient Runes, you just translate English into Gobbledegook to distract everyone from the fact that you didn't do the reading."

"Why don't you get lost, Goldstein?" suggested Malfoy nastily. "Before I have Crabbe make you."

"I _'m Astoria_!" said Anthony in a high pitched voice that was clearly meant to be an imitation of her own. "I speak loads of languages proficiently, Professor Vector!"

Astoria stared at him, so shocked that she almost forgot to be angry.

"I'm especially fluent in English, French and _daddy_ ," Anthony finished snidely.

"At least I don't speak jealous twit," said Astoria, trying to physically push Anthony out of her way. "I force myself not to roll my eyes at you every day, Goldstein."

"I still can't believe Cormac asked you out," Anthony laughed falsely in order to cover his embarrassment. "He's such a sucker for looks. I _told_ him he'd regret it."

"Oh, you're _so_ wise!" said Astoria, close to pulling out her wand to _make_ him move if she had to.

"You can't imagine how thankful I was that you ditched him before midnight. I'd rather be sick on myself than have to watch you two snogging."

"You're about to be more than sick if you don't get out of her way," snapped Malfoy, who seemed to have become infected by Astoria's discomfort and the way Anthony was almost physically menacing her. "You _let_ him talk to you like that?" he snapped, turning toward Astoria angrily.

"I guess I just _don't_ see it," Anthony went on pensively, his expression one of bizarre relief, as though he had been dying to insult Astoria for months and was now being given the chance. "As far as I can tell you're nothing but a bimbo with a bad case of vanity. I have to stop myself from laughing every time Cormac says he thinks you're good looking. He could do so much better."

"Sounds to me like you're the one who wants to be dating MacLaggen," sneered Malfoy sharply.

"Why, because I care about my friend being entrapped by some doe-eyed criminal who can barely spell?" shot Anthony. "I'm serious, Greengrass. You're the worst. I wouldn't touch you with someone _else's_ mouth-"

Suddenly Anthony jumped and made a quick movement toward his wand. Astoria tensed, startled by the motion, bracing herself for what might come next.

"Whats going on here?" rang a stern voice from the end of the corridor.

It was Professor Vector and he was striding toward them quickly, sensing trouble. Anthony, still clutching his wand, blushed and made to put it away but he wasn't fast enough.

"I see that wand, Goldstein, don't bother," said Vector sternly. "You too, Malfoy! You know there is no fighting in the corridors. Explain."

"Malfoy pulled his wand first, sir," said Anthony at once. "It was self-defense!"

Astoria glanced at Draco and realized that he too had his wand out and was looking faintly poisonous.

Professor Vector turned his eyes onto Draco with displeasure.

Astoria, wanting to act quickly and seeing no other way, burst into fake, simpering tears.

"What _the_!" grumbled Anthony irately, stepping away from Astoria as thought she might be contagious.

"I'm sorry, Professor," Astoria cried gently. "It was my fault!"

"What do you mean?" asked Vector, his voice softening slightly, evidently afraid of upsetting her further.

"I got into a fight with Anthony, " said Astoria mournfully. "He called me stupid and ugly!"

Vector sighed in aggravation and turned to look at Anthony, who promptly threw both of his hands into the air.

"I called her a criminal and told her I didn't want her dating my friends!" Anthony snapped. "I wasn't using any magic! Malfoy threatened me with his two thugs there and then pulled his wand on me!"

"Alright, Astoria," said Vector, looking very put upon, taking hold of her arm. "Come on, now. You're made of tougher stuff than this."

"He said I was the worst!" said Astoria, eyeing Anthony vindictively through the space between Vector's elbow and his chest. "He said that I don't try in class! That's not true is it?"

Vector looked as though he would have given anything to have left the teachers lounge five minutes later than he had. Malfoy had not moved an inch, watching the scene play out. Both Crabbe and Goyle looked very confused.

" _Please_!" Anthony sneered, seeing what was so obviously false in front of him. "She's _fake_ crying!"

"Then," Astoria went on, gasping slightly, "he said he wouldn't touch me with someone _else's_ mouth!"

"Come on!" growled Vector angrily as Anthony paled. "That's sexual harassment, Goldstein! You know you're not allowed to talk like that. What were you thinking?"

"I didn't say-" stuttered Anthony.

"Yes he did," said Draco coldly. "He also called her a bimbo."

"For Merlin's sake!" sighed Vector tensely. "Alright, come with me, Goldstein. We're going to see your head of house. Back to your dormitories, you four!" he shot, stopping to briefly admire Crabbe, as though he had never seen a teenage so large. "I've had enough nonsense for a Saturday. Walk, Goldstein!"

Astoria fell back against the wall, watching as Vector pushed Anthony back down the corridor, her look of tearful distress slowly shifting into a victorious smirk.

"I speak daddy, do I?" muttered Astoria, feeling rather satisfied. "Who's his daddy, now?"

"Did you just _fake cry_?" asked Draco, torn between disgust and admiration.

"Do you know, I've hated Anthony all year and I had no idea he felt the same way?" said Astoria. "I feel so exhilarated right now."

"I can't believe Vector pulled him off," Malfoy sneered, looking slightly amused even though he seemed to know that he shouldn't be. "Davis must be right. You really are Vector's favorite."

"Anthony sealed his own fate the second he started talking about touching me- that's the stuff of lawsuits," said Astoria, eager to sidestep this idea. "Vector _had_ to punish him."

"Just goes to show you about MacLaggen," said Draco. "You can tell everything about a person by the company they keep, you know."

Astoria tried to resist looking at Crabbe and Goyle and did not comment on this bit of supposed wisdom.

"You ought to kick MacLaggen to the curb with Goldstein," Malfoy added, eyeing her face shrewdly. "I'm sure they _both_ talk about you like that when you aren't around."

Astoria was relatively certain this was not true. MacLaggen was far too pompous to speak rudely about his own dates unless they had somehow wronged him and Cormac was much less observant than Anthony to begin with.

Draco's hair was beginning to dry and Astoria started to wonder how long she had been away from Theodore.

Astoria shrugged and turned in the direction of Gryffindor tower, thinking it best to follow Vector's command and beat it.

"Tell Potter to enjoy his train ride home for me!" Draco called after her.

0o0

* * *

Sorry this took so long to upload guys! I've had such a busy weekend and an minor internet issue. I'll try to be more regular this week.

I've been sort of slowly alluding to Anthony more and more so I thought it was time to bring his and Astoria's mutual dislike to the front. I sort of like the fact that he is a male and still has no time for Astoria's hijinks (you don't see this often) without ever even being especially provoked.

Oh, Daphne! She's pretty much becoming the ultimate worst, isn't she? I know she's probably annoying to even have to read about these days but I'll likely persist with her plot line for a while longer. Firstly, because I think that Astoria, (with her looks, charm, relations and greater sense of self) is often handed things that Daphne would kill for and it's probably natural, if unlikeable, that Daphne would feel some resentment towards Astoria. Secondly, I think it serves as a reminder that Astoria, who often skates over trouble on grace alone, is far from secure in her family life. I'll wrap it up to a certain extent soon though, before anyone can't take it anymore.

I should have another chapter up tomorrow! As always, reviews are a pleasure!


	27. Defeat

Chapter Twenty Seven

Defeat

 _Arg! Apologies for the late post, guys! I've been having the most annoying problems with my internet lately! (Namely, I haven't had any and my internet provider has been sadistically ambivalent about the problem.) Thankfully, someone came and fixed it today, so I shouldn't have any problems posting now. Sorry for the wait!_

* * *

0o0

The Gryffindor common room was mostly empty when Astoria finally dragged herself through the portrait hole. Several feet away, however, Harry Potter was sitting in an armchair by the fire. Nothing about his posture seemed to indicate that he had been expelled.

"Hey!" she breathed, skidding to a stop in front of him.

"Hello," returned Harry, a little perplexed by her enthusiasm.

"You haven't been kicked out, then?" she continued in a rush. "Snape let you go?"

"No—that is, I _wasn't_ expelled," Harry frowned. "Hang on, how do _you_ know about Snape?"

"Malfoy," confessed Astoria. "I ran into him in the hallway and he was full of it about seeing your head in Hogsmeade."

"Right," said Harry slowly. "Well, Lupin showed up to help me, so it looks like I'll be staying on..."

"Listen," persisted Astoria, dropping her voice and cutting to the chase. "Did you tell Snape _where_ you got your invisibility cloak?"

"Huh?" demanded Harry, looking more perplexed than ever. "Er—no. _Wait_ , you know about the cloak as well?"

"Well, yeah..." returned Astoria slowly, officially disarmed by Harry's confusion. "Fred and George sold it to you, didn't they?"

"No, the cloak was my dad's," insisted Harry. "Where did Fred and George get invisibility cloaks—and who are they _selling_ them to?"

Astoria pulled up abruptly, realizing now that she had made an awkward and foolish mistake.

"It doesn't matter," said Harry, holding up a hand to silence her. "The secret's safe with me. Just between us, though, I wouldn't mention it in front of Hermione."

"Yeah," agreed Astoria. "Sure."

They both fidgeted awkwardly. Eager to change the subject, Astoria pointed to a grubby note in Harry's hand.

"What's that?" she asked brightly

"This?" muttered Harry grimly, brandishing the parchment. "A note from Hagrid. He lost his case—they're executing Buckbeak."

0o0

Care of Magical Creatures class was exceedingly tense the next day.

It was evident to anyone with eyes that Hagrid was terribly depressed—and the fact that Astoria knew _why_ only seemed to make his distress that much harder to ignore.

"I don't know why any of this bothers you so much," whispered Theodore in a low voice. "What did you think was going to happen? Did you really imagine Hagrid was going to win a case against Lucius Malfoy? It's Walden Macnair who does those executions, you know—he and Lucius are old friends from the war."

Astoria shrugged and stubbornly refused to meet Theodore's eye. Truthfully, a part of her had been hoping that the entire affair would be held off until the summer. She did not want to witness the aftermath.

Hagrid paused to blow his nose into a spotted handkerchief, but he was not loud enough to drown out Draco's delighted laughter.

"Look at him blubber!" drawled Malfoy in a very carrying voice.

"Wish someone would make _him_ blubber for being so awful," muttered Astoria under her breath, inclining her head toward Malfoy. "If I take his legs, will you go for his arms?"

This threat was purely rhetorical—she was actually quite thankful to be at peace with Draco—but verbalizing her anger did wonders for her mood.

"Nah," scoffed Theo softly. "Crabbe and Goyle will protect his head first. _You_ take his arms."

Hagrid hiccuped loudly and Astoria's chuckle transformed into a wince.

"If he shows up at Buckbeak's execution looking for a laugh, I'll do it myself," Astoria hissed. "I swear. All you'll have to do is lure him out of the common room for me."

"Hah!" projected Theodore hollowly, his expression souring. "Tell Malfoy that you want to make him blubber alone in the dungeons alone some night—I dare you. See if you need _me_ to lure him anywhere..."

"What does _that_ mean?" scoffed Astoria.

"Nothing," returned Theodore through gritted teeth. "A _bad_ joke..."

0o0

Before anyone knew it, the Easter holidays were nearly upon them. Unfortunately, for the first time ever, the upcoming vacation did not seem likely to offer any respite from studying. Astoria had never had so much homework in her life: her bag groaned from the weight of her library books and a pile of unfinished papers was growing steadily bigger beside her bed. Still, in a strange way, she was tolerably happy for the distraction. Her vast workload prevented her from focusing on Daphne, Malfoy or Hagrid—for the first time all year, she finally had a reason to behave like a shut-in.

True to form, on the first day of break, Astoria went to meet Tracey in the library.

"Have you ever had so much to do?" lamented Tracey, hovering over her rune translation. "I'd write home and ask for help, but my mother is so _stupid_ that it's nothing short of a miracle she even graduated."

Astoria shrugged noncommittally, unsure whether she ought to find this comment funny or tragic.

"Seriously, though," Tracey murmured. "Between mum and my creepy brother, I really don't know how I turned out so normal."

"Roger's not _so_ bad," Astoria offered feebly.

"Roger would have sex with a flobberworm if no one was watching!" Tracey snapped. "Your mates sold him one of those invisibility cloaks that people aren't supposed to know about—I keep waiting for some Ravenclaw prefect to let me know that I'm about to be an aunt!"

Astoria cleared her throat and attempted to disguise her nervousness. She did not like how far word of the cloaks had spread—it seemed inevitable that they would eventually spell disaster.

"At least your brother talks to you," Astoria admonished. "Daphne still won't look at me."

"Yeah?" sneered Tracey. " _Your_ relatives aren't laughable, though, are they? I'd swap my mother for Belladonna any day..."

Astoria sucked in a sharp breath. Tracey obviously didn't know what she was talking about, but the comment still chaffed.

"I have _loads_ of embarrassing relatives," Astoria returned stiffly. "You've never met my stepmother."

"I suppose," Tracey sighed. "And we're both are at a loss for having a _dead_ parent, too, aren't we?"

A tremendous pressure was beginning to make Astoria's ears ring.

"My dad's dead and your mother—she _is_ dead, isn't she?" Tracey went on, oblivious to the discomfort she was causing. "She didn't run off or something?"

Astoria swallowed thickly. She had bluffed her way through this with Tracey once before, but it seemed different—somehow sneakier—to lie outright when the question was being asked so bluntly. Without really thinking, she made a twitching motion with her head, knowing that Tracey would understand this to mean whatever she already wanted to hear.

"I thought so," nodded Tracey consolingly. "When did she die, anyway? During the war?"

Astoria nodded again. She was not anxious to make up any details that she would have to remember later.

"Was she a causality? Or did she get caught passing information?" persisted Tracey. "I know your uncles were in it up to their heads, of course. Blaise was saying something about that a week or two ago."

"What's _with_ Blaise?" asked Astoria sharply, appalled. "First he tells my sister that I should be charging for blow jobs— _then_ he goes around talking about my Death Eater uncles? Sounds to me like he needs a fat boot up the arse—"

"Oh, he just likes to gossip," scoffed Tracey, waving aside the tantalizing visual of an assault on Blaise's ass. "But he likes to pretend that he's better than Pansy and the lot, so he has to tell thrilling political stories and old family tales instead."

"Why bother?" Astoria sniped. "Who cares about ancient history?"

"Yeah. If Malfoy can't one-up him, he usually shuts it down," continued Tracey, "but even _he_ seemed curious about your family. Of course, _I_ could listen to Blaise talk all day. His voice is like honey..."

Astoria snorted, growing tenser by the second.

"You've said yourself that you think he's good looking," insisted Tracey.

"Not _that_ good looking," snapped Astoria irritably. "Mostly he just dresses well. I think he's a sneaky, fruity git."

"Well, I'd take him just as he is," sighed Tracey. "Only he doesn't seem to be that interested in me, does he? I must not be good looking enough. His mother is _gorgeous_ —have you ever seen her?"

It was a well known fact that Seraphina Zabini and Belladonna Lestrange loathed each other. As a result, Astoria and her aunt tended to avoid events where Mrs. Zabini was likely to call. She hadn't laid eyes on the woman in at least four years.

"That's ridiculous. I'm sure he likes you just fine," sighed Astoria, secretly hoping that he didn't. "You got on well enough at Cormac's father's party..."

"He just thought it was funny that I wanted to go so badly," Tracey mused. "I also know you and _you've_ got that whole air of mystery thing. He probably took me to nose into your business."

"If you say so," snorted Astoria skeptically. It was hard for her to imagine anybody— _especially_ a person as snotty as Blaise Zabini—viewing her as a creature of mystery.

"You _are_ kind of elusive, you know," frowned Tracey thoughtfully. "You're a Gryffindor, but you're very atypical for your House. I mean, you might _know_ blood traitors, but Belladonna Lestrange is still your aunt. Even _I_ can't tell if you secretly hate everybody or if you just like everybody equally."

"Literally nobody thinks about me that much except for you," laughed Astoria at once.

"That's the thing," squinted Tracey. "I think a lot of people _do_ wonder about you. Literally, the only thing you openly claim to care about is your sister, which is so _boring_."

"You make me sound creepy," Astoria muttered.

"Maybe you are," smirked Tracey mischievously, waggling her fingers. "Nobody knows for sure."

0o0

The end of their holiday meant more than just new homework: it meant that the quidditch final was at last approaching.

In the days leading up to the match, Astoria witnessed more foul play than she had ever imagined possible. The Slytherins attacked Alicia Spinnet in the hallway between classes. Lucian Bole (the Slytherin beater) came down with a mysterious flu; Katie Bell was cursed in the ladies loo soon after.

"You're going to have to watch the match with a telescope to keep people from accosting you during the game," Fred whispered grimly over his lunch on their first day back.

They fell silent to watch Harry Potter enter the hall. He was winged as he always was lately—by Oliver Wood and Katie Bell, who stood tall and imposing as bodyguards on either side of him. Struck by their formation, Astoria scanned the doorway behind Harry and was not at all surprised to spot the skulking forms of Crabbe and Goyle lukring in the shadows. _A surprise attack_ , she realized. _They're gunning for the seeker._

"Maybe we shouldn't take any bets?" suggested Astoria.

She knew this was a good idea the moment she voiced it out-loud. There was too much buzz: _both_ of the teams were good. It was a risk to put odds on either of them. But Fred let out a bitter scoff and slunk back in his seat.

"You're already making money off the cloaks!" Astoria continued almost pleadingly. "Why not sit this one out?"

In the end, Fred and George both begrudgingly agreed. At the bell, Astoria left for class feeling as though a weight had been lifted off her chest. For the first time in a very long time, she was going to be at liberty to enjoy a quidditch match—no worrying, no mid-game mathematics.

It was a prospect worth looking forward to.

0o0

Breakfast was a noisy and tense affair on the morning of the match.

Marcus Flint bolstered his team with a bracing pep-talk over bowls of porridge. Astoria could only hear half of words he was saying from the far end of the table, but the ones she did hear were not very encouraging. It did not seem to be a particularly optimistic speech—from what Astoria could tell, it was peppered with more threats and insults than helpful advice. Draco was looking particularly pale; he scowled nervously at his untouched plate.

This was very much in fitting with conversations she had heard that morning in her common room. As far as everyone was concerned, this was the match to end all matches. For the Gryffindors, it was the game that would determine whether Oliver Wood would ever win a quidditch cup. For the Slytherins, it was the perfect chance to finally prove that Harry's hitherto unprecedented winning streak was nothing more than a fluke. Everything seemed to be riding on that tiny golden ball.

By the time Astoria, Tracey and Theodore got up to head to the stadium, the desperation and anxiety of both teams had become infectious. They chose seats high up above the crowd to avoid company. Mashed close together, they sat with their feet pressed against the railings and peered down at the field.

"The players look _tiny_ from here," complained Tracey.

"That's because they're not in the air yet," grunted Theodore. Sporting events were always a little out of Theodore's wheelhouse and his discomfort had a tendency to make him grumpy.

Thinking they had been rather clever to sit in such an undesirable section, Astoria was very surprised when Blaise Zabini slipped in behind them. In a perfect confluence of bad luck and timing, just before the match started, Pansy, Flora and Daphne joined him.

"Theodore!" guffawed Pansy, all mock shock and stifled grins. "What are _you_ doing here! I thought hated quidditch..."

"I _don't_ like quidditch," Theodore grumbled.

"Astoria must have brought him," joined Blaise smoothly, dismissing Theodore like an accessory. Tracey stiffened at the sound of his voice.

"In that case, you two are sitting on the wrong side of the field," sniffed Pansy. "The Gryffindors are over _there,_ Astoria."

Astoria's eyes followed Pansy's finger toward the predominantly red and gold band of students in the stands across from them. Hyperaware of her sister's presence, she bit back a retort.

"Ooh, look!" cried Flora suddenly. "The players are coming out onto the field!"

"There's Draco!" effused Pansy, standing to have a better look.

" _Lord_ ," drawled Zabini softly, "he's the shortest person on the team by a whole head, isn't he?"

"Shhh!" Pansy chastised, giggling slightly. "I think he looks quite handsome in his quidditch uniform!"

Flora began to titter and Astoria found herself repressing a sudden and bizarre urge to slam her body back into both of their knees.

"You think he looks handsome in his uniform?" leered Blaise, projecting an air of doubtful amusement. "How can you even tell from up here?"

"A girl can tell," insisted Pansy, snorting and squealing and smacking Flora's hands away.

"What do you think, Greengrass?" asked Blaise suddenly, his voice quite at odds with his careless expression. "You're discerning. Do _you_ think Draco looks nice in quidditch robes?"

"What are you asking _her_ for?" snorted Flora dismissively, but Pansy was not laughing. On the contrary, she pivoted to watch Astoria intently, her expression closed and calculating.

"I think he looks nervous, Blaise," sighed Astoria truthfully. "Why? Do _you_ think he looks nice in his quidditch robes?"

Theodore snickered.

"He shouldn't be nervous," declared Pansy. "Our whole team is on better brooms—well, _except_ Potter..."

"And it's Potter he's got to beat to the snitch," snorted Blaise. "The rest of the team hardly matters."

"What's that supposed to mean?" demanded Pansy. "You think Potter's going to win the match?"

"I didn't say that," returned Blaise, shrugging carelessly.

Without really wanting to, Astoria found herself studying Blaise out of the corner of her eye. She'd spent very little time with him outside of Draco's company: it had honestly never occurred to her that the two boys might _not_ be particularly good friends. Certainly they were _equals_ of some sort—and therefore mindful of each other in person—but Astoria could tell without trying that Blaise did not think Draco was going to catch the snitch and the idea did not seem to trouble him at all. With a surprising tug of discomfort, she realized that _she_ didn't think Draco would win either.

"They're in the air!" shrilled Flora, clapping both her hands together.

Within ten minutes, the match had already lived up to its hype—it was the dirtiest Astoria game had ever seen. Watching quickly became tiresome: Madam Hooch called foul after foul, awarding penalty shots for every illegitimate play. When Fred Weasley finally gave up pretending to play fair and threw his club at Flint's head, the crowd reacted with equal parts amusement and shock.

"What a lunatic!" Pansy screeched. "He could have broken Flint's nose!"

"He only did it because Flint slammed into Johnson," argued Theodore, rubbing his hands together, plainly delighted to discover that sports could be _much_ more amusing than he'd imagined.

The Slytherin beaters retaliated by pummeling Wood in the stomach. Madam Hooch's shrill whistle blast cut through the air.

"That was just _nasty_ ," leered Blaise, his eyes sparkling.

Suddenly, however, nobody was paying attention to Oliver. Harry Potter had dropped into a spectacular dive.

Astoria clenched her fists, waiting for the moment the stands would explode. It did not come. At the last second, Draco threw himself over the edge of his broom and grabbed hold of the tail-end of Harry's. His trick worked: despite the dizzying height at which Draco had taken his hands off his own Nimbus, he had managed to slow Harry down _and_ remain seated. The snitch vanished.

Gryffindors across the field began to vocalize their wrath. Privately, Astoria was simply thankful that she was not counting galleons in her betting book—such a near miss would have left her a nervous wreck.

"That was genius!" whispered Pansy breathlessly.

It was a mark of how on edge Astoria felt that she did not point out how unsportsmanlike Draco's behavior had been.

Up above, Harry and Draco were now circling each other so closely that their knees kept bumping. Harry pivoted, eager to prevent Draco from searching for the snitch—and Malfoy was becoming visibly angrier and angrier about it.

The Slytherin chasers fell into formation, zooming across the field to ram Katie Bell. Harry tore away from Draco to help.

"EEK!" Pansy screamed, leaping to her feet. After a brief areal search, Astoria understood what she was yelling about.

It was Draco's turn to dive: he had spotted the snitch while Harry was still halfway across the field. Draco _was_ going to catch it.

Astoria's hand snapped toward her mouth. She watched as Malfoy dove, torn between shock and admiration. This was unexpected, but at least by winning they would all be spared Draco's terrible month-long mood.

Only Astoria had reckoned too quickly—she had not counted on the Firebolt's superior speed. Harry was gaining, he was level with Draco's broom...

The stands erupted. Harry had knocked Malfoy out of the way at the last second—the snitch glittered near the cuff of his crimson robes.

Astoria did not even know whether to be pleased. Clearly a Gryffindor victory was something to be cheerful about (especially when Harry might already have won if Draco hadn't cheated). Still, watching Harry push Draco out of the way simply because his broom was faster seemed very anticlimactic.

"That's not _fair_!" whined Pansy. "Potter got the snitch because his broom is better!"

"Draco's dad bought _seven_ new Nimbus Two Thousand and Ones last year," yawned Blaise, determined not to let Draco off the hook. "Potter's broom isn't _that_ much faster—Malfoy shouldn't have let Potter push him."

The stands began to empty. As a result of the anticipation surrounding the match, nearly every student had come to watch. For several minutes, Astoria was obliged to fight her way toward the ground through a claustrophobic mess.

"Bloody hell!" swore Theodore, bouncing off the railings (several Ravenclaws had shoved him from behind).

"He must be so upset!" Pansy lamented loudly nearby. "Someone should tell him that it isn't his fault—Harry's broomstick is just newer! I bet Flint is being absolutely _horrible_!"

Pansy sprung up onto her tip-toes the moment she reached the grass, craning her head in the direction of the boys locker room. An unexpected and bizarre instinct stirred deep within Astoria's chest, compelling her watch this exchange even though she didn't really want to.

Why couldn't Pansy just let Draco shower off and change before jumping down his throat? He would surely appreciate her support later—his ego was made for that sort of thing—but Astoria suspected that he would want to conceal his embarrassment first. After all, Harry had beaten him twice now: Draco's burst of outward hatred was probably mixed up with a healthy dose of self-loathing.

"Let's go," muttered Astoria in a low voice, trying to nudge her friends forward. The quidditch cup was being hoisted up behind them—Hagrid was sobbing tears of joy onto the twins' shoulders.

But Tracey would not budge—she only had eyes for Zabini.

"Disappointed?" Tracey asked, thrusting herself in front of Blaise. She clasped her hands behind her back so as to maximize the size of her small breasts.

Montague came bowling out of the locker room, damp from the showers. Flint was not far behind: his hair dry, his face twisted with rage.

"We're going to the lake," Marcus shot at Blaise, eyeing the cup hatefully. "I can't watch this."

"Where's Draco?" asked Pansy. "Is _he_ coming?"

"No idea," scoffed Montague, making way for Flint, who strode past them jerkily. "He's still in the showers. He and Marcus had it out..."

"We should all go," ventured Tracey hopefully, eager to follow Blaise. "It's almost nice out for a change."

"I'm going to take a nap," Astoria demurred.

"What?" hissed Tracey, attempting to silently convey her displeasure. " _No_ , let's both go!"

" _Gryffindors_ can come now?" sniffed Flora.

"Who?" scoffed Flint, having been waylaid by a crush of bodies. "You mean _Greengrass_? She can come. It's never stopped her before. _Bloody_ —" he broke off, pushing several Hufflepuffs, "— _out_ of the way!"

"What do you say?" insisted Tracey through gritted teeth, mutely pleading with Astoria to accompany her. "Doesn't that sound like _fun_?"

An odd smirk played with Blaise's lips as he watched their exchange.

" _Sure_ ," Astoria sighed, although she could think of almost nothing less promising. "Let's go."

They all started off across the damp, tolerably warm grounds together: Astoria, Tracey, Pansy, Flora, Daphne and Blaise. Theodore took off for the castle and did not look back.

Astoria walked in silence. They were an awkward group, but Flora seemed determined to unite them. She switched positions when Theodore broke away, pushing in beside Tracey.

"Is it true that you went out with Cormac McLaggen, Astoria?" she asked, all false camaraderie. "At Christmas?"

"Yes," answered Astoria flatly, unwilling to pretend to be Flora's friend. "Just once—and his _parents_ were there."

"Doesn't your dad _work_ for his dad?" Flora squealed.

Daphne's eyes flashed toward Astoria for a fraction of a moment before returning to the grass.

"Sort of," allowed Astoria stiffly. "Not formally. He handled a case for Mr. McLaggen."

"Are you dating, then?" asked Daphne quietly, surprising everyone by speaking.

"No," Astoria answered, this time more eagerly. "We're just friends. Parvati Patil asked him out a few weeks ago—for all I know, he's dating _her_."

" _Really_?" giggled Flora nosily. This was a promising bit of gossip that she might not have heard otherwise.

"Why not _you_?" demanded Pansy rudely.

"Because I'm _not_ ," snapped Astoria.

Flint, Montague and Lucian Bole were already sitting on the sandy banks of the lake. As they stumbled over the rocks toward them, it become clear that the boys were passing a bottle of what looked like fire-whiskey and arguing moodily.

"It wasn't a fair play!" Lucian Bole was saying. "Potter should have been called for charging at us!"

"Except he never _touched_ you," Flint snapped, taking the bottle back, "so Hooch _couldn't_ call it."

There was a hopeful spring breeze coming in off the lake, but it was not enough to dispel the storm-cloud of annoyance hanging overhead. Astoria settled down on a patch of desert colored pebbles to wait. Lucian Bole handed her a glass of fire-whiskey crudely mixed with pumpkin juice; she took a single sip before placing it firmly in the sand.

An hour passed—slowly and without a single amusing moment. The Slytherins persisted in grumbling about quidditch like a choir of disgruntled gargoyles while Astoria stared listlessly at her feet.

"This tastes awful!" Pansy complained loudly.

The longer they sat, the more frequently Pansy's eyes drifted over the cresting hill toward the castle, hoping to spot Malfoy, Crabbe and Goyle's approach. Left to anticipation, she seemed to be drinking a good deal more than she usually did to satiate her impatience. By the time she'd finished her second mixed drink, high patches of color were blossoming over her cheekbones. She put down her cup and then hastily dove for it again.

"Astoria," she called, retrieving her empty glass from the sand, "your hair is a such a _strange_ color!"

Astoria could not make any sense of this: her hair was brown and therefore thoroughly common.

"What do you mean?" tittered Flora, perhaps thinking the same thing.

"Only that her hair is darker winter than it is in the summer," Pansy went on. "You should just dye it so that it's even, Astoria. I don't know _why_ anyone would want two hair colors..."

Next to leaving, the only thing Astoria wanted to do was strike up a civil conversation with Daphne. Was there any way to do this without provoking Pansy?

"Miss Tippy always used to say that constancy is God's gift to women," Pansy went on, her voice thick with alcohol and baited cruelty. "You remember Miss Tippy, don't you Astoria? She was so _disappointed_ when you had to leave early that summer..."

This was an allusion to the time Astoria had shot their archery teacher at etiquette school and it was such old news that she didn't know why Pansy would even bother bringing it up.

"Miss Tippy hated how impatient you were," continued Pansy, surprised to discover that there was only a mouthful of fire-whiskey left in her cup. "You were always snatching things at tea or jumping into conversations without waiting—I think she really just wanted to see a _change_ in you."

This was not the first time Astoria had seen Pansy drink alcohol, but it was the first time she had seen Pansy properly drunk. The difference was startling. Sober, Pansy was vapid and sneaky—but intoxicated, these traits became blunt, deliberate and unafraid of consequence. Her face—generally fixed into an expression of either polite displeasure or ignorant confusion—seemed to take on a keener cruelty. Without Draco to distract her, Pansy's primary interest seemed to be harassment.

"I doubt Miss Tippy ever thinks about me," countered Astoria flatly, wishing Tracey would hurry up and make herself comfortable so that she could leave.

"Are you kidding?" sneered Pansy, doing an admirable impression of Draco. "You _shot_ someone on her lawn—that's pretty much the ultimate failure of good manners, isn't it? She probably _still_ dreams about it."

Flora laughed nervously, obviously more comfortable with Pansy's usual brand of passive-aggressive mockery.

The fire-whiskey came back around. Astoria had hardly touched her first drink so she allowed Flora to scoop up the bottle and hand it off to Pansy.

"Do you want more pumpkin juice?" asked Flora helpfully.

"Why bother?" Pansy drawled, rolling her eyes. "It's always going to taste bad, isn't it?"

Certain that Pansy was nothing more than a ticking time bomb, Astoria stood up and threw a rock into the water.

"I suppose you're happy?" wondered Flint, sidling up to her. "My loss is your victory. Isn't it, my little she-goblin?"

"I didn't take bets on the match," admitted Astoria, laughing for the first time since breakfast. "Do I strike you as being terribly goblin-like?"

"A little," shrugged Flint. "At any rate, you're a crackpot little crook for a Third Year. That was my last quidditch match as captain, you know. You'll be dealing with Montague in the fall—and there's a chance he'll be too stupid to take a bribe."

"I miss you already!" Astoria laughed.

Flint affected a expression of false suffering. It reminded her of the Weasley twins' dramatic pouts.

"I'm thinking of going for the Wimborne Wasp reserves," he continued. "Puddlemore United has shown some interest in Wood, so who knows? The show may go on."

At that moment, Adrian Pucey, Miles Bletchley and Warrington arrived. Pansy fell off a rock in her haste to hug them and Astoria averted her eyes. _Now_ was the time to slip away from the party unnoticed...

"We should move toward the woods," declared Flint. "The teachers can see the lake from the castle."

Flint was the boss and nobody seemed to disagree with him. Flora helped pull Pansy to her feet and Astoria slipped her arm around Tracey, eager to pull her a few feet away from Blaise.

"I'm going back to my dormitory," Astoria whispered.

" _No!"_ hissed Tracey pleadingly. "Stay! It'll look weird if you leave! Just an hour more, I _promise_ —"

They kept walking until they reached the rock wall: a long forgotten and ancient boundary that abutted the forbidden forest's outskirts. The mossy, earthen path immediately struck Astoria as familiar. It was a moment before she realized that they were only feet away from the paddock where Hagrid had kept his Hippogriffs in the fall.

"Isn't Draco coming?" asked Pansy in a whiny voice, recognizing the spot as well. "He shouldn't be sulking!"

"He was in the showers for more than hour," Adrian informed her. "I told him Flint was by the lake, but he told me to piss off. Derrick's back in the dungeon as well—his face won't stop bleeding."

"Someone should do something about those twins!" exclaimed Pansy, looking very emotional indeed. Her eyes darted toward Astoria accusingly.

"But Flint said that Madam Hooch _couldn't_ call a foul—" started Flora.

""Oh, _shut up_ , Flora" snapped Pansy. "That's not what I even meant!"

Thankfully, Adrian Pucey was willing to brave Pansy's drunk savageness in order to abuse the twins and the two of them were soon deeply engaged. Flora touched his arm—almost reverently, as though he was speaking gospel—and nodded along.

"Ridiculous, aren't they?" murmured Blaise.

His voice was low and far too close to Astoria's ear. She jumped, startled to discover that Blaise's Zabini's face was only inches away from her own.

She had been leaning against a pine tree, bored and listless. Between scrunching her toes to to fight the oncoming cold and watching Pansy make a fool of herself, Astoria had been too preoccupied to hear his approach. She blinked hastily, taking stock of her surroundings. The sun was starting to dip behind a bank of trees; it cast long shadows that bathed the path in an early, false night. Tracey was nowhere to be seen.

"Where's Tracey?" asked Astoria stiffly. Tracey hadn't left Blaise's side all afternoon and her absence struck Astoria as suspicious.

"Nipped off to pee, I think," Blaise answered lazily. "Of course, she took her drink _with_ her."

Astoria did not entirely like Blaise's tone. If he thought Tracey was so laughable, why was he permitting her to follow him about? Surely Blaise was not the sort of person who was afraid of speaking his mind?

"If you think she's so gross, why don't you go hang around with Flora and Pansy?" shot Astoria coldly.

Blaise's dark, handsome face broke into a smirk.

"That's not a very nice thing to say," he leered. "Even if I _did_ think Tracey was gross, who's to say that I'd like Flora any better?"

He turned to hold Flora and Pansy in his gaze, his expression betraying nothing but a kind of lazy cruelty. Astoria decided on the spot that she did not care for the look on his face, nor did she like the fact that he had waited for Tracey to venture off into the woods before sidling up to her.

"It's funny, isn't it?" continued Blaise, still staring across the clearing. "I don't know why everybody is so bent out of shape by a lost quidditch cup. _I_ expected it really. Draco's father had to buy his way onto the team—should it really come as such a surprise that Draco isn't _that_ good of a player?"

This was a ballsy comment for any Slytherin. Coming from Blaise, it struck her as _especially_ calculated and strange. She did not imagine that he would voice the same sentiment out loud in front of Draco—and Astoria wasn't Blaise's friend. So why was he saying it to her?

"What's your point?" asked Astoria shortly.

"No point," scoffed Blaise, shrugging softly. "It's just annoying, isn't it? Three years from now, Malfoy will probably be quidditch captain. Why wouldn't he be? His parents have bought him everything else. It's not _just_ his father's fault, either—Draco's been tied to his mother's apron strings since before he could walk. There is a reason that he's so loud and insecure, you know. No one ever taught him the value of quiet competency."

Despite the heavy dose of truth in this, something about Blaise's speech made Astoria angry. The exact same words would not have bothered her so much if they had come from Theo, but Blaise was not Theodore. Even half marred by darkness, Blaise appeared sneaky and thoughtful in a way that Astoria couldn't entirely comprehend. It made her nervous.

"Say that to Pansy," Astoria challenged. "You'll get a better rise out of her."

"Pansy's even stupider than Malfoy, so why bother?" drawled Blaise carelessly, causing Astoria's sense of warning to triple. "You're not stupid though, are you, Greengrass?"

Blaise leaned back against Astoria's tree, causing her to stand up straight.

"We have a bit in common, after all," Blaise went on, ignoring the way Astoria had recoiled. "There's a reason my mother loathes your aunt—no one likes other people who reflect their _own_ worst qualities."

For a moment, Astoria could not think of a single retort. She stared at Blaise, almost hypnotized by the inherent inappropriateness of his subject matter.

"Do you hate your aunt?" asked Blaise suddenly, his voice dipping lower, taking on a conspiratorial note.

"No," Astoria answered at once, her skin crawling. No matter what her problems with her aunt were, Blaise Zabini was the last person she wanted to admit them to. "Do _you_ hate _your_ mother?"

"Sometimes," allowed Blaise, lightly—almost predatorialy. "She's all I have, but I play my games. So do you, don't you?"

"I suppose," Astoria frowned, trying to understand what Blaise was getting at.

"Of course, I inherited more of my mother's traits than I like to admit," he went on, far too casually to come across as genuine. "People say that we look alike, but it's more than that. Mother plays her games, too. Sometimes with your aunt."

Astoria knew this was true, but she was powerfully disinclined to discuss it.

"Tracey's crafty enough, really," continued Blaise, his elbow brushing against Astoria's, "but she's _very_ predictable. Something tells me _you_ aren't."

Finally glimpsing the edge of of what Blaise was insinuating, Astoria took another pointed step away from him.

"Your aunt would _hate_ it if we were friends, you know," Blaise leered. He reached forward, bridging the gap that Astoria had put between them with his hand. His fingers brushed a pine needle out of her hair by applying a sharp tug. Her hair bounced back into its natural shape—free of foliage and yet somehow dirtier.

" _My_ aunt would think it was hilarious," countered Astoria snappishly.

"Not if I wasn't very nice to you," persisted Blaise, grinning at the notion. "It sounds like a promising game to me—although I suppose Malfoy would stop following you around and I _know_ how much you would miss _that_."

Astoria did not know what Malfoy had to do with any this, but she was disconcerted by the idea that Blaise would connect him with her own sexual availability.

"Fuck you, Zabini," snapped Astoria, jerking away from him.

Blaise raised an eyebrow. It was plain that this was the exact suggestion he was proposing.

Astoria pushed around him roughly, angling for the path when she was suddenly seized from behind by a set of smaller, girlish hands.

"Astoria!" squealed Tracey, having finally found her way out of the woods. "Lord, it was so dark in there—I've lost my drink!"

"Here," grunted Astoria tensely, "have mine. I'm going to bed. If you're smart, you'll come too."

" _What_?" whined Tracey, but Astoria was already moving away from her.

"Where is she going?" she heard Tracey ask, swapping Astoria's arm for Blaise's. "The woods are so creepy! You should have come with me, Blaise—"

It was not much brighter on the lawn, but Astoria up the path anyway. She tripped recklessly in the dark, eager to outpace the sensation of being complicit to a crime that she had not committed.

She did not like the idea of leaving Tracey alone with Blaise. Perhaps she _should_ go back and force her friend to leave? But what Tracey didn't believe a word of what Astoria had to say? She obviously thought the world of Blaise—she might not want accept Astoria's story as truth.

"Leaving already?" called a high, unpleasant voice that Astoria recognized at once as belonging to Pansy Parkinson.

Sure enough, Pansy was standing feet away with Adrian Pucey and Lucian Bole, swaying tipsily in the shadow of the treeline.

" _Yeah_ ," Astoria snapped back fiercely. "The party's yours, _Pans_."

"It always _was!_ " retorted Pansy belligerently, stumbling a few steps after her up the path. "I don't know why you even came!"

"Because Flint invited me!" sneered Astoria."So why don't you just save it?"

She sped up, knowing that Pansy was too intoxicated to match her pace.

"Save _what_?" insisted Pansy, somehow managing to drag herself up the hill at a clip. "Save my friends from _knowing_ you? I wish! Even your sister hates you, you stupid—"

But Pansy could not finish her sentence. She swayed nauseously, suddenly green as the wicked witch herself.

"Get out of it, Pansy!" hollered Astoria hotly, just barely managing to step out of the way before Pansy threw up a great mouthful of fire-whiskey.

It splattered wetly onto the lawn. Astoria's own stomach heaved at the sight. _Leave, just leave,_ her mind urged her. _Go now, while she's distracted._

"Ok— _easy_ ," Astoria panted, jittery with annoyance. She guided Pansy toward side of the path, where the grass was slightly taller and more absorbent.

"Get off of me!" Pansy slurred. She tried to wrench her arm away and very nearly fell over. "You're such a cow! I _hate_ you!"

Astoria tightened her grip on Pansy's arm and eyed the edge of the woods desperately. Flora was nowhere to be seen and the boys had disappeared into the undergrowth...

Pansy heaved again, let out a whimper and began to cry. The effect was horrible: Astoria froze, suddenly unsure. Instinctively, she reached forward to hold Pansy's hair back, feeling oddly removed from the gesture: a puppet commanded by invisible strings.

" _Why_?" Pansy gasped dramatically, gagging and spitting.

This was a very good question—one that Astoria did not have an answer to.

"Just get it all up," she mumbled, trying very hard to keep her feet away from Pansy's spray-radius. "Do you want me to go find Flora?"

"No!" snapped Pansy wetly. "You're an awful person! Stay here, you _deserve_ this!"

Astoria grit her teeth and tried to hold Pansy steady.

"I hate everything!" Pansy moaned, beginning to sound slightly hysterical. " _Especially_ you! Why do I bother hating you _so_ much?"

"I don't know," grunted Astoria irritably. "You might want to sort that out for yourself."

"Stop helping me!" snapped Pansy hatefully. "I would _never_ help you! _This_ should _be_ you!"

Astoria said nothing. Between Blaise's strange come-on and Pansy's bitter wailing, she had never felt more out of touch with herself.

"Easy," she repeated, patting Pansy tentatively on the back.

"Go away!" Pansy sobbed. "I don't want to be friends with you! I want you to _die_ —I want you to go somewhere so far away so that I _never_ have to see you again!"

Astoria continued to hold Pansy's hair, held hostage by a prison of integrity. She did not like Pansy, but she could not leave her to wallow in such a wretched state alone.

"I think you're disgusting!" Pansy choked defiantly. "A giant joke that no one else is in on! Well, I'm onto you Astoria, you terrible hag! ' _Oh, Draco! No, don't talk about the Hippogriff!'_ Who do you think you're kidding, Greengrass! He hates you, you know! Even more than I do! If you think he doesn't, you're WRONG!"

Astoria blinked, fighting a strange desire to cry. Even though the back of her throat ached, she did not let go of Pansy's arm.

Pansy broke down into wordless sobs, finally overcome by nausea.

"Astoria?" squeaked a timid, very surprised voice.

It was Daphne: frozen in shock on the path, peering between Astoria and Pansy's hunched forms.

"Here!" called Astoria thickly, beckoning Daphne forward. "You take her, she doesn't want me—"

Daphne took hold of Pansy's arm, her eyes wide with wonder. For a moment, it looked as though she wanted to say something but Astoria could not wait any longer.

"Night," she slurred, hurrying up the path before her sister saw her face.

She made it back to her common room without crying, but the sudden barrage of people on the other side of the portrait hole did not suit her mood. She had no energy left to celebrate Gryffindor's victory. Slipping through the crowd, she climbed the stairs to her empty dormitory, and crawled into bed. Too tired to change into pajamas, she left her tights on.

A full moon hung outside the tower window; heavy and bright as a luminous plum. Astoria stared at it through blurry eyes, tracing the path of its weak silvery light across the dusty floor. She pressed her face into her pillow until she saw stars—sleep begrudgingly followed.

0o0

* * *

So, I know this was a tense installment. Thankfully, this will probably be the _last_ of the moody-angst posts for quite a while. I love Astoria, but as much as I think that she is a very decent, intelligent and fascinating person, I also feel like she has a tendency to be occasionally mindless when it comes to how her actions will affect others.

In any case, I love reviews and I apologize again for taking so long putting this online! More Draco in the next chapter! I know I skimped on him!


	28. Lupin's Secret

Chapter Twenty Eight

Lupin's Secret

* * *

0o0

Exam week was rapidly approaching and with Monday morning came the end of all of Astoria's freedom. Gone were the days of idly managing her workload. The axe had fallen. Astoria had so much reading to do that, for the first time in her life, living at Hogwarts seemed more suffocating than rewarding and she could hardly wait for summer to start.

"Blaise was such a riot this weekend!," said Tracey effusively, lost in fantasy as she stared off over the pages of her History of Magic textbook.

Astoria and Tracey were both sitting under a poplar tree by the banks of the lake before dinner, soaking in the late afternoon sunlight and adamantly refusing to admit that the bright glare made studying a hassle.

"If _you_ say so," said Astoria, feeling guilty and resentful all at once. The more Astoria had thought about Blaise's his behavior on Saturday, the more she had begun to think of Blaise as something of a calculating sociopath, who did not deserve to be discussed outside of psychological case studies about men that hate their mothers.

"I tried to kiss Blaise's ear at some point before the end of the night," Tracey admitted, grinning at Astoria sneakily. "I was going in for a hug because he had said something _hilarious_ , only I ended up trying to suck on him. I brushed it off as a drunk slip, though."

Astoria snorted and borrowed Tracey's highlighting stick. "You could do better than Blaise," she insisted firmly. "I think he's rather creepy."

It had occurred to Astoria that she should probably tell Tracey that Blaise had attempted a bizarrely suave and secret seduction on her, but Astoria was afraid that, rather than seeing it as a warning, Tracey would view the matter as a betrayal of some kind on Astoria's part. Instead, Astoria found herself settling for saying snide things about Blaise disguised as unfounded opinions instead, hoping that they would begin to rub off on Tracey if she kept repeating them.

"How could I do any better?" asked Tracey. "He's rich, gorgeous and clever. That's like the holy trinity of dating."

"He's also sarcastic, unattached and shallow," Astoria countered.

"So am I!" said Tracey brightly, undeterred.

"So you are," Astoria agreed, smirking at her notebook and clinging to the hope that summer break, which was just around the corner, might bring Tracey a new boy to obsess over.

Signs of summer were beginning to show themselves everywhere, from the balmy breeze that always seemed to smell of the vegetable patch, to the general feeling of soon-expected goodbyes between school friends for a season.

Marcus Flint's post match anger had soon worn off and morphed into a state of brotherly delight and charity. Flint was leaving school for good, and he seemed determined not to let anyone forget that this right of passage was just on the horizon for him. Apart from spending meals lavishly handing out his prized quidditch memorabilia and pints of advice hand over fist, Marcus had also begun to talk wistfully about the fall.

The day before the N.E.W.T's were set to begin, Marcus surprised Astoria by continuing his parade of premature leave-taking by pulling her aside as she was lining up for potions.

"Greengrass, my crooked little peach!" said Flint sadly. "I think I can say, with real honesty, that you are both the only Gryffindor I have ever liked and the only woman who has ever bribed me."

"It's been swell," said Astoria good-naturedly.

"Of course, I won't say that you are the only _woman_ I have ever liked or the first Gryffindor who has tried to bribe me, but that's beside the point," said Flint, smirking at his own joke. "Here, this is for you. I've had word from the Wimborne Wasps. I'm starting on in July- in case you ever try to rig the big leagues."

In Astoria's hand was a sheet of paper with a very official looking address on it.

Flint winked and sauntered off to deliver his address to the rest of the waiting Hogwarts population, leaving Astoria behind him, wondering if she had actually been friends with Marcus all along and had never noticed.

After a moment of shaking her head perplexedly, Astoria slipped back into line.

"Did Marcus Flint just ask you to write to him?" asked Theodore, his face marked with genuine shock.

"What can I say?" said Astoria breezily. "The man enjoys a spot of crime."

0o0

Exams began and a creeping stillness seemed to pervade the corridors as silence fell over both the library and the common rooms.

The first exam Astoria sat was for Transfiguration and she emerged feeling rather glad of this fact, because it had started her week of testing off on a high note. Astoria sincerely expected Transfiguration would be her highest grade. Her next exams, Charms and Astronomy, only seemed to bolster this theory.

Tuesday meant that Astoria would be tested on Potions and Care of Magical Creatures. Although Snape had a reputation of stalking between cauldrons and smirking nastily, it was Care of Magical Creatures class that she was dreading.

Draco, who had been rather morose and silent the week after the quidditch match, quickly regained his old swagger in the days to follow and had taken to speaking loudly and cruelly about Buckbeak's execution again in the halls, perhaps as a means of payback for Harry's having beating him at sports yet again.

The Care of Magical Creatures exam itself was almost laughably easy (they were merely expected to keep a Flobberworm alive until the bell rang in order to pass) but Astoria had been quite right in thinking that Draco would use the opportunity to be as upsetting as possible.

"My father will here next week to make sure that Hippogriff of Hagrid's barely gets an appeal," Draco could be heard drawling in a self satisfied voice nearby, over the noise of students chatting. "He'll be coming with Macnair- you do know who Walden Macnair is, don't you Goyle? Anyway, he's an old friend of father's and he'll be acting as executioner."

It was all Astoria could do to ignore comments like this. Especially when her true instinct seemed to be an urge to slap him across his pale, smarmy face for discussing Hagrid's dread so loudly in his presence.

Something about Astoria's body language didn't not seem to express this feeling effectively enough however, because Draco seemed bizarrely determined to throughly go over the matter with Tracey at top volume on the path back to Hogwarts for their potions exam.

Cursing the fact that they were all going to the same place and Astoria was therefore obliged to walk near them, they all began their ascent up the sloping hill together. Astoria could not help noticing that Draco had an uncanny habit of speaking directly to _Astoria,_ despite the fact that it was Tracey who was answering him. In return, Astoria put on a great show of adamantly refusing to express any interest.

"Technically, they have to call it an appeal for legal reasons," said Draco. Theo sulked behind him, shooting dark looks at the back of his sleek blond head. "It's not as though that's fooling anyone, though. The entire committee has had their mind made up for _months_."

"Well, the hippogriff _did_ attack a student," said Tracey, enthusiastic as she always was when Malfoy singled them out.

"Because they're all in his dad's pocket, you mean," Theo muttered accusingly.

"What's that, Nott?" sneered Draco warningly. "Did you say something?"

"Nope," said Theo cheekily, making eye contact with Astoria. Astoria smirked back at him.

"I mean, can you even imagine Hagrid somehow turning the verdict?" Draco continued, eyeing Astoria out of the corner of his eye, clearly hoping she would bite.

"I don't see how he can, if the committee has seen all the evidence," said Tracey, with a trace of sycophantic enthusiasm that Astoria did not appreciate.

"Do you suppose Hagrid can even _read_?" Malfoy sneered amusedly. "Really, what kind of legal defense does anybody think he'll be putting up? No, they'll take the thing's head off for sure-"

Astoria made a noise of annoyance under her breath.

" _Fine_ ," said Malfoy sharply, catching on to Astoria's tone of displeasure. "They'll humanely _execute_ the hippogriff, for sure."

"Is it true that the minister will be coming?" asked Tracey and Astoria suddenly understood her friend's unusually avid interest in this old topic.

"Yeah," Malfoy drawled. "There's got to be an official witness and Father says he'll already be coming to check on the dementors, so he'll probably just stay after for the appeal."

Astoria was not certain that she entirely believed this, but come Thursday afternoon, after an extremely amusing Defense Against the Dark Arts exam involving an obstacle course, Astoria spotted two grown gentleman on the lawn.

Tracey was already in the entrance hall, ogling the strange men through a window when Astoria came inside, blinking dully in the sudden darkness after the bright sheen that had been reflecting off of the grounds.

"Is that Fudge?" Tracey whispered, pulling Astoria closer.

"No," said Astoria at once, feeling quite certain. "That man is too old. He doesn't look anything like the way Fudge does in the paper." Astoria fell silent, noticing for the first time that one of the men standing on the grass was holding a long handle, connected to the blade of a lethally sharp axe.

"The other one is Macnair, then?" Tracey guessed, obviously looking at the second, taller man as well.

"I would say so," said Astoria, immediately disliking the sight of all seven feet of him. Macnair's unkind face was marked by heavy eyebrows and a large villainous looking black mustache. "Where does he get off bringing an axe to an appeal?" Astoria asked.

"Oh, what does it matter?" asked Tracey. "He had to bring one, didn't he? Otherwise he'd have had to pop home for his axe and then come back again."

"But why come at _all_?" asked Astoria fairly. "Why not send for the executioner _after_ Hagrid has made his case? I bet they brought Macnair along just to scare Hagrid."

"Probably," drawled Draco, who had just come up from the dungeons with Crabbe and Goyle. "Kind of funny, though, isn't it- seeing Macnair standing next to old man Tofty?"

Astoria could sort of see what he meant. The two men outside were greatly at odds with each other. One was small and frail and the other so large and fierce looking that Astoria was almost glad to be separated from him by a wall.

"Who is old man Tofty?" asked Tracey curiously but Malfoy was watching Astoria, who was watching Macnair.

"I know," said Malfoy lazily, reading Astoria's expression correctly. "He's huge, isn't he?"

"Your dad is friends with him?" asked Astoria blankly, unable to imagine Macnair sitting at a dining room table at all, much less a formal one.

"They've known each other for years," said Draco and Astoria immediately understood this to mean that Macnair had once been a death eater. "Personally, I've always thought the mustache was a bit much, but it's _his_ face, I suppose."

"How does he get it to look so glossy?" wondered Tracey.

Suddenly, there were voices on the marble staircase. Tracey fell silent at once, not particularly wishing to be caught by Snape while she was discussing Macnair's mustache.

It was not Snape who appeared at the top of the stairs however, but Lucius Malfoy and the Minster of Magic, Cornelius Fudge. Astoria stared, alive to the novelty of seeing the Minister in person. Tracey was trying to catch her attention excitedly, but Astoria avoided meeting her eye, not wanting to appear foolish.

"He says he's getting too old for these sort of things, anyway," said Fudge in a harassed undertone. "Perhaps we should think about- oh, look!" Fudge broke away at the sight of the five teenagers on the landing, all staring in his direction.

"Ah," said Mr. Malfoy calmly, "Fudge, I don't believe you've met my son, Draco. Draco, this is the Minister of Magic, Cornelius Fudge."

Draco quickly stepped forward and offered his hand, smiling smugly as Fudge shook it.

"That's Goyle's boy, Gregory," Lucius went on, "and the other one is Crabbe."

Crabbe and Goyle blinked stupidly. Fudge made a sign of recognition but his eyes quickly moved away from Crabbe and Goyle and onto Tracey and Astoria near the window.

"Just had an exam, I take it?" Fudge beamed at them.

"Yes," said Tracey eagerly.

"Let it never be said that unfortunate business has ever kept me from meeting future tax payers, Lucius!" declared Fudge jauntily, bouncing on the balls of his feet. "What are these young ladies names?"

"Tracey Davis," said Tracey at once, jumping forward.

A look of amusement flitted across Fudge's face at Tracey's over-eagerness but something about the way Fudge had phrased his question made Astoria hold back, suspecting that it was more appropriate to be introduced.

"The other is Astoria Greengrass," said Mr. Malfoy placidly. "Perhaps you would recognize her aunt, Belladonna Lestrange?"

Astoria could feel the instinct of Tippy Tippman's old etiquette lessons reawakening in her limbs and when Lucius had finished speaking, Astoria dipped her head slightly in the kind of short curtsey that girls were taught to use in front of very formal guests. If meeting the leader of the magical world in Great Britain was not an occasion for this, Astoria reasoned, then it was a useless bit of decorum indeed.

"Ah!" said Fudge, looking rather gratified. "A Lestrange! I would have mistaken you for a Slytherin!" He eyed Astoria's Gryffindor tie. "Of course, _I_ was a proud Hufflepuff in my day, even if everyone seems so determined to point out what soft option it was!"

"Other Hufflepuffs don't, surely?" remarked Astoria pleasantly.

Fudge chuckled. "Charming too, I see! Careful now or I'll be tempted to put you on a school pamphlet!"

Fudge made a little motion next to her cheek as though he intended to pluck away a dimple.

"They are waiting for us on the lawn, Fudge," said Lucius in a cool, disinterested voice that was so reminiscent of Draco's speech, but somehow much more authoritative.

"So they are!" said Fudge, still bouncing on the balls of his feet. "Well, better to be done with it, I suppose. Let's go meet them."

Astoria watched them leave, eyeing Fudge's pinstriped trousers dubiously.

"How do you _do_ that, Astoria?" demanded Tracey, sounding faintly awed.

"Do what?" asked Astoria, shifting in order to follow Fudge's journey outside through the glass of the window.

"You walk around Hogwarts cheerfully insulting everyone all the time but whenever I see you try to schmooze someone, it's like you flip a switch and it all suddenly comes together for you," Tracey complained.

"Maybe it's because she doesn't look like she want to eat her audience, Davis," suggested Draco scathingly.

"I guess we should go study for Arithmancy," said Tracey, tugging on Astoria's arm. "I put together some notes for you, Astoria."

Draco summoned Crabbe and Goyle and started toward the courtyard.

Astoria tore her eyes away from the window as Lucius and Fudge shook hands with Macnair and Tofty. After a brief pause, Astoria jogged after Malfoy.

"What time is the execution?" Astoria asked, drawing level with Draco before he had reached the fountain.

"Right after the appeal, probably," Tracey called after her in annoyance. Tracey's attention span for anything 'Buckbeak' had reached its limit when Fudge had left.

"At sunset, actually," Draco corrected, shooting Tracey a look of annoyance. " _Why_? You're _not_ thinking of trying to spring the mad thing loose first?" Draco demanded, clearly torn between suspicion and pleasure at the idea of Astoria chasing him across the grounds.

In truth, that _was_ the essence of a faint idea that had just been begun to form in Astoria's mind.

"They would just think Hagrid did it, you know!" said Draco sharply. "You'd only only end up getting the stupid man _sacked_."

Astoria stared at him resentfully, knowing he was right but quite unwilling to admit it to him.

"Why can't you just _get over it_ , Astoria?" snapped Draco, his pent-up annoyance very clear in his tone. "It's a _mad_ Hippogriff, not some cute fluffy pet! I'm _sorry_ your bleeding heart can't handle the violence!"

Astoria flinched. " _Fine_."

"What do you want me to do?" Draco sneered, moving to block her before she could leave, clearly at his wits end with Astoria's refusal to be on board. "You want me to march down there and change my story? Do you think I'm _insane_? They'd probably probably still chop the thing's head off even if I did!"

"Fine," said Astoria again, this time more hollowly. Buckbeak's fate had been sealed long ago and it was becoming obviously pointless to argue about it. "Fine. It's fine."

Astoria marched back across the courtyard with Tracey in silence, and while Draco's eyes did not follow them back toward the castle, Astoria did not feel free of his attention until they had regained the entrance hall.

"You should cut Draco some slack," said Tracey. "He's doing it to get back at _Potter_ , you know- he's not doing it to annoy _you_."

Astoria made a noncommittal shrugging motion.

"Besides, you heard what he said, it's all in his father's hands now. All you're doing is making Draco extra defensive and it's annoying."

"Maybe he _should_ be defensive," said Astoria at last. "I'll drop it alright? It's just that maybe having an animal's head chopped off just for revenge is something you should have to defend!"

Their Arithmancy exam that afternoon was not the unqualified horror-show that Astoria had been expecting.

"Quills up, textbooks away!" called professor Vector, turning over a giant hourglass on his desk. "You may begin."

Astoria turned her test over and read the first question.

 _The vine of magic used to animate a previously inanimate object or artifact can be traced via the number three into the shape of a triangle. Name the incantation of this Transfiguration Charm._

Astoria studied this sentence and soon realized that, despite its complicated wording, the solution was actually a basic Transfiguration question. Astoria put her quill against the parchment.

' _Piertotum Locomotor.'_

The next question was similarly written as an arithmancy fact, followed by another question about Transfiguration.

Astoria carefully peered at Theodore's page and read one of _his_ questions.

 _Translate 'Vera Verto' from Latin into Greek and then calculate a numeral sum for both spells to illustrate the differences between final sums when letters have been changed. Show your work._

Theodore's question was not on either of the pages of Astoria's test. In fact, there was almost no math to be seen anywhere on her exam at all.

Astoria turned in her finished test papers an hour later feeling slightly ashamed but above all else, secretly relieved. She was now certain that she would pass the class because her exam had been perfectly tailored to Astoria's exact strengths,rather than any of the actual course material.

Knowing that she had as good as cheated, Astoria did not mention her test questions to Theodore when he asked her how she thought she had done, settling instead for a neutral shrug in response.

0o0

The sight of Harry, Ron and Hermione sitting with their heads together in the common room that evening, all wearing identical frowns, was enough to make bring Astoria back to Earth after a day in the sun.

"Hagrid lost?" asked Astoria, putting her arm on the back of Ron's chair. Ron scooted as far forward on the seat as he could and watched her reflection in the tower window awkwardly.

"Yeah," said Harry in a low voice.

"The execution is set for sunset," said Astoria tightly.

"Where did you hear _that_?" asked Ron suspiciously.

"Malfoy told me," said Astoria, refusing to blush or be ashamed. "Is Hagrid going to be alone?"

"No," said Harry, "we're going to go down and see him first. Sunset is before curfew-"

"Except that you aren't supposed to out on the grounds at all, Harry!" said Hermione in a tense voice. "You should just let Ron and I go. Hagrid won't want you getting into trouble!"

"Why can't you just wear your invisibility cloak?" asked Astoria, ignoring the look of annoyance on Ron's face as he learned that Astoria knew _this_ secret as well.

"Because I've left it in- well, somewhere and I can't go get it. If Snape saw me in that corridor I'd be toast," said Harry.

"You've left it under the humpbacked witch, then?" Astoria guessed, remembering that Harry had snuck into Hogsmeade and that he had very nearly been caught by Snape only weeks before.

"How do you know about the witch!?" asked Ron, beginning to look rather alarmed.

"Your brothers showed me that passageway ages ago," said Astoria snappishly, "and Harry nearly got caught sneaking back into the castle after the last visit to the village. It doesn't take a genius."

Hermione gazed at Astoria appraisingly.

"Well," said Ron in an offhand voice, clearly looking to re-seize control of the conversation, "if you see Fred and George, will you ask them to loan us one of _their_ cloaks? They aren't as good, but I suppose one of them would do in a pinch."

"No," said Astoria, causing Ron to swivel about in his armchair. "Meet me in the entrance hall after dinner."

"What's that supposed to mean?" muttered Ron as Astoria stalked back toward the portrait hole.

"She's going to get Harry's cloak, Ron," said Hermione in a dry voice, as though this should have been obvious to him.

Astoria took a shortcut on the sixth floor that took her to the west tower. From there, she was able to proceed directly down three more floors until she reached the hallway that housed the statue of the decrepit, humpbacked witch.

Astoria took out her wand and, after looking both ways tensely, she tapped the hump and muttered, " _Dissendium_."

There was nothing to be done about Buckbeak's verdict, but Astoria _could_ at least make sure that Hagrid did not suffer alone.

Astoria dallied in the entrance hall after dinner, partially concealed behind a suit of creaky armor in the hopes that she would not draw any unnecessary attention to herself there.

She listened attentively for Harry's voice. Tracey and Daphne went by and Astoria was surprised to note that they were alone together. When Astoria heard Draco's voice, she picked up her feet up and pulled herself so far behind the knight's metal breastplate that not even her shoes were visible.

At last, Harry, Ron and Hermione appeared. Astoria flagged them toward her, and they slipped into an empty room off of the hall.

"Here," said Astoria, pulling the invisibility cloak out of her school bag and admiring the material for a second time. Fred and George's creations, while clever, had absolutely nothing on the fluid perfection of Harry's cloak. The hood gave way under Astoria's fingers like mercury when Harry took hold of it.

"Thanks," said Harry in stunned disbelief. "Listen, we owe you one, Astoria, really-"

"No you don't," said Astoria shortly. "Just be nice to Hagrid. Someone should be."

Harry nodded before tossing the cloak over his, Ron's and Hermione's heads. Astoria blinked in shock.

"That's _amazing_ ," she muttered. Unlike the twins cloaks, this cloak did not warp the air or leave any trace of an outline of the forms it was concealing.

Astoria watched as the door to the classroom opened and then shut, seemingly of its own accord. Astoria continued to lean against an old wooden table, staring in the direction of Harry's ghostly disappearance for some time before finally standing up and heading back to Gryffindor tower.

Exams had come to a finish, which meant that Astoria did not have any studying left to do. This put her at something of a loss, because she could not think of what to do with her evening. Fred and George, most suspiciously, were nowhere to be found.

In the end, Astoria settled for taking a couple of fashion magazines that she had not yet browsed upstairs to bed with her. The dormitory was still lit by the early evening light of a fading sun when Astoria pulled back her covers and settled in.

The growing dimness of the room began to make her eyes feel tried but Astoria could not be bothered with turning on a light. It occurred to her, as she began to become forced to squint, that sunset had come and gone. Buckbeak was most certainly dead and somewhere, Draco Malfoy was probably loudly and gleefully announcing that fact to everyone who would listen to him.

0o0

"No, they've got him."

"I'm surprised they didn't chain him up in the dungeons!"

"They're holding him in the tower, she said!"

Astoria blinked, taking in the darkness around her. She had been roused by voices.

"The Minister is here! Does that mean they're going to execute him here? At Hogwarts! What if he becomes a ghost?"

Astoria had fallen asleep and the act of sitting up also forced her to pull a glossy magazine page away from her arm. What time was it? Why were people talking so loudly when the should be sleeping?

"S'going on?" asked Astoria, fumbling to pull back the curtains of her four poster bed far enough that she could see Lavender and Parvati.

"Astoria? Is that you?" asked Parvati excitedly. "Were you sleeping?"

"No," said Astoria thickly. "What's wrong?"

"They've caught Sirius Black!" said Lavender shrilly. Astoria felt herself begin to shake off her drowsiness. "They're holding him in one of the towers. Professor McGonagall was just here."

"How did they catch him?" asked Astoria at once, fishing for the bit of horror she was afraid this story would contain. Her fears were not disappointed.

"Black tried to kidnap Harry and Hermione and he attacked Ron! Professor Snape saved them all!" breathed Parvati, in such a mighty rush that it took Astoria a few seconds to understand the details. "I think Professor Lupin may have been involved somehow, but the story was so muddled-"

"Is everybody alright?" asked Astoria fearfully.

"They're all in the hospital wing," said Lavender. "Poor Ron's got a broken leg!"

"The dementors are coming for Sirius Black now," said Parvati in a more somber tone.

Astoria was out of bed in a flash, no longer sleepy at all. The common room was very busy.

"They never can keep out of it, can they?" asked Fred in an undertone when Astoria joined him by the fire. "What is it with Harry? The boy's a magnet for this rubbish! How many times is this sort of thing going to happen before one of them gets killed?"

Astoria shivered, pulling her sweater closer. The look of Fred's bare feet poking out of his pajama bottoms made her shiver afresh. The clock on the fireplace told Astoria that it was midnight. Lee Jordan got up and began to feed logs into the fire.

"They've got Black, though," said Astoria. "He can't hurt Harry or Ron again now that he's in custody."

"Yeah," said George hotly, "if he stays in custody, you mean? He's got a wicked habit of slipping out of prison, Black."

It was just on the tip of Astoria's tongue to say that she was certain that Sirius would not escape from the ministry a second time, when there was a commotion in the hallway on the other side of the Fat Lady.

Professor McGonagall had returned and she was fully dressed and looking very somber.

"Is it done? Have they taken Black back to Azkaban?" asked Cormac Maclaggen.

"Is he dead?" asked a trembling first year.

"No," said Professor McGonagall in a very short voice. "He is not dead _nor_ has he been returned to the Azkaban guards."

"Are they giving him a proper trial?" asked Percy Weasley pompously. "I really wouldn't have thought that would be necessary-"

"He has gone," said Professor McGonagall briskly. "I'm afraid Sirius Black has broken loose yet again, just before the Dementors could be summoned."

The room fell silent at once. There was something about McGonagall's face that Astoria could not help but feel was inappropriately calm. She was stern and grave but there was no worry marring her features, no sense of urgency.

"Professor Dumbledore has asked me to remind you that the school curfew still stands. No matter how unusual the circumstances or how great the temptation may be to seek out companions from other houses, not a single student is to leave this room before daybreak. Have I been understood?"

Fred and George exchanged glances and it was suddenly clear to Astoria how badly they must want to go to the Hospital Wing to see Ron.

"Naturally, the school will undergo a thorough search before morning," Mcgonagall continued, "and I will not be surprised if it is supervised by the Azkaban guard."

This made sneaking out seem so undesirable that even Fred and George stopped covertly looking at each other.

"It is the opinion of both the Hogwarts staff and of the Ministry that Black will not linger, however. Not now that he has so narrowly evaded final capture. I beg you not to worry-" she raised her voice as chatter began to break out among the excited students, "-and not to neglect your rest."

This last piece of advice was hardly heard by anyone. Nobody seemed to want to sleep now that Sirius Black had made a fourth, seemingly magical, escape. For Astoria's part, the idea of Dementors searching the classrooms was worrisome enough to keep her rooted to her armchair.

"He's like a shadow," muttered George. "I can't believe it! Especially after what happened last time! He attacked Gryffindors in the common room!"

"What was with McGonagall, though?" wondered Fred, giving voice to Astoria's own observation. "She didn't look as bothered as I would have thought."

Day broke, a pale and watery blue. Astoria waited for the sun to clear the tops of the forbidden forest before dressing herself and exiting the tower.

The castle was much louder and busier than Astoria was used to it being at such an early hour, with students congregating in clusters in all of the hallways, all attempting to understand what was happening by sharing various bits of information.

"Astoria!" called Theo. Theodore was holding half a mug of coffee that he must have lifted from the Great Hall and standing near a large window. The pale dawn light in the windows behind him was just beginning to turn golden, illuminating the tired features of his sleepless face.

" _What_ is going on around here?" asked Astoria in an undertone, pulling Theodore closer to the magnificently arched windows. "They had Black in chains and he still slipped the hook?"

"Snape is apoplectic," said Theo, with a wry smile. "Apparently _he_ caught Black and Fudge was set to promise him an Order of Merlin before Black got away again."

"What was _Snape_ doing on the grounds with Harry and Ron and Sirius Black?" Astoria. wondered suspiciously.

"Lupin!" said Theo at once. "He was after Lupin- haven't you heard?"

"What about Lupin?" asked Astoria, becoming even more confused. "Haven't I heard _what_?"

"Only that he's a bloody werewolf!" drawled Draco delightedly, pushing Theodore aside so that he could be part of their conversation.

"What?" Astoria insisted, racking her brains to see if this seemed even remotely possible. "No, he isn't!"

"He is," said Theodore quietly. "Snape told us this morning in the common room."

"Wait," Astoria sputtered, trying to understand, "if Lupin is a werewolf, how does Snape know about it? Snape's probably just bitter that he isn't getting his award so he made something up."

"Apparently he's known all year," Malfoy went on. " _All_ of the staff knew, only Dumbledore kept the whole thing hushed up. If Snape hadn't slipped and told us, we still wouldn't know! I've already written to my father. Can you _imagine_ what all the mummies and daddies are going to say when they find out Dumbledore's had a monster teaching classes?"

"But what does Lupin's being a werewolf have to do with any of this?" asked Astoria, not sure how Lupin figured into Black's being captured.

"He was _loose_ on the grounds last night," said Draco, looking far more gleeful about this than worried.

" _What_?" gasped Astoria. Lupin had always seemed like a very nice man to Astoria. Then again, he _had_ focussed an awful lot of his class time on dark magical creatures, come to think of it _..._

"Yes," said Malfoy lazily, clearly enjoying the desired effect that this pronouncement had caused. "Lupin was out on the prowl. If only he'd managed to take a chunk out of Potter-"

Astoria tried very hard not to be hasty to judge. The idea of Lupin stalking the grounds in the form of a giant werewolf was a bit trying however, even for her tolerance.

"That's mad," said Astoria at last. "Lupin hasn't been doing that all year, has he?" she asked, thinking of the many times she had been outside after dark, occasionally intoxicated or in no way prepared for an attack.

"Who knows?" said Draco lightly, watching her out of the corner of his eye. "If the staff have been lying to cover it up, Lupin could have been loose every month and no one will ever know about it."

"I don't believe that," said Theodore firmly, shooting Draco a quelling look. "Dumbledore's eccentric, but he's not insane. He would never have let Lupin run loose like that. Lupin must have escaped last night- or else something changed and didn't go according to plan..."

"Something didn't go _according to plan_?" repeated Draco scathingly. "Can you hear yourself? Apparently a werewolf on staff means occasionally letting a beast stalk the grounds and then having to send the potions master out to slay him, then?"

Astoria snorted and Draco's eyes flitted back toward her smugly.

"I'm just saying," Theodore insisted, "there's no _way_ what happened last night has been happening all year long. Someone would have _done_ something about it. Snape would have reported it! He _never_ liked Lupin!"

"With good reason," Draco sneered.

The halls were beginning to clear out. Astoria leaned her head against the stone arch of the window frame and closed her eyes, enjoying the sensation of sun on her face. "We should go outside," she murmured, listening to the dull thrum of crickets in the tall grass below.

Draco and Theodore both looked at each other dubiously. It was clear that neither of them minded Astoria, but that neither of _them_ wished to be in each other's company.

"Where is everybody, anyway?" asked Astoria, noticing for the first time that the grounds had become almost as vacant as the hallway.

"Hogsmeade," said Draco lazily, moving to lean against the window frame near Astoria.

"The Dementors have all left," said Theo, his frowning eyes fixed on Draco, "so everybody's going."

"The Dementors have left?" asked Astoria at once, a fierce hopefulness threatening to explode in her chest.

"The Ministry sent them back to Azkaban last night because they attacked Potter," said Theodore. "They tried to administer The Kiss, only Harry got away somehow."

"But everyone's alright and now they're really gone?" asked Astoria brightly. "We'll never have to walk past them again?"

Draco snorted with amusement at the look on Astoria's face.

"They're really gone," said Theo, grinning very oddly. "In _fact_ , they're probably half the country away by now. The Ministry figures Black probably escaped by flying because Hagrid's Hippogriff got away last night too, Astoria."

Draco's mild expression soured slightly.

"No!" Astoria squawked, delirious happiness pulsing all the way to her fingertips. "No way!"

"You _would_ think of it as good news," Draco scowled. "It's bad enough that Fudge let Black slip away _again_ but the man couldn't even see to it that a _bird_ got executed? I hope the papers have a field day!"

Astoria seized Draco by the front of his shirt and kissed him right on his resentful mouth, cackling madly.

"Ahaa! Buckbeak got away!" she sang triumphantly, still hanging from his tie. "I can't believe it, he got away!"

Malfoy staggered back a shocked step when Astoria released him so that she could throw her arms around Theodore in order to hug him excitedly as well. Theo's shoulders went rigid with discomfort at the contact immediately.

" _Ok_ ," said Theo tensely, shrugging away from Astoria and seizing her arm in an attempt to pull her firmly away from Draco, clearly afraid that she might decide to pounce on him again. "That's about enough of _that_ -"

Astoria beamed at both of them with such genuine joy that she was afraid she might begin to cry from happiness. It was as though the shadow of the year had been lifted. Against all odds, there were no more Dementors guarding the castle, Harry Potter had survived another adventure, and Buckbeak was still alive and well in the countryside.

"You want to go outside?" Theodore grumbled. "Lets go to the grounds, then, for Merlin's sake! You can accost people out there too, only they won't have any idea what you're on about!"

Malfoy did not seem to know what to make of this outburst and it was very obvious that whatever he had been trying to achieve by complaining once again, Astoria had thrown him off task completely by spontaneously kissing his face.

"Come on," said Theo, pulling on her arm insistently because Astoria was still laughing stupidly.

"I don't _get it_ ," Draco muttered stupidly. "It was just a dumb Hippogriff!"

"You mean it _is_ just a dumb hippogriff!" Astoria corrected, spinning about happily to look at Draco even though Theodore was nearly twisting her arm. "It's alive, remember!"

0o0

The end of the school year arrived at last.

Astoria set about packing her trunk on the last night before the end of term, bitterly regretting the decision to put off organizing until the very end. Every time Astoria remembered another object that she had either loaned or left elsewhere, she cursed and set off in a hasty search for it. By morning, the miracle was complete and she had managed to gather all of her belongings and fit them back into her trunk.

It was a brilliant, warm and sunny day outside. Astoria was very nearly resentful to be spending it on the cramped train, watching from inside their shady compartment as the glorious summer hills rolled by.

"Hold this," said Theo, handing Astoria a tray of gobstones and leaning closer to the atlas that he and Tracey were balancing their game upon, eyeing his formation as closely as possible.

Astoria held the tray, watching the passing forest outside the windows.

"This is going to be a _brilliant_ summer," Tracey jabbered, blowing through a row of Theo's gobstones because she was a much better player than he was and, indeed, never refused an opportunity of proving it to him. "We'll have to go swimming, Astoria! I've missed swimming! There's the Quidditch World Cup, too! What luck it is, that it's being held in the country this year, so we'll all get to go! It's the first time England has hosted it in thirty years."

" _I'm_ not going," said Theo dismissively.

"Of course you're not, Theodore," said Draco Malfoy mockingly, leaning against their open compartment door. Crabbe and Goyle lingered behind him, casting shadows against the train hall. "You wouldn't know what to do with yourself at a national sporting event, would you?"

"There are more important things than sports, Malfoy," said Theodore, his voice noticeably cooler. He lost several more of his gobstones to Tracey because he was busy glaring at Malfoy resentfully.

"Well, I'm going if I can," said Tracey. "You should have your dad buy tickets with my mother, Astoria!"

"They're all sold out now," said Draco quickly and a little scathingly. "You'll be lucky to get nosebleed seats. Why did you wait so long?"

"I thought tickets just went on sale," said Tracey, her brow creasing.

"Most of the _decent_ seats go in the first week," said Draco witheringly. "Of course, mother wants to be in Italy for most of July, so father _would_ have gotten our tickets early if the Minister hadn't given them to him."

"The Minister of Magic gave your father tickets?" asked Tracey with raised interest. Theo snorted derisively.

"I've already got tickets as well, Tracey," said Astoria, remembering the last letter she had received from her aunt, her eyes still glued to the passing scenery outside the window. "Maudlin got them when they were still on preorder. I don't think he even knew who was playing when he bought them. I can ask and see if he has extras, if you want? They're probably pretty good."

"Would you?" asked Tracey, gobstones and the Minister all but forgotten. "I'd do _anything_ not to have to go with my brother!"

"Maybe my aunt won't want to go," Astoria mused hopefully. "Talk about people who would be out of place at a sporting event!"

"Yeah," shot Theodore, his voice uncharacteristically chilly, "I suppose the widow has probably already seen enough balls to last her a life time."

Tracey actually looked up from the game in order to gape at Theodore freely.

Astoria laughed uncomfortably, partially because his comment was amusing but mostly because she was so surprised by it.

"Nothing could be more ridiculous than _your_ father, Nott," said Draco snidely, sneering down his nose. " _He'd_ probably storm the field at half time, trying to curse the foreign mascots."

"You lot are blocking the hallway, Malfoy," said Theo crisply as two Hufflepuff girls tried to skirt around Crabbe and Goyle nervously. "Feel free to close the door on your way out."

Draco scoffed and pushed out into the hallway. Their door fell shut with a soft thunk.

"The widow has already seen enough balls to last her a lifetime?" Astoria repeated dubiously the moment Draco had left, rounding on Theodore. "What was that for? Whose team are you on?!"

Tracey laughed, causing gobstones to fall onto the floor and burst.

"The team that makes Malfoy shove off the fastest," said Theodore, going a little red in the face. "Really, Astoria, I'm sick of him lurking about all the time!"

"How does _his_ lurking have anything to do with _my_ aunt?" asked Astoria, perplexedly. "My relatives are ridiculous enough without your help, you know. Can't we avoid ball jokes?"

"Well, he wasn't hear to brag to _Tracey_ and _I_ about how the Minister of Magic gave his family prime seats," said Theo snappishly.

"He talked to Tracey the whole time!" Astoria insisted.

"But he _knew_ you were listening," said Theo accusingly. "I mean it, I've had about enough of Malfoy's pop-ins just to be a prick! He doesn't do it unless you're with me, you know. If you _hadn't_ been sitting here, he would have just kept walking."

" _Theo_ ," said Tracey placatingly, "I'm sure Draco would have popped in to taunt you either way."

"And frankly, you don't help, Astoria!" Theo went on, very red now. "You hardly ever tell him to piss off, even if he's annoying you, and every time you fight with him, you end up apologizing. It sends the wrong impression!"

Astoria was laughing with Tracey now because she could hardly see how Malfoy's taunting them could be all her fault but this just seemed to make Theodore madder.

"If I don't apologize, he just gets meaner," said Astoria dismissively, pushing Tracey's tray of gobstones off the seat so that Tracey had room to sit next to her.

"Only because he's secretly waiting for you to apologize, and the longer you take the more resentful he gets!" sniffed Theo.

"Oh, come on," Tracey snorted and Astoria was rather relived to see that she did not entirely share Theodore's opinion on this.

"It's true," said Theo stubbornly. "I've known him longer than you, Davis. He was _awfully_ relived when Astoria decided not to be mad about that bloody hippogriff, wasn't he? I'd never seen him in such a foul mood until she finally talked him down, and you can't even pretend that I'm wrong."

"Sure," said Tracey with a shrug, "but I think he was in a nasty mood mostly because Astoria called him pathetic. Frankly, she tells him to get lost all the time."

"She full on kissed him last week!" said Theodore in a very accusatory tone.

" _What_?" asked Tracey sharply, turning to look at Astoria, eyes shining with delight at this piece of gossip.

"I did not," said Astoria, trying not to laugh at the bizarre mixture of expressions that were suddenly turned on her.

"You did!" said Theo. "You were so excited when you found out that Hagrid's hippogriff had escaped and that it wasn't going to be executed that you nearly made out with him in front of me!"

"It was a peck!" Astoria insisted, laughing stupidly. Astoria repeated the same fast, closed mouthed kiss on Tracey's cheek.

"Oh," said Tracey disappointedly, "for a minute I was excited. You shouldn't tease me so, Theodore."

"It was on the _mouth_!" said Theo hotly. "His whole face went stupid! I had to drag you away!"

Tracey eyes re-narrowed with wicked joy.

"It was _nothing_ ," said Astoria in a flat, unamused voice. "You didn't have to _drag_ me away, I was following you!"

"Whatever," said Theo grimly. "I'm done dealing with him, is all. If you want to join up with Crabbe and Goyle and be part of Malfoy's gang, that's fine by me. I expect he'll probably have you, but don't expect me to hang around!"

Astoria and Tracey exchanged baffled looks.

" _Of course, mother wants to be in Italy for most of July_!" said Theo in a high pitched imitation of Draco's voice, sneering at the door darkly. "Poncy git."

0o0

* * *

Nah-nah-nah-nah: filler chapter!

I literally feel as though nothing happened in this. Actually, part of what took me so long to post this chapter was because I wasn't terribly fond of the lack of character development/interesting banter/plotting in it. Pretty much the most intriguing part of this chapter to me, is Theodore's Draco-related vow toward the end. Still, I'm anxious to get to the summer and in order to do that, I must wrap up book three! Ill have the next chapter up late on Sunday and I promise some much more interesting development in that one!

Reviews are a wonderful treat!


	29. Fish Hooks and Gimlets

Chapter Twenty Nine

Fish Hooks and Gimlets

* * *

0o0

The weather for the next week was almost unbearably hot. Astoria slept a lot during the afternoons, leaving her attic windows open to the non-existent breeze and the hum of insects, wearing nothing but her underwear or a slip in an attempt to fight off the rising temperatures.

Even Belladonna, normally the epitome of all that was cool and collected, seemed to be struggling to remain aloof and unfazed.

"I'd drink another," Belladonna remarked one afternoon as Astoria joined her on the patio, indicating her empty highball glass, "but I'm afraid I'll wither."

Astoria fanned herself with a magazine, not bothering to fix the strap of her slip when it fell down her arm, as they were quite alone, with only the roaring crickets for company.

"It's awful, isn't it?"Astoria agreed, squinting through the dewy haze toward the distant rose hedge. "I feel like I'm trying to breathe inside a fish tank."

"How poetic," mused Belladonna in a grim, faintly sing-song voice. "Life inside the fish tank..."

"We should go somewhere," Astoria pleaded. "The beach, or even the lakes- I don't care, wherever you want. Just please, somewhere that has a breeze!"

"Perhaps later in the month," said Belladonna evasively, pouring herself another glass of whatever it was that she had feared would cause her to wither from a glass pitcher.

"Why not _now_?" asked Astoria, wary of this refusal, especially as it could not have been any more clear that Belladonna was in her own personal hell as much as Astoria was.

Belladonna said nothing for a long moment, sipping her drink pensively, her eyes on the distant roses. "Because the Yaxleys will be in the country on Thursday," she answered at last, still not meeting Astoria's eye, perhaps afraid of provoking a rebellion, "and I wish us to be in town when they arrive."

This was very bad news indeed. To anyone else who might have been listening to this conversation, it would only have seemed as though Belladonna wished to visit with her old friends, but Astoria knew better. Despite the fact that Astoria had not thought about the Yaxley family in years, Astoria knew they were never far from her aunt's mind, and this was certainly _not_ because she was fond of them.

"Why do we have to see them?" asked Astoria tightly. " _You_ don't like them and _they_ don't like us. You've never liked fraternizing with the enemy."

Astoria was not being particularly dramatic when she called the Yaxleys 'the enemy'. As far as Belladonna was concerned, Mr. Yaxley posed the greatest threat to their happiness imaginable.

It was a silly old feud that dated back several years. It all came down to the Lestrange family entail, which stipulated that the greatest bulk of the Lestrange estate passed to the oldest male heir. With both of Belladonna's brothers, Rodulphus and Rabastan, serving life sentences in Azkaban, the majority of the family fortune had been forfeited, untouchable by Belladonna, who was the youngest female in the family save for Astoria.

With the Lestrange male line all but ended, this ancestral gold and property would be passed on to the Yaxleys, who boasted rights as Astoria's nearest _male_ relatives by blood on her maternal side, a fact that Belladonna could not abide by and brooded over quite frequently.

"You must learn when it is appropriate to salute your enemies, Astoria," said Belladonna tartly, sipping her drink. "Keeping the Yaxleys at a distance does us no good, especially now that you are starting to come of age."

There was one caveat to this inheritance madness. While Belladonna, widowed four times and now in her late thirties, was very unlikely to produce a male heir, Astoria was still entirely capable of producing direct descendent sons.

This had created something of an unlikely rivalry between the Yaxley family, who stood to inherit, and the two remaining Lestrange females, who still might. It was battle that could be solved in only one of three ways: Astoria could marry and produce a pureblooded male heir, thereby reclaiming control over the Lestrange fortune until her son came of age; Astoria could prove to be infertile or else give birth to a pack of girls, thereby turning the estate over to the Yaxleys by default; or Astoria could meet an untimely demise, dashing Belladonna's hopes of reclaiming her childhood home forever.

It was an entirely ludicrous state of affairs, and one so thoroughly governed by luck and circumstance that, in the end, the game was anyone's to win. As a general rule, Astoria spent as little time thinking over the matter as possible because the subject made her feel uncomfortable and liable to be manipulated.

"What will we even say to them?" wondered Astoria, beginning to feel desperately awkward at the thought of having to entertain strangers, especially ones that actively wished for her demise.

" _You_ will be polite and charming," said Belladonna wryly, "and _I_ will do my best not to spit venom at them between the dinner courses."

Astoria continued to fan herself with her magazine, feeling a fresh clamminess that had nothing to do with the heat begin to break out across her already damp skin.

"Why do I have to be charming?" asked Astoria quickly. "What does it matter if they like me or not? Won't they still want to throw me off the roof?"

"Perhaps," said Belladonna, putting her glass down and heaving a sigh, "or perhaps a more tentative peace could be bought..."

"What do you mean?" asked Astoria at once, real dread numbing her fingertips.

"I've been thinking... I had not meant to talk to you about this just yet," said Belladonna. "It's too hot out for me to expect you to be cunning. Later, perhaps after dinner-"

"What do you _mean_?" Astoria repeated a second time, her voice somehow steady despite her mounting fear.

Belladonna bit her lip, her eyes still on the rose bushes. Astoria opened her mouth to speak again, but Belladonna stopped her by reaching toward the tray on center of the table and flipping over one of the thick glasses. Belladonna filled it and passed it to Astoria as an offering, but Astoria quickly saw this for it for what it was; a bribe, a subtle manipulation. _I'll level with you like an adult but If you disappoint me, I will not do so a second time._

"You know what is at stake?" Belladonna asked, sitting back in her chair and crossing her legs once more, surveying Astoria like a disappointing painting done by a very talented artist.

"Yes," said Astoria, sipping her drink and then nearly spitting it back out again in distraction. "Is this _just_ gin?"

"It's our ancestral fortune that we are speaking of, Astoria, and the subject is _not_ to be taken lightly. I won't tolerate any manipulation on your part that we have not discussed together first. This is not an opportunity for any of your jolly Gryffindor antics, " Belladonna cautioned, her eyes flashing dangerously, "and _no_ , it is not _just_ gin. I am not a _heathen_."

"I'm sorry," said Astoria wryly, locating a cucumber in her glass and fishing it out with her fingers, "my mistake."

"Yes," said Belladonna at once, misunderstanding Astoria. "It _is_ your mistake indeed, if you think we can sit idly by or else flee the country whenever the Yaxleys come to visit! There is no sense in it!"

It had been a long time since Astoria had seen her aunt look so strained. It did nothing enhance Belladonna's usual sense of silent, deadly prowess, but rather made her appear cornered and desperate. It was an uncontrolled air that Astoria was unaccustomed to seeing, and Astoria was suddenly certain that the path of their discussion would lead through murky waters.

"One thing is certain," said Belladonna evenly, "neither of us will ever reclaim our birthright if you do not eventually marry and so far, you have done everything in your power to make yourself as unsuitable to this purpose as possible."

Astoria's mouth was suddenly very dry. She took a sip of the gin in her hand and immediately regretted this decision, as it was not a particularly quenching fluid.

"That being said, you are not a hopeless case," Belladonna went on, gazing at her niece calculatingly. "You are very good looking, a blessing from above, as it were. Your bloodline, while it boasts its fair share of idiots on your father's side and something of a dark reputation on your mother's- a reputation that I have regretfully done nothing to help spare you of- is, in fact, unimpeachable when it comes to blood purity. Good looks and a lengthy line of pureblooded ancestors work for your cause. You could be something of a commodity, if we were to present you carefully."

Astoria had never heard her aunt speak this way. The fact that Belladonna had come so dangerously close to admitting that her _own_ passion for murdering husbands was something of a stain on Astoria was enough to make Astoria momentarily forget her anger. Still, it was hard to resist the notion that what her aunt meant by 'presented carefully' was really, 'presented silently'.

"I can only follow your line of thinking so far," said Astoria at last, making the decision to abstain from judgement until she had heard her aunt out entirely. It was something of a heartless topic, but hiding from it would not make the matter go away. "We can plot and scheme all we like until I come of age. The fact still remains, I can't magically force myself to have sons, even if I _do_ ever have children."

"No, you can't," said Belladonna gravely, sucking in a breath as if to prepare herself for something highly unpleasant, "but if you were to marry one of the Yaxleys, it would not matter whether you had boys or girls or chickens."

With a sickening swoop, Astoria suddenly understood Belladonna's agitation. The idea of Astoria being someday married off to the Yaxleys _was_ quite unsettling. Belladonna, ever practical however, was setting sentiment aside for a moment. Belladonna clearly meant to pitch Astoria to the Yaxleys when they arrived and there was Astoria could do to stop her aunt from trying.

"No!" said Astoria at once, repulsed. "The youngest Yaxley has to be at least thirty! They _hate_ us!"

"It _is_ rather like matching a Montague with a Capulet, to be sure," said Belladonna bitterly. "There is no way to be certain that they would even _agree_ to the match. You are still very young. A marriage cannot be expected to happen for many years to come. Yaxley's boy may very well have chosen someone else by then."

"Aunt Belladonna!" said Astoria as firmly as she dared, panic propelling her to her feet. "I _won't_ be shipped off to live with some leering sycophant just so that you can live in a nicer house!"

There was a moment of quaking silence. Astoria stood her ground as fiercely as she could even though a tremor of real fear was rippling through her body like an earthquake.

"Every time I think there might be some hope for you, you go ahead and prove what a _child_ you still are," said Belladonna coldly.

Astoria, perceiving that her aunt was offended, took a step backward. Her fingers scrabbled against the glossy magazine in her hand anxiously.

"You think I am only thinking of myself?" Belladonna went on sharply. "What about you? What about your future, Astoria? There is only so much _I_ can do to provide for you! Someday, I will be dead and you will be penniless on the streets!"

"They call them jobs!" said Astoria angrily, backtracking slightly. "I was thinking of perhaps getting one!"

"Marriage _is_ a job," said Belladonna darkly.

"Yes, but it's not the _only_ job!" Astoria pressed, throwing her magazine down loudly on the table.

"Do you _want_ to be robbed of your inheritance, you foolish girl?" Belladonna trilled. "Everything is already set for dinner on Thursday. All I ask is that you dress nicely and make every attempt at civility, nothing more! Think of it as dropping a hook in the water. I only want to see what we _might_ catch. I'm _not_ selling you off, for Merlin's sake!"

Belladonna continued to stare at the rose bushes, a faint blush in her cheeks.

Wordlessly, Astoria excused herself, taking her gin with her. She made the long trek up the stairs to her room in dumb silence.

The moment she had closed her bedroom door behind her, Astoria felt her breath catch in her chest. Panic and a strained desire to fight back met her forced stillness like a storm front.

The room was suddenly too hot; the air oppressive. Her gin was a tempting escape but Astoria could see that it would do nothing for her. The gin was only a means of masking her real desire, which was to escape from a scenario that Belladonna was, no doubt, working very hard to bring about at that very moment.

Astoria strode to the window and emptied the gin onto the bushes far below, wishing to remain as connected to her true thoughts as possible. Nobody went toe to toe with Belladonna drunk and escaped with their dignity in tact.

Astoria stood motionlessly by the window, closing her eyes against the non-existent breeze. The sound of bees droning near the grass was faintly calming and, after a long moment, Astoria's thoughts begin to collect themselves.

 _This is simple,_ Astoria thought. _Your aunt wants something and you don't. What is your next move?_

Astoria opened her eyes, feeling much more in control of the brewing chaos that had turned her stomach only moments before. It was the twenty first century, after all. Nobody could force her into a planned marriage.

 _That's not true,_ cautioned a niggling little voice in Astoria' ear _. There are all sorts of ways to be manipulated. The Imperius curse or a love potion..._

Astoria did not know if Belladonna was capable of betraying her so cruelly, but she knew in her heart that it would be unwise to tempt her, especially if Belladonna could somehow rationalize her actions as being for Astoria's own good.

The only way of putting the matter out of her aunt's mind forever, would be to force the youngest Yaxley into taking such an immediate and ardent dislike toward Astoria that any further meddling would be utterly pointless. If this happened _,_ Astoria knew that Belladonna would quickly rebound and focus on finding some other promising pureblood to bless Astoria with future sons, but at the moment, this seemed like the lesser of two evils.

Only one thing was certain, thought Astoria as she lay in bed much later, unable to shake her feeling of deep foreboding; Astoria was going to have to convince Yaxley to _loathe_ her. Even if, by some miracle, Astoria somehow managed to do this under Belladonna nose, the fallout was going to be very ugly indeed.

Belladonna would be furious with Astoria for openly opposing her. Astoria's work would therefore have to be conducted very stealthily, or else Astoria could count on Belladonna intervening or else excusing them both from the meal early. This problem was compounded further by the fact that Astoria did not _know_ the Yaxleys, and therefore had no idea how this loathing was to be be brought about.

The whole matter was so ludicrous it would have been funny, if only Astoria had not been so afraid.

0o0

The heat wave did not let up all week. Astoria grew increasingly moody as Thursday approached, actively keeping to her room despite its sauna-like conditions and refusing every meal except breakfast in order to avoid having to sit next to her aunt, privately afraid that she might accidentally expose her planned rebellion with a sloppy look or comment.

Meanwhile, Tracey had been sending her letters daily, urging Astoria to invite her to the beach or else to make plans to travel into London with her. Astoria had ignored these notes, leaving them unreturned on her dresser. Theodore, unhindered by the need to write before visiting, was quickly growing annoyed with her.

"Greengrass, I can't breathe up here!" Theodore complained on Wednesday afternoon, wilting on Astoria's bedroom carpet. "I can literally see the air up here, it's so thick! Let's go out to the lawn, like sane people."

"No," said Astoria petulantly. "I'm staying here. You can leave, if you're so unhappy."

Theodore sighed in exasperation but did not peel himself off of the floor. Astoria had an idea it was too warm for Theodore to want to stand, even if she had conceded to going outside.

"Fine," Theo groused. "We'll just continue to suffer then. You know, I've never met a girl so fond of _suffering_. Shouldn't you be running about in a sundress, giddy to be on break, flirting with cute boys?"

"No," said Astoria, this time a little angrily. "I'm keen to sit here and stew..."

Theodore smiled because, despite what he might claim, this lack of feminine sentiment was privately amusing to him. Theodore fished about under Astoria's bed with his foot in silence and kicked out a dustball.

"Still not letting the house elf in to clean up, I see," Theo remarked, pushing the dust back under her bed. "You know, everyone thinks you're really sweet but you're actually kind of gross, aren't you?"

Astoria swatted him, smirking despite herself.

0o0

Thursday dawned as hot as Wednesday and Astoria began to wish that she had told Theodore more about her current woes. She had not actually given him any explicit details; at the time they had seemed too embarrassing. The more Astoria thought about it however, the more she began to wonder if she could not have included Theodore in their dinner somehow to take the heat off. When Astoria casually mentioned this idea casually to Belladonna, just to see what her reaction might have been, Belladonna became annoyed and waspish.

"Why on _Earth_ would you want Theodore Nott hanging on?" Belladonna wondered suspiciously. "The whole point of this meal is to make us seem desirable and respectable! Although, I suppose I could always have seated you next to the poor boy," Belladonna laughed cruelly. "Nothing could make you look more like a goddess than _that_."

"I only thought it might be nice to have someone else to talk to other than the Yaxleys!" said Astoria bitterly. "I don't _know_ them, you know."

"The Smiths will be there," said Belladonna at once. "Manasseh and his son Zacharias. I give you full leave to talk to _them_ as much as you like, provided you do not use either of them as a springboard for some contrived unpleasantness."

This did nothing to make Astoria feel any better about the dinner looming ahead of them.

Zacharias was a Hufflepuff at Hogwarts. Astoria had always found him to be very pompous, not to mention prone to making enemies with his unlikeable way of being flatly rude and un-clever. On top of this, Astoria was fairly certain that Zacharias was a good friend of Anthony Goldstein's, an instant mark against him. Astoria could not imagine that the father would be any more likable than the son.

In the end, Astoria dressed for dinner feeling as though she had swallowed a ball of gelatin, choosing a pale blue dress that fell about her chest in a loose and unflattering manner, which promptly Belladonna vetoed the moment she reached the foyer.

"For Merlin's sake! Who do you think you're fooling?" Belladonna laughed in exasperation as Astoria climbed the stairs a second time, clutching the bannister wearily. "You're a lady, _not_ a circus tent! You'll never be more thin than you are right now. Show off your waist! Put on the lilac satin and be quick about it!"

Astoria did as she was told, cursing the buttery softness of the dress's fabric as she slid it on over her head and adjusted the thin straps at her shoulders. The skirt fluttered ethereally like a second skin where it ended about her thighs, and the cut dipped low enough in the back to show off the skin below her shoulder blades. It was a lovely garment, Belladonna had chosen her weapon wisely.

"Your _hair_!" Belladonna fussed, noticing the loose, unbrushed tendrils that were hanging in Astoria's face at the last moment. "You couldn't have pinned it? But it doesn't matter now- we're going to be late." Belladonna tossed a handful of floo powder into the fire. Astoria and her aunt both reflexively recoiled away from the flames, loathing the unwanted heat source.

"Stop slouching!" Belladonna hissed, tapping Astoria back warningly as they stepped through the fire into entrance hall of the country club.

"There are worse things than being unattractive!" Astoria snapped

"Slouching doesn't make you look _ugly_ , it makes you look _fearful_ ," Belladonna corrected pointedly, her eyes scanning the hall.

Unwittingly, Astoria stood up straighter, casting her aunt a resentful glare.

"Why don't I just sit with my legs apart?" suggested Astoria under her breath. "Is _that_ the kind of appealing confidence that you're looking for?"

Belladonna raised her eyes to the ceiling witheringly. "That is _not_ appealing confidence, darling. _That_ is crassness incarnate, although I suppose it would still be easier to work with than your _attitude_."

Astoria and her aunt stared at each other across the polished hostess's table tensely. There seemed to be a great deal of noise coming from outside on the sunlit lawn. Most of the french doors around the lobby had been left open to cool the room, so Astoria was able to hear voices trickling in.

"What's going on outside?" Astoria wondered out loud, craning about to get a look past the thick drapery.

At that moment, a middle age wizard in a richly embroidered cape with a sigil on the back, plucked out in velvet, came in from the terrace.

"It's the charity polo match," said the host, who had just arrived, wearing a white jacket and a smile that was so helpful, it was border-line suspicious.

Belladonna inquired after the Smiths and the Yaxleys, but neither party had arrived. Belladonna had been so keen to get them out of the door, that they had come several minutes early and would now have to wait.

"I'm going to the bathroom," said Astoria, slipping around Belladonna. Belladonna did not seem to like the idea of loosing sight of her niece but she could hardly argue with this. Astoria crossed the parquet floor and turned at the the corner, heading down a long hallway toward where she knew the restrooms were located.

Astoria did not actually have to use the bathroom, she had only wanted a moment to be by herself in private. Astoria sat on one of the couches near the bathroom door and tapped her high heeled feet against the marble lavatory floor nervously. The room, which was spotless and lit by a dim golden light, smelled of lavender and fresh towels. None of the sinks dripped and it was pleasantly cool in comparison to her bedroom at home.

For one wild moment, Astoria fiercely wished that she was a bathroom attendant, holding hand towels out to club guests or else lingering behind doors, unseen. Astoria could have gladly hidden in this room all day if her aunt would have let her, and for a few seconds, the good fortune of being a club member waiting on dinner was entirely lost on her.

Astoria got up and washed her hands, enjoying the cool tap water against her wrists before going back to find her aunt.

Belladonna was no longer alone in the lobby. Astoria recognized Zacharias at once and the tall, haughty looking man he stood beside must surely be Manasseh, his father. On Belladonna's other side, stood two even more unwelcome faces.

Yaxley senior was a thickly built man with sandy blonde hair and a very unkind face, dressed all in black. His son, while slimmer, shared his brutal facial features and his rigid posture.

"Let's have a drink, shall we?" suggested Manasseh, shooting Mr. Yaxley a dodgy and uncomfortable look. "They won't be serving dinner on the terrace for another hour or so. No until this polo match finishes up, at any rate. Charity can be so taxing for those who don't need it!"

"We'll decide when Belladonna's girl finally finds her way back. I had not planned on staying at the club so long," said Mr. Yaxley, who did not seem particularly keen on having a leisurely drink.

"Well, I don't fancy standing!" Manasseh grumbled under his breath, although something about Yaxley's look seemed to warn him not to press his case further.

Astoria strode toward them, filled with renewed hope. If the Yaxleys did not want to stay until the polo match ended, Astoria might not end up having to eat with them at all.

"Astoria, darling," said Belladonna, catching sight of her and pulling her closer, "come here. We've been told there might be a bit of a wait due to the sport on the lawn-"

Astoria had felt both of the Yaxley men watching her closely as she approached, and even now they were eyeing her shrewdly.

"We've all been put off our dinner, you mean," grumbled Manasseh Smith in annoyance, turning toward Yaxley again. "Well, if it comes to it, you might pop by tomorrow around noon and we can discuss business then, Alistair?"

"Astoria, perhaps you don't remember," said Belladonna, turning her to that she was forced to present herself to both of the Yaxleys face first, "this is Alistair Yaxley and his son Roland. I know it has been quite some time since you last met."

Astoria dipped her head respectfully and then stared plaintively at Roland's face, no longer afraid. At the very worst, Roland would find her unswerving gaze rude, a fact that Astoria could certainly live with.

Roland was quite tall and his hair was the same sandy shade as his father's. There was something very no nonsense about the way he was dressed. For all of his simplicity however, Astoria could tell that his clothing was expensive and rather carefully styled. Despite the fact that Roland was only in his late twenties, Astoria sensed immediately that he was the type of man who worshiped rules. Rules as a means of making others do as he wished, rather than for order, if Astoria had to guess. He certainly looked the part of a man who was a great fan of oppressive atmospheres and if Roland was capable of any fun, Astoria was certain that he had it where no prying eyes would ever spot him.

Alistair turned his gaze away from Astoria and raised an eyebrow at his son. "Perhaps one drink, then," he said brusquely. "There might be a breeze outside."

A good part of the lawn had been given over to the polo match. A smattering of tables were scattered here and there, mostly occupied by smartly dressed men, talking casually over the sound of hooves. The women present had turned out in a sea of white and pastel colors. Several were wearing hats so outrageous that Astoria actually allowed herself a moment to be amused as she observed them.

A round of gin gimlets were ordered and neither Astoria nor Zacharias were excluded. Astoria had an idea that Belladonna wanted Astoria to seem as old as possible and the act of denying her liquor at a private function seemed very unsuited to that purpose.

Manasseh Smith was doing most of the talking. He had come on business, that much was clear, and although Alistair answered each of Manasseh's questions, his replies were brief. Alistair at least, had come as much to have a look at Astoria as Belladonna could have hoped.

Belladonna herself took a seat and fell at once into the attitude of person who was supremely bored, her eyes wandering off toward the thundering horses, content that neither she nor Astoria should speak.

"Well, you know all about that in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement! Don't you, Alistair?" finished Manasseh and it occurred to Astoria that she had not been listening very attentively. "Has Roland made the commission yet?"

Astoria turned her eyes toward Roland again and found that they were already fixed on her in a detached but observant manner. Roland answered Manasseh as briefly as his father had done and Astoria felt a sudden, violent desire to kick to him beneath the table, if only to see his face appear startled by something.

"Of course, Dolores is pushing quite hard to have the reforms put into action," said Alistair and Astoria found herself drawn back in to the conversation at the mention of this old and familiar name.

"Dolores Umbridge?" Astoria asked, speaking for the first time.

Alistair Yaxley's cold gaze turned onto Astoria in faint surprise. Perhaps forgotten that she could speak? Belladonna's eyes narrowed, recalling that this was the name of the archery teacher that Astoria had once shot.

"Yes," said Alistair dubiously, "she works in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. You know her?"

"Only a little," said Astoria, trying not to blush under Alistair's scrutiny. "She was once an instructor of mine. I can't say we were particularly fond of each other."

Belladonna's gaze could have cut Astoria like a knife.

"Few who know her have ever been fond of her," said Alistair dismissively. "A well disguised upstart. Her father used to sweep the floors of the Ministry building, although Dolores certainly denies it. Still, a brilliant mind for order."

"I didn't know that she had ever taught," said Roland, sipping his gin lazily, perhaps amused by the notion.

"She used to take out etiquette courses for Tippy Tipman," said Belladonna briefly, obviously wishing to change the subject.

"That doesn't surprise me," said Roland, smirking to himself. "Old maids in ruffles are always keen to train the next generation. What did she instruct you in?"

Astoria opened her mouth to answer him and then froze. At a table several places away across the lawn, she had just made eye contact with another unwelcome blonde. The Malfoys were watching the match, as well. With them appeared to be Vincent Crabbe and a woman so large, Astoria assumed she could only be Crabbe's mother.

"I'm sorry?" said Astoria, tearing her eyes away.

"Roland asked what subject Dolores instructed you in," said Belladonna sharply, a hint of a warning in her tone.

"Archery," said Astoria at once. "That was my primary focus, although I did not stay to complete the course."

"Ah," said Alistair, who looked as though he thought Archery was a very poor choice indeed for a young woman's etiquette major. "A trivial right of passage for girls, etiquette courses. I couldn't imagine it myself, but my _sister_ was very fond of dancing. I suspect that Tippy's school did a lot for her in that regard. You focused on athletics, then? What was your second subject? I suppose it was faintly less dangerous?"

"Fencing," said Astoria flatly, trying very hard not smirk.

Belladonna's eyes rattled as though she would dearly have loved to roll them.

"Why does an etiquette school teach sports at all?" wondered Zacharias, who was being overlooked and resented it, loudly. "Aren't archery and fencing just dressed up medieval muggle ways of killing a person?"

"For the fitness," said Astoria, allowing herself a rogue grin that silenced Zacharias at once. "Everyone knows that witches and wizards don't _need_ swords or arrows to kill people."

"Well, I don't think I like the idea of young witches being trained how to shoot me, is all," said Zacharias defensively.

Belladonna cleared her throat loudly and Manasseh chortled uncomfortably at his son's awkwardness.

"So those are your primary hobbies, then?" asked Roland, looking as though he found Astoria to be less proper then he might have ideally liked, but faintly more amusing for it.

"I have _loads_ of hobbies," said Astoria, ignoring her aunt's glare.

Roland raised an eyebrow and turned to watch the horses. "I wonder who's winning."

"Why don't you take my boy and Astoria, and go and find out?" suggested Manasseh, obviously hoping for a minute alone with Alistair.

Belladonna was clearly uncomfortable with this arrangement but it was the moment that Astoria had been hoping for. When Roland made a sign of assent and stood up, Astoria was out of her seat before Belladonna could come up with a reason to keep her under supervision.

They walked across the grass in silence. It was only the helpful reminder of Zacharias's shadow that kept Astoria from forgetting that he was with them as well, trotting behind her mutely.

"Do you know the rules of polo?" asked Roland when they reached the field.

"No," said Astoria ungracefully. "I prefer games with loose rules that don't involve teams."

"Why does that not surprise me?" asked Roland somewhat smugly, pointing toward the charging horses. "It's a basic concept, established by the line of the ball. Of course, when the muggles play, there is only one kind of ball. If you look here however, you'll see that there are two types in play."

Astoria looked, trying to follow what Roland was saying but Zacharias had a head cold and the act standing up seemed to have given him the sniffles. Astoria would have found his wet, nasal sniffling distracting enough, even if she had not been consciously aware of Draco Malfoy peering over at them from his family's table. Out of he corner of her eye, Astoria saw Draco whisper something to Crabbe.

All of a sudden, one of the players on the field reached out and deliberately hit the pony next to him with his mallet. There was quite a lot of noise, even from the decidedly gentile audience, and a time out was called.

Astoria used this moment of confusion to fantasize ways of coming across as willfully stubborn or stupid. Astoria seemed to have been right in her immediate suspicion that Roland was a man who appreciated rules however, because he seemed to savor those of even this insignificant and out of fashion sport and it was a long moment before he finished speaking.

"You seem to know a lot about muggle sports," said Astoria slyly. "I love _muggle_ sports."

"It's _not_ a muggle sport," said Roland cooly. "We had our version long before the muggles had their adaptation. Before ponies, wizards used to ride a special sort of dragon for polo. Of course, that was before the International Statute of Secrecy put an end to that sort of thing."

"Oh," said Astoria, crunching the ice in bottom her glass as loudly as she could. "That's a pity. Living openly among muggles seems like it would be quite good fun, doesn't it?"

"Fun, perhaps," said Roland, actually turning his head to look at Astoria, perhaps trying to suss out whether or not she was joking, "but certainly _not_ in the interest of wizard-kind."

"We've got a mad groundskeeper at Hogwarts," said Zacharias, brightening at the thought. "Rumor has it, he smuggled a dragon into his hut one night when he was drunk but then the thing gave him the slip."

Roland snorted once in amusement.

"He's a Professor too," said Astoria, bursting with a strange smugness that seemed to be the product of being intentionally ridiculous. "One of my _favorites_ , in fact."

" _Why_?" asked Zacharias, shaking his head. "The man let a Hippogriff _maul_ a student."

"You're talking about Rubeus Hagrid, are you?" asked Yaxley, a wry, knowing smile forming across his face. "He was _very_ lucky to keep his job after that nonsense last year. I know Lucius in particular was very upset with the direction that whole affair took."

"I thought Hagrid to be in the right," said Astoria happily. "It's always such a _thrill_ when a student gets attacked."

Their drinks were empty and everybody but Astoria seemed eager to walk back across the lawn to the table. Astoria had been hoping to keep Yaxley on her own for a while longer so that she might profess to more than just a love of muggle sports and disreputable professors, so she was mildly disappointed to loose the opportunity of saying more.

"Will you excuse me?" said Astoria when they had reached the terrace, not wanting to go back to their oppressive table. "I think I've left a bracelet inside."

"You'll miss the throw in," said Roland, indicating the referee, who was about to toss the ball back onto the grass.

Astoria shot him a look of exaggerated disappointment and then slipped back through the thickly draped french doors into the lobby.

"I'd suggest a throw _out_ ," said a jeering voice.

Astoria's eyes swept the room to a nearby alcove window and found Draco Malfoy. He was leaning against a wall with Crabbe beside him, peering through the curtains at the still bright lawn outside.

"What could you possibly be doing with the Yaxleys and Zacharias Smith, anyway?" demanded Draco snidely. "That's got to be the queerest combination for dinner company that anyone has ever _imagined_."

It was, but Astoria felt no desire to admit it.

"Watching polo and being queer together?" Astoria suggested, walking over to the curtain he was peering through. "Aren't you supposed to be in Italy?"

"Father had to come back for the weekend on business," shrugged Draco lazily, his eyes going back to the slit in the curtains and narrowing with displeasure. "How _old_ is Yaxley anyway?" he persisted. "At first I thought he must be your father but then I recognized him."

"Twenty eight, maybe?" said Astoria, who did not know Yaxley's actual age, but felt the need to make him seem as young as possible because she had a sense that this would be the most goading for Draco.

Roland Yaxley was very self important and it occurred to Astoria that, on the few occasions Draco was likely to to have met him, Roland had probably been far more prone to treating Draco like a little schoolboy than an equal.

"Know him well, do you?" asked Draco, his tone suddenly hard. "Only it would be sort of creepy for him to be escorting you in public if you didn't, wouldn't it?"

"We've only met twice," said Astoria. "To tell you the truth, all I know about him is that he's fond of obscure sports history and rules."

"Well, that sounds stimulating," said Malfoy coldly.

"He _is_ funny," said Astoria, trying very hard not to smirk. "Did you know, a few minutes ago, he told me that a single pony can only play for _two_ chukkers per match?" asked Astoria, leaning against the other side of the curtain and peering at Draco in amusement.

" _Did_ he?" Draco sneered.

"Yeah," said Astoria, tilting her head back into the velvet fabric, "and for a second I was excited because when he said _Chukker_ , I thought he meant to chuck _me_ out into the field and end my misery."

There was a lengthy pause before Draco let out a slightly suppressed and privately pleased laugh.

"Your father works with him?" Draco guessed, more eager to understand the connection now that he no longer felt the need to be quite as hostile.

"No," Astoria sighed. "He's a dreaded cousin."

This seemed to cheer Draco considerably.

"It's distant, of course," Astoria added, "otherwise, I imagine I would have met him more than twice."

"He's here for your aunt, then?" Draco continued nosily.

"Oh, _no_ ," Astoria laughed, starting to become glad that she had run into Draco and Crabbe since she had not actually left her bracelet inside and their presence gave her a purpose for lingering. "My aunt and Alistair positively _loathe_ each other. There's a great family story- from just after the war, I think. Alistair and Belladonna were both fighting over an heirloom of some kind, so one of them sent it to the other charmed as a portkey with a direct link to the center of the Atlantic ocean. I can't remember who opened it... Alistair if I had to guess."

"Did he live?" asked Crabbe, his puzzled face pinching.

" _Obviously_ , Crabbe," snapped Malfoy impatiently. "They're both _here,_ aren't they?"

"Alistair introduced my aunt to the Minister of Magic in Germany as a she-lion, once," added Astoria, recalling another old tale. "I suppose I don't blame him though, as Belladonna _did_ try to drown him at sea. Alistair must dress before tackling his post in the morning, otherwise she probably would have succeeded. He would have needed his wand on him when he opened it."

"What were they fighting over?" asked Draco, torn between active amusement and the scorn that he knew he was supposed to show for this sort of story.

"Who knows," Astoria shrugged. "Probably a withered hand with no sentimental value that cost some ancient uncle seven sickles down a back alley."

Malfoy laughed, his pale eyes slightly narrowed at this piece of relatively scandalous family history.

"Why are they watching polo together, then?" demanded Crabbe, still struggling to understand the scenario.

"Why do some people enjoy being hit?" Astoria queried. "I think they just like to _fight_ with each other."

Outside the window, Alistair and Roland had both risen from their seats.

"It looks like they're leaving," said Astoria stepping back from the window. "I should go say goodbye or else my aunt will lock me in the attic."

Astoria quickly stepped around Draco, who seemed a touch surprised and maybe a little disappointed by the abruptness of her sudden exit, and hurried back out onto the terrace.

"Tomorrow, then, Alistair," said Manasseh, who had stood as well in order to shake hands with Mr. Yaxley.

"Yes, yes," said Alistair distractedly. "A pleasure as always, Belladonna," he added, nodding to Astoria's aunt. "It's been too long. I was starting to think you could not go out until after the sun had set..."

Belladonna's cold, displeased eyes were fixed on Astoria and Astoria knew that Roland must have mentioned at least some part of what she had been jabbering on about by the horses.

Astoria bowed slightly to both of the Yaxley men, smiling roses.

Belladonna said nothing and when she had finished her drink, she summoned Astoria back toward the floo, effectively abandoned the Smiths to a solitary dinner.

The sun was just beginning to set as they stepped back into the dim entryway of Belladonna's house.

Belladonna handed her light summer cloak to Bonky without saying a word. Her face was a furious milky white in the gathering darkness and Astoria felt her first pangs of regret looking at her.

"What?" Astoria demanded feebly. Having not worn a cloak, Astoria did not even have the action of removing one to distract her hands. Astoria fidgeted instead, feeling very vulnerable. When Belladonna still had not replied, Astoria folded her arms across her chest so that they were not hanging so stupidly by her sides.

"Go to bed," said Belladonna in a very cold voice, not even bothering to look at her.

"It's eight o'clock," Astoria persisted. "I don't want to go to bed."

"Well, I don't want to look at you," said Belladonna, taking a cigarette from a case on the hall table and lighting it. The ember glowed a fiery orange in the shadows. "I don't know _what_ you said while you were off gazing at horses, but it was enough for Yaxley's little beast to make a snide joke about your future aspirations of someday living among muggles.

The white lilies on the table looked purple from where Astoria was standing and the effect, far from peaceful, seemed slightly melancholy. Astoria knew that Bonky had not been expecting them for another hour at least, but it still did not stop her from wishing that the elf had remembered to turn on the lamps.

"I didn't say anything extreme," said Astoria. "I only suggested that he knew an awful lot about muggle sports-"

"I told you to be charming!" said Belladonna sharply. "Why bring up _muggles_ at all? Don't you understand that they came with the intent of judging you to be unequal to them and you've done nothing but give them fuel for that fire? You've proven once again that everything must be a struggle- that you will attempt to thwart even the commonest of sense at the _slightest_ provocation!"

Astoria said nothing, unable to be properly sorry but feeling ashamed nonetheless.

"We'll discuss it in the morning," said Belladonna hollowly. "Just- go to your room."

Astoria walked up the carpeted hallway silently, stopping on the third floor landing just outside her room to gaze out of the windows that faced the gravel driveway. The floor under her feet was not carpeted on the third floor, but Astoria sank to the ground here anyway, feeling the naked old wood beneath her fingers.

Astoria knew that her aunt only wanted what she thought was best for both of them, but Astoria could not force herself to find Roland Yaxley even remotely likable. Surely they were better off- not to mention acting more authentically- without either of those butcher-faced men in their lives?

By the time the hall had grown so dark that Astoria could no longer make out the petals on the flowers in a small painting of a garden on the wall, she got up and opened her bedroom door.

0o0

The heat finally broke as they entered the month of July. A distant wind picked up and tickled the tops of the humid trees and all of a sudden the outdoors became bearable again.

Astoria awoke around noon day to a blustery, warm afternoon and two letters.

The first was from Fred Weasley, sent the night before. Astoria opened it eagerly.

 _Astoria,_

 _How has the heat been treating you? Lovely and warm I suppose? I wouldn't know- George and I have barely left our room all of break. Before you go feeling sorry for us though, you'll have to have at look at some of delightful treats we've been coming up with!_

 _We've got a new box of fake wands and some fantastic toffee that made George's mouth swell up to roughly the same width of a cantaloupe before I managed to put it right. Are you going to the Quidditch World Cup? Dad's managed to get tickets off of his friend Ludo, so we'll all be going after all!_

 _P.S. We'll be sending you one of our new order forms in a couple of days so that you can have a look!_

 _-Fred._

Astoria laughed and turned over the second envelope. It was from George, dated the next morning. Surprised, Astoria opened it.

 _Astoria,_

 _Mum has burned the order forms and confiscated the box of wands. Most of the Ton Tongue Toffee was taken by dad yesterday when we went to pick up Harry, (I'll explain later) so we can't send you any of that either._

 _Bit of a grim morning, to say the least, but Fred and I have rallied. Tickets to the cup are still a go, though. Why haven't you written back?_

 _-George._

Astoria shook her head at this laughable nonsense before scrawling out a quick reply on the back of George's letter, confirming that she was indeed going to the World Cup.

Belladonna was sitting on the patio when Astoria went down to breakfast.

Between the sky-high temperatures and her own moodiness, Belladonna seemed to have undergone an alchemical change over the last few days, transforming from a creature powered by sheer force of will and well organized ambitiousness, to one of lazy, almost scornful, decadence.

It was only noon and Belladonna was already drinking her juice on top of champagne. Astoria highly doubted that her aunt had taken any calls over the past three days, much less left the house and mail was beginning to stack up on the hall table.

"Good morning," said Astoria formally, carrying her coffee outside.

"Niece," said Belladonna crisply.

Astoria studied her aunt warily.

Belladonna was dressed in a loose-fitting caftan, which was drooping off one of her slim shoulders like an erotic suggestion. Her long, dark hair tumbled out of what could only be described as a turban in a series of loose, messy curls. Something about her attitude lent Belladonna the air of having only just rolled out of a lover's embrace and Astoria was struck afresh by the number of times that her aunt had managed to wed, despite her reputation for being repeatedly and intentionally widowed.

"What are you doing today, Auntie?" asked Astoria, taking a rather useless stab at pleasantness.

"Precisely what I am already doing," said Belladonna, closing her eyes as the wind pushed a particularly kind puff air at them.

There was a noise behind them and Bonky appeared in the doorway.

"The young mistress is having guests. They are waiting for her in the hallway," Bonky croaked.

Astoria had not made any plans and she expected that it must be Theo, as hardly anyone else was likely to turn up unannounced.

"Tell him to come out," said Astoria, stretching her legs to the sun.

Theodore appeared in the doorway a moment later with Tracey close behind him.

"We didn't mean to interrupt your lunch," said Tracey, who had pushed forward and was eyeing Belladonna curiously out of he corner of her eye. "I've been writing to you for weeks, Astoria. You never write back!"

"I've been busy," said Astoria apologetically.

Belladonna put her arms above her head on the deck chair and snorted.

"Well, it's no matter now," said Tracey, sounding unbothered. "I finally went and found Theo, since I know he comes here all the time, and decided to crash in on you. Let's do something today."

"Where?" asked Astoria, afraid her aunt, who was still brooding over Astoria's misconduct at the country club, might forbid her to leave the house.

"I don't know," said Tracey. "I'd love to go swimming but I don't think Theo will take his shirt off."

There was a brook that ran though a patch of trees near the outskirts of Belladonna's lawn that turned into a proper, deep body of water several yards into the trees. Astoria suggested this, thinking it was the best way to keep from loosing her company or provoking her aunt.

"Alright," Tracey sighed. "I would have preferred the beach, though."

Astoria stood up, preparing to go up to her room and get a swimsuit when Belladonna cleared her throat. Astoria paused, certain that Belladonna was about to forbid her fun.

"Don't forget your coffee, darling," said Belladonna, turning her lazy head toward them. "You don't want Bonky to clear it away."

Bonky was terribly lazy, sometimes taking so long to make the beds that, if Astoria wanted a nap in the late afternoon, she was forced to crawl into her tossed off covers but she grabbed the cup of coffee just the same.

Tracey and Theo followed Astoria up to her room to avoid having to make conversation with Belladonna. Astoria did not blame them. Even to their untrained eyes, Belladonna was clearly faintly more dangerous than usual.

"Why have you been so busy?" asked Tracey, throwing herself onto Astoria's bed. "Will you lend me a swimsuit, by the way? I didn't bring one."

"You still haven't returned the dress I lent you last Christmas," said Astoria sternly, throwing Tracey a pair of swimsuit bottoms nonetheless, searching through her drawer for the matching top.

"Well, " said Tracey, getting up to stand behind Astoria's closet door so she could change without alarming Theodore, " _you_ haven't answered any of my letters. You might have _written_ to ask for it back."

"My aunt and I have been at war," Astoria admitted truthfully.

"So, what, she's reading your post?" asked Theodore, sounding as though this struck him as darkly comical.

"No," said Astoria, "but she's been in a foul mood like it's her business."

The three of them passed most of the morning on the sandy banks of the brook, splashing in the shallow, freezing water. Theo, as Astoria had expected, lurked about on solid ground, occasionally calling out to them as they slipped over rocks and fell awkwardly into deeper pools of stream water, squealing.

Eventually, tired out and elated to have been in the sun for so long, Astoria collapsed onto the grass and lay with her head against the clover, listening to the wind in the trees. The bottom of her hair was wet, but the top was a dry, sun baked mess.

Theo, perhaps relived for company that did not slash, sunk unto his back beside her.

"Your aunt seemed peaky this morning," he said, ripping up grass between two merciless fingers.

"We had drinks with our cousins this week," said Astoria in a low voice, "needless to say, I did not behave myself."

Theo snorted. "She'll get over it. It can't have been the first time you were rude to company."

"No," said Astoria, rolling over onto her back as well because her stomach was beginning to hurt. She had not eaten any breakfast and the coffee she had drunk was making her feel very jittery and weak. "These were important cousins, though. Belladonna's been in an inheritance battle with them for years."

"Ah," said Theo, "so it's not just a matter of bad manners then- there's greed in the mix as well."

Astoria had never thought about it so succinctly.

"Come back!" called Tracey. "It gets warmer!"

Astoria, however, had had about enough. The shock of the brook water mixed with the lazy summer heat was making her feel slightly feverish. By the time they reached the house, Astoria was feeling so faint that she barely had time to wave Tracey and Theo through the fireplace before she had to dash to the bathroom, certain she would vomit.

The moment she got down on her knees however, the nausea turned into a fit of violent shaking instead. Astoria attempted to dry heave a couple of times, but nothing was forthcoming. After a moment or two, Astoria dragged herself back to her feet, feeling very dizzy. Her face was a ghastly greenish-white in the mirror on the wall. Astoria examined herself more closely, surprised that she was even capable of turning such a shade, gripping the sink to keep from sliding back to her feet.

Belladonna was arranging a new bouquet on the entryway table when Astoria stumbled back into the hall. There was a basket of fresh cuttings at her feet, still wet from the kitchen sink. "Bed," said Belladonna, shooting Astoria a perfectly unconcerned look over a handful of tea roses.

Astoria tried to speak but her teeth were chattering so hard she could not open her mouth. There was something odd about the scene before her and it was a moment or two before Astoria noticed that her aunt was no longer wearing her caftan, but had changed it for a slim, well-tailored dress.

At some point during the hours that had elapsed since Astoria had left the house, her aunt had finally brushed her hair, as well. All and all, Belladonna looked remarkably sober for a woman who had drunk a bottle of wine for breakfast.

"I don't feel well," said Astoria in a stilted voice, moving toward the bannister so that she could grip it.

"I should think not," said Belladonna, sounding utterly relaxed, pulling out a sprig of uncooperative baby's breath from her arrangement scheme.

"I think your friend Alistair gave me the flu," said Astoria, fighting against a fresh wave of stomach cramps that made her mouth water atrociously.

"Oh, no," said Belladonna, taking scissors to the ends of several over-long roses. The stems split apart with an oddly flesh-like pinching sound that made Astoria wince. "You don't have the flu."

"What are you talking about?" asked Astoria in confusion, certain that something was dreadfully wrong with her. In fact, the whole room seemed to have been colored wrong and Astoria's heart was beginning to beat out a rhythmic response to her fear.

"Infantem silphium," said her aunt carelessly. "It's a potion. Not a disease."

"I _know_ it's a potion," said Astoria, still not able to put the pieces together. "Oh God," she moaned, lurching into the bannister as her head began to spin.

"To be fair, one could also call it a poison," said Belladonna evenly, inserting a frond of ferns into the place she had plucked the baby's breath from, "but it does a remarkable job as a contraceptive and its effects last far longer than the nausea."

"What?" asked Astoria, her confusion mounting. "But I didn't take it!"

"Of course you did," Belladonna corrected her. "You drank it in your coffee this morning. Don't worry, I measured it correctly. I'm quite an adept when it comes to dosing."

"Why?" cried Astoria, startled by this ruthless betrayal.

"Because you're unruly, that's why," said Belladonna, yanking out another sprig of baby's breath with unnecessary force. "If your goal is to thwart me, I won't play the fool any longer. Make all of the jokes about muggles that you like, niece, but I won't have you getting knocked up by some train conductor or common gardener just to _punish_ me."

This was arguably the most insane thing Astoria had ever seen her aunt say and the cold calmness of it all was enough to make Astoria feel sick, even if the potion hadn't been doing the job so thoroughly already.

"I think it's wrong," said Astoria, grabbing her stomach in fear and desperation. "I feel like I'm dying!"

"It'll be over by morning," said Belladonna, throwing leaves into her basket of clippings.

"You're poisoning me?" Astoria exclaimed, feeling all the the horror begin to hit her.

"I'm _saving_ you from yourself!" said Belladonna. "You may wake up tomorrow morning just as foolish as you were climbing into bed, but at least you'll be impregnable and I can cross that fear off of my list for some years to come. It's not permanent of course- but it lasts several years and that is longer than any spell I know of. I'm afraid you'll just have to _suffer_ through it."

There would be no arguing with her, the deed was done. Astoria had drank her entire cup of coffee, just as her aunt had known she would. It was a mark of how ill Astoria felt that she actually allowed Bonky to help her up the steps to bed.

For several hours, Astoria could think of nothing but her own discomfort. Sleep refused to come and she continued to writhe in near agony. Gradually however, the pain in her abdomen began to lessen and Astoria was able to drop off into a hazy, sweaty rest.

When she awoke, a pale blue light was sifting through her window, marking the early dawn. Astoria sat up, testing her own resilience and judged herself to be capable of making the trip to the bathroom, where she poured out a glass full of water from the tap and drank the whole thing, resting gingerly against the sink to take the weight off of her unsteady legs.

Sleep had done nothing to make Astoria feel any less violated. In fact, the more she began to feel like herself again, the more resentful she became.

Astoria had always known that her aunt was capable of some despicable things. Since childhood, Astoria had treated Belladonna much like a particularly ferocious breed of dog, preferring to think of her as loyal and misunderstood, but always knowing when to stop playing and back away.

Astoria was no longer sure if she knew how to detect danger and she found herself muttering unconnected sentences under her breath. "Half mad... thinks she can do whatever she likes..."

Astoria spent a long day alone in her room, brooding. As certain as she was that Belladonna had not meant to harm her, her aunt had still willfully slipped something into Astoria's drink when she had not been looking.

The older Astoria became, it seemed, the less likely her arguments were going be treated as child's play. A new order had been established and Astoria realized that she was going to have to be more cunning about expressing her opinions. One thing was certain; if Astoria was going to joke about muggles, she would no longer do so idly. Indeed, Astoria would be sure to make any comment _count_ , now that the punishment for such humor in her aunt's house had been established as the equivalent of poisoning.

0o0

* * *

Et tu, Belladonna? Lord, this family needs therapy.

In any case, it might be a bit extreme, but birth control-poisoning feels very Belladonna to me. Especially if she no longer trusts Astoria to be reasonable in her choice of dating companions. I certainly picture Belladonna viewing the way Astoria treated the Roland scenario as betrayal of the highest order.

Speaking of which, I know this was a wordy, detail oriented chapter. The next chunk will be more fun, mostly because the next two chapters will cover the majority of the World Cup! It'll probably be another two parter, because I love events dearly. I'm hoping to have both chapter parts up before the weekend and there will be plenty of faces from Hogwarts in attendance (not to mention I'll finally have a chance to introduce the Mendels).

Sidebar: I decided the name Zacharias's dad Manessah, after Manessah of Judah, who was the only son of Hezekiah and Hephzibah (remember Hepzibah Smith, who young Tom Riddle murdered for Hufflepuff's cup? Isn't that kind of kicky?)

As always, reviews are wonderfully fun to read!


	30. The World Cup Pt 1

Chapter Thirty

The World Cup Pt. One

* * *

0o0

Luckily, Astoria had matters other than drink-tampering to distract her as the week carried on. The Quidditch World Cup was rapidly approaching and Astoria was growing desperate to escape her aunt's house for the maddening crowd that was certain to present itself at such a major event.

Astoria's father had been in touch several times over the past few days, going over final details and meeting places. Astoria could tell George Greengrass was nearly as excited as she was. Perhaps the best part about the whole affair however, was that Belladonna had decided not to join them at the last minute.

This meant that, for however long the quidditch match lasted, Astoria would be free to do as she pleased for the first time all summer. The last World Cup had gone on for five days, (so George had informed her via owl post), and Astoria was very much hoping that this match would carry on similarly.

By the night before the match, their full plan was fixed. Astoria's father was set to pick her up the next morning from Belladonna's. After that, they would set out to catch a local portkey, (because Astoria could not Apparate) and from there they would go on to meet up with the Mendels, who were arriving at the World Cup in the late afternoon from Monaco and bringing friends with them as well. There were no spare tickets left for Tracey, but other than that, it was a spectacular plan and one that promised much enjoyment on Astoria's part. On the day of the match, Astoria was willingly out of her bed at dawn, sipping coffee in the pale light of the sunrise.

George, as always, was late. Belladonna had wisely chosen not to hover and therefore no comment was made when George stumbled in half an hour past their scheduled pickup time. Astoria had been packed and ready for what felt like ages so they were quickly on their way.

George led Astoria down the gravel lane out front until they reached the road, chattering on happily amidst a profusion of excuses for his lateness, setting a speedy pace that was too fast for both of them in an attempt to avoid missing their portkey. After nearly jogging down the country road for about fifteen minutes, they veered off into a patch of misty woods for their assigned portkey pick-up. They were not alone in the damp clearing.

"Hi, Astoria!" said Parvati Patil, who was standing next to her sister and a short, balding man with square spectacles that Astoria recognized as her father.

Astoria had always been oddly fond of Mr. Patil. He was not half as fashionable as her own father, but he gave off such a warm feeling of cleanliness and civility that Astoria was inclined to forgive him for his pocket protector and his rather dad-like taste in footwear. In any case, Mr. Patil struck Astoria as the type of father who was very unlikely to leave his daughters waiting for hours on end over a lunch engagement, and that trait alone was worth suffering all of the pocket protectors in the world.

"Hello," said Astoria happily, waving at Mr. Patil, who back smiled at her.

"Are we waiting on anyone else?" asked George, peering at a rusty can nestled in the overlong grass like a dangerous and sharp-edged Easter egg.

"The Fawley's have been there all week," said Mr. Patil, checking his watch, "and I can't think of anyone else who would be likely to use this portkey. It's nearly time, shall we?"

They all leaned forward to rest their fingers on the can, trying not to touch the exposed, rusted metal.

"Hold on tight," said Mr. Patil as a warning to his daughters and Astoria.

Right on time, Astoria felt the tug near her navel that signaled the portkey coming to life. The grassy clearing began to spin very fast, so Astoria closed her eyes and waited for the motion to stop, focusing instead on trying to maintain her footing when they reached the campsite.

The portkey spat them hard, as portkeys always did. Next moment, unprepared to let go, Astoria blinked and found herself flat on her back in a small, well kept field next to a rustic looking muggle office.

Neither Parvati or Padma had managed to remain standing either, so they all helped each other up out of the dewy grass, wincing and grinning because the worst was over.

Astoria held back as her father and Mr. Patil attempted to negotiate with the muggle campground owner.

"What's dad _doing_?" moaned Padma in dismay, watching as her father pulled up his pant leg and began to withdraw several muggle bills from of his sock, as this was where he had stashed them for safekeeping.

"Paying the manager," said Astoria with a slight grin, trying very hard not to be amused.

"Your dad doesn't keep money in _his_ socks," hissed Parvati in mortification. " _He's_ alright!"

In truth, Astoria thought her father was looking more then his fair of smug that morning. It was not unusual for George to dress carefully and with a bit of a flair, but Astoria detected a hint of the intentionally fashionable about him that he usually managed to avoid. George's hair was combed back the way it always was, only with a bit of an extra flourish and his shoes had been freshly polished.

Perhaps it was only because Astoria's father could not resist the temptation to dress himself for such an unusually large gathering of witches and wizards? Or perhaps the Maclaggen's would be coming for the match as well, and George had made plans to to meet up with Mrs. Maclaggen later on...

It was hard to tell, but Astoria was not fool enough to resist a touch of suspicion over George's curiously gleaming choice of footwear.

George finished paying and beckoned to Astoria.

"We've got different campsites," said Parvati, overhearing her father's conversation with the manager. "We'll see you later, Astoria!"

Astoria waved goodbye and followed her father, trying not to have any misgivings about the evening when so much about it was set to be promising.

"Wobbles has already set up our camp," explained George, slowing down to trot as they reached the main throughway that cut through the sea of many-colored tents. Most of these constructions were plain, canvas affairs that had probably magically expanded on the inside, but here and there were tents with such obvious and blatant touches of sorcery that Astoria had to force herself to keep an eye on her father, who seemed intent on walking.

"That man has a jacuzzi!" said Astoria, pointing toward a large, blue silk tent. There were three children sitting on the grass in font of it, all extremely dark skinned and wearing very clean matching white trousers and shirts.

"Yes," said George, grinning a little at the sight, "but you _know_ how it is. Some wizards hardly ever get a chance to show off. I suppose the ministry will have a job of keeping this lot in check once the sun goes down. My guess is, it'll get a little rowdy after midnight."

"George!" called a robust man that Astoria recognized at once as Mr. Maclaggen's drunk friend Bertie Higgs. "I've been wondering when I would see you!"

Astoria and George came to a stop. Bertie was wearing a tan suit fit for an African safari and it was not immediately clear to Astoria if this outfit was a botched stab at dressing like a muggle or something that Bertie Higgs might wear in his everyday life.

It was barely eleven o'clock and Bertie was already clutching a glass of what look suspiciously like scotch in his right hand and a giant green foam finger in the other. Evidently Bertie was supporting the Irish.

Astoria shifted her weight from one foot to the other, using this moment as a chance to study the campsite around her, drinking in its foreign oddness greedily. After a moment, Astoria was forced to move out of the way as another gentleman approached them from behind, afraid that he might step on her sandals if she didn't.

Bertie Higgs's tent was bordered by a low and very obviously magical garden, closed in by neat fence. By moving to the side, Astoria was able to look past Bertie's girth and onto his neat front lawn. At a low stone table beyond sat Terrence Higgs, a Slytherin boy who had played seeker in her first year before graduating, another boy Astoria had sometimes heard referred to as 'Pike', Marcus Flint and Draco Malfoy.

Astoria blinked in surprise. She had not been expecting to see anyone that she knew behind Bertie's wide waist.

Marcus noticed her fist and his face cracked into a gleeful, almost wicked grin at the sight of her.

"Greengrass, you old cow!" Flint yelled, leaning back in his seat. "I knew you wouldn't miss this!"

Astoria's father did an odd double take, evidently unsure if this remark had been meant for him or his daughter. Astoria waved her father off and went through the fence, trying hard not to grin. Pike shot Flint a look of awe, as much for having yelled at Astoria as for having somehow managed to tempt her toward them.

"Who's that bloke you walked over with?" asked Flint lazily. "He looks like he should be in an advertisement."

Malfoy scoffed with narrow-eyed amusement, sitting up straighter so that he could get a better look.

"That," said Astoria, drawing level with their table, "is my father."

Pike broke out into small peals of nervous laughter and gave Flint's arm a nudge at this awkwardness.

"It's easy to see where you get your looks from, darling, but to tell you the truth, I think he scares more easily than you do," said Flint, perfectly unconcerned. Astoria was surprised to find that she had missed Flint's particular brand of cocky assuredness and she was suddenly fighting a grin.

"In any case, I'll thank you not to put it into his head to do any advertisements," said Astoria sternly. "He's very vain, you know."

"I'm sorry," said Flint, "did you ever meet Terrence?"

Terrence was eyeing Astoria with some interest and, as Astoria expected that she was standing in his father's garden, she very politely offered him her hand. Terrence shook it, glancing between her face and Flint in sly surprise.

"She was a first year when you left, Higgs," said Flint, attempting to clear up the confusion. "Otherwise, I'm sure you would recall. You would have liked Terrence, Astoria. He was always the least likely member of our team to cheat. Very predictable on the field."

"Not cheating doesn't make a person predictable," said Terrence with a smirk. "It just means that they don't rack up half as many fouls."

Astoria laughed lightly, deciding on the spot to like Terrence until offered proof of some deeper villainy.

The longer Astoria stood, the more she became aware of the gentle noise of still more voices trickling out from the open tent flap and she began to wonder how many people were gathered inside.

"Of course, you won't have to worry about quidditch fouls this year," said Marcus, taking a sip of the same liquid Bertie had been drinking.

"What do you mean?" asked Astoria, curious despite herself.

"You haven't heard?" drawled Malfoy, enthusiastic to have chance to speak over Marcus, who was doing most of the talking.

"Heard what?" asked Astoria, suddenly conscious that there was a secret being discussed that she was expected to have already known about.

"Doesn't your father work for the ministry?" asked Flint.

"No," said Astoria, "he's in the private sector."

"That explains it," said Malfoy lightly.

" _Your_ father doesn't work for the ministry either, Draco," Pike pointed out.

" _My_ father gives the minister advice almost _daily_ ," said Draco snidely, his eyes flitting back toward Astoria.

George and Bertie had come through the gate. Bertie was banging a stranger on the back distractedly so George crossed the garden and put his arm around Astoria's shoulders loosely.

"I'm popping in for a bit, muffin," he said, indicating the tent behind them. Draco's sharp ears seem to catch the pet-name 'muffin' very keenly but Astoria ignored him. "Will you be here?"

"I don't know," said Astoria, thinking of how she had told the Weasley twins that she would come looking for them at some point in the day.

"If not, we'll meet at the campsite before four," said George, pulling back his sleeve to consult his watch. "Aston gets in at five and I don't know if his party is coming all at once or not."

"Alright," said Astoria, turning her head as her father kissed her hair.

"Try to stay out of the woods," George added with a shallow chuckle. "I don't want you abducted by gypsies!"

"The worst threat around _here_ is Mundungus Fletcher," said Flint, his smug smile untarnished.

" _Fletcher_?" sneered Draco skeptically, leaning back in his seat importantly. "The man is sleeping underneath his own cloak propped on twigs. How's he supposed to abduct anybody?"

"Someone told me once that old Fletcher prefers little boys anyway," said Pike, taking a disingenuous attempt at being clever.

"Fletcher? Nonsense!" said George, raising his eyebrows merrily. "If that were true, he'd dress better."

Flint's eyes sparkled with mirth.

"Four o'clock, darling," George reminded her, turning on his heel and disappearing inside the tent.

" _Muffin_?" drawled Draco ecstatically the moment George was out of sight. "Does he _always_ call you that?"

"No," said Astoria idly, leaning against the edge of the table. "What were you saying about quidditch?"

"You won't have a quidditch tournament this year," said Flint, pushing Pike's feet out of the chair across from him so that Astoria could sit down between Terrence and Draco. Terrence offered her a tumbler of Scotch that Astoria was not quick enough to refuse because Flint's words had grabbed her so thoroughly.

"Why not?" Astoria asked, taking the glass from Terrence absently, faintly appreciating how odd her company was and wondering how it was that she so often wound up in places that she did not belong, and with people that some of her housemates would actually flee from on sight.

"They're resurrecting the Triwizard tournament," said Flint wistfully. "Of course, they _would_ do it the year after I left."

"Because you'd enter otherwise?" scoffed Draco doubtfully.

"I might," said Flint. "There's a pretty penny in it for the winner, you know."

"Weasley should enter," said Malfoy cruelly. "I bet his mother would cry with joy if he brought home the prize. She probably wouldn't even mind if he lost limbs for it."

Astoria did not particularly like this kind of talk. No matter how frequently Ron had been uncomfortable and rude around her, Astoria cared very much for his brothers, Fred and George. Thankfully, the Triwizard Tournament was a thing of legend that had not taken place for hundreds of years and there was too much to discuss for Astoria to allow herself to become peevish.

"Don't people die competing?" Astoria asked, sipping the drink in her hand.

"Well, yeah," said Flint, unconcernedly. "That was hundreds of years ago though. They'll make sure that the tasks are beatable for minors- or even better, put up an age restriction so that they can keep things nice and dangerous."

"All for the best," Malfoy sneered, his arm jostling Astoria's shoulder a little as he stretched out into a perfect imitation of cocky nonchalance. Astoria wondered where Draco got off thinking it was okay to insult the relatives of people that he _knew_ she was friends with and then casually touch her. "You just _know_ if they don't, Dumbledore will find some way of letting Potter compete."

Flint snickered but Astoria, displaced in her chair and still chafing a little bit from Draco's comments about Mrs. Weasley, dared to disagree.

"Harry won't want anything to do with it," said Astoria firmly.

Pike made a low noise of amusement.

"You can take the girl out of Gryffindor tower!" taunted Flint.

"Seriously?" Malfoy sneered. "Potter has _always_ done anything he can for a bit of attention. My guess is, even if they do put up an age restriction, Potter will try to find a way around it just so he can get his picture in the paper. That's his favorite thing, isn't it? Trying to make himself more _famous_?"

"I don't know about all that," said Astoria, determined to keep her voice level, "but it seems to me that Harry ends up getting attacked by something every year without even trying. Why would he go out of his way to make _sure_ he ends up in harms way?"

"That's a fair point, actually," said Flint, tipping his head back to laugh. "He must be getting tired of being mauled all the time."

"Mauled," said Astoria, fighting a desire to laugh as well, "kidnapped, dropped from extreme heights?"

"Not to mention bitten, stabbed, pursued by dementors and beaten by trolls," said Flint, his face wide with delight.

"Don't forget the car crash," added Astoria gravely, causing Flint to positively wheeze into his glass.

"Oh, never forget the car crash!" agreed Flint.

Malfoy was scowling. Evidently, recalling Harry's many famous brushes with death was not an amusing diversion for him.

"It all depends on how they pick the champions, of course," Draco sneered. "If they choose them based on merit, Potter won't stand a chance."

"I'd put my money on Harry any day," said Astoria, partially because she _did_ think that Harry was skillful and partially because she knew the comment would aggravate Draco.

"Oh, Greengrass," moaned Flint in protest, "stop! I beg of you!"

"If half the stories are true," said Astoria, thinking of Slytherin's monster and Professor Quirrell, "then Harry would be something of an ideal candidate, wouldn't he?"

"You do love a bet, don't you?" said Flint, cringing and laughing at the same time. "Still, don't put all your eggs in Potter's basket. At least wait and see what the other schools turn out first!"

Pike laughed but Malfoy looked surly.

Astoria was surprised to find that she almost felt a little bad when Draco sucked in a breath and shifted away from her to sip his drink broodingly.

It was not the first time Astoria had been struck by this strange instinct to punish Draco for his callous comments about people she knew, but with awareness came a vague sense of regret. Astoria bit her lip and internally vowed not to go out of her way to instigate him again. No one knew how long the World Cup would last, and Astoria might very well be seeing a lot of him for a week. The best way of keeping the peace, of course, would be to slip away. Flint was in a very chatty mood however, and seemed more pleased to have found Astoria than she would ever have guessed.

When Pike declared that he was going find his parents, Astoria was nearly done with her drink and she judged this to be an excellent time to get away herself. Astoria stood up behind Pike and managed to excuse herself, using the diversion of Pike's exit and the reappearance of Bertie Higgs as a cover, certain that nobody but Draco, who she nearly had to trip over in order to get away from the table, had noticed her leaving.

The campground was more of a circus then Astoria had originally perceived and much larger as well. Furthermore, it only occurred to her after she had already lost sight of the Higgs's tent, that she did not know where _hers_ was. Astoria's father had not taken her there first, and she had no way of knowing which of the hundred thousand camps was theirs.

Astoria suffered a brief moment of panic before realizing, perhaps later than she would have done if she had not been drinking, that her father's elf Wobbles had put up their tent. Wobbles, therefore, would still know how to find the camp and she was be much easier to find than George.

Astoria summoned the elf the moment she broke free of the crowd. Wobbles, who was very old, seemed more than a little bit frightened of all the noise, so Astoria followed her as fast as she could down several winding tracks. At last, they reached a tent that her father must have borrowed, because Astoria had never seen it before in her life and came to a stop.

"Thank you, Wobbles," said Astoria as the elf held the flap open for her.

"Is you needing anything else, Miss?" asked the elf, dithering uncomfortably near the doorway.

"No, Wobbles, you head home," said Astoria, blinking her eyes to adjust to the slightly dimmer light inside.

It was a modest tent by wizarding standards. There were only two bedrooms and a largish living room, which boasted a round glossy looking table and several couches. There was one bathroom in the back. Noticeably absent was a kitchen but, Astoria noticed, there there _was_ a bar.

At a loss over what to do with herself and wanting to find the twins but too afraid of either getting lost or becoming disoriented again to try, Astoria settled for exploring her tent. She discovered which bedroom was hers at once, because her traveling bag was already in it and when it became apparent that there was nothing special about the bathroom, her tour was at an end.

Alone and bored, Astoria showered luxuriously, properly taking her time lathering and rinsing. Dressed in nothing but her towel, Astoria lay on top of her blankets and listened to the sounds of camp-life outside, wishing her father was with her instead of out socializing. At last, after lying in the semi-darkness for nearly an hour, Astoria dragged herself off the bed and dressed herself.

Astoria's hair was the light brown it always was in summer and Astoria was faintly pleased to see that, even in the gloomy tent lighting, her skin had taken on a warm tint from the sun. Astoria finished her white dress off with the highest heels she had dared to bring with her (they seemed to fit her listless, dramatic mood the best) and went out into the living room to wait. Four o'clock came and went, as Astoria knew it would, and her father had still not returned.

There was a small bookcase in the corner of the room, housing several dull volumes on birds and one excellent history dedicated to the goblin wars. Wondering idly whose tent her father had borrowed based on this odd reading selection, Astoria opened the book on goblins to a page of bloody illustrations and tried to distract herself.

At five o'clock, when she was still sitting on the living room floor alone, Astoria began to feel slightly nervous. What if her father had forgotten about her? Would she be expected to find her seat for the quidditch match by herself or would Aston Mendel make the effort to come and find her?

Five o'clock became six o'clock. As nervous as she was angry, Astoria began pacing the living room, listening to the sound her own heels made on the floor until the bar caught her eye again. Astoria sloshed something clear from one of the bottles into a glass spitefully.

She was halfway through her glass of jittery vodka when Astoria heard someone calling her name. It was not George however, but Maudlin Mendel and Astoria could tell by the way he was speaking that he was not alone. "Astoria?"

Maudlin appeared in the doorway wearing a dark evening jacket, a plum colored ascot that had been secured with a pin and velvet smoking slippers that made Astoria want to cry out with laughter. "There you are!" Maudlin went on irritably in his soft french lilt, catching sight of her on the floor. "W _here_ have you been?"

"Where have _I_ been?" Astoria shot back unreasonably. "Where have _you_ been?"

" _You_ and your father were supposed to meet us at the portkey two hours ago," said Maudlin, stepping into the living room. "Neither of you showed. I had to get your address from the man who owns the campground. It took me nearly forty minutes too, because your ministry has cursed the poor soul loopy."

"My father was supposed to collect me at four," said Astoria, sipping her vodka resentfully. "I've been wallowing around here since noon."

"Off chasing kitties, is he?" asked Maudlin sympathetically, peering at her glass. "Where did you get that?"

Astoria indicated the bar absently, privately relived to have been found, no matter what bile she might be spewing. Maudlin crossed the room at once and was superseded in the doorway by his friend Alec Hundin. Alec was dressed, if it was possible, even more outrageously than Maudlin was.

Tall, pale and lean, Alec was in possession of a shade of blonde hair that was similar to Draco's. This was where any similarity ended, however. Unlike Draco, whose features were sharp and decidedly anglo-saxon, Alec had something of a crooked face. In photographs, he often appeared faintly hideous but in real life, his expression was like a swirl of clever mercury, quickly reacting to his surroundings and absorbing his findings. The heir of an old Russian family, Alec always carried the look of winter about him. Even when he was wearing a suit made entirely of pale pink linen, as he was now, and leering suggestively.

Between the two of them, there could be no comparison; Maudlin was undoubtedly the more attractive but something about Alec always seemed to lure the eye and steal all attention away from his more physically charming friend.

"Hello, Alec," said Astoria in a clipped tone, flipping a page of her goblin book over unread. "Nice suit."

"Hello, Astoria," said Alec, matching her tone in his dangerous accent, his clear blue eyes sweeping the room. "Your tent is very small."

"Do you want something?" asked Maudlin, holding up a glass to Alec to indicate his intent. "Astoria's father's gotten himself lost somewhere and we have time before we have to meet my father."

"I'll have what she's having," said Alec, sitting down on the couch that Astoria had slunk off of hours before. "The journey across camp city was exhausting."

Astoria shut her book with a snap and stood up to return it to the shelf.

"Have you seen where the Irish are pitched?" asked Maudlin, stirring his own glass with a spoon and when no one responded, Astoria realized that he must be talking to her.

"No," said Astoria, thinking of the bright green foam hand that Bertie had been wearing earlier. "I'm going to guess there are shamrocks involved."

"Try _leprechauns_ ," said Maudlin almost scornfully, shaking his head as he handed Alec his drink. " _Awful_ things. I came prepared to support Ireland but as it is, I'm thinking of switching to Bulgaria just for the Veela."

"Bulgaria will put on a better show, anyway," said Alec, propping one patent leather foot up on his knee. "Ireland has a superb team but Bulgaria only has Krum, so they'll leave the gate fighting and stay that way until the end of the match. Veela prefer Bulgarian colors," Alec finished his sentence with a lecherous quirk of his lips.

"Do you think Bulgaria win?" asked Maudlin hopefully.

"Oh, no," breathed Alec. "Ireland will destroy them."

"I thought Krum was supposed to be excellent," said Astoria. "Isn't he world famous?"

"Ah, Krum," said Alec a little rebukingly.

"He _is_ excellent," said Maudlin,in a tone of maddening superiority. "Alec just doesn't like him because he'll be sharing a dormitory with him in the fall and he isn't keen to let anyone outshine him."

"You're leaving Beauxbatons?" asked Astoria curiously. "I didn't know Krum was still at school."

"I'm not _leaving_ Beauxbatons," replied Alec tenderly, his eyes shining humorously.

"He's been expelled," said Maudlin flatly. "They've been threatening to kick him out for years and he's finally achieved his life's purpose and made them do it. He'll be going to Durmstrang. Just like his father _always_ wanted."

Alec pulled a rare face at this mention of his father, uncrossed his legs and said, "Of course it doesn't really matter what school will have me. Not with the tournament in play this year. With any luck, I'll spend less than two months actually on the Durmstrang grounds."

"Do Beauxbatons and Durmstrang both play in the Triwizard Tournament?" asked Astoria. "I've only just heard the news this afternoon."

"Both schools play, but the tournament itself will be staged at Hogwarts," said Maudlin mildly. "I was hoping you wouldn't have heard. I thought we could surprise you."

"My old gambling buddy Marcus Flint and Lucius's son, Draco were both talking about it earlier. They didn't seem to think it was a very well kept secret."

"Lucius _Malfoy's_ son?" asked Alec with faint interest, recognizing the name. "What's _he_ like? Will he be old enough to enter?"

"That depends on how old you have to be to enter," said Astoria doubtfully. "Draco is my age."

"He won't be able to play then," said Alec, dismissing Draco's potential threat as a school champion. "They'll be setting an age limit. Students have to be of legal age to enter."

"Can you imagine if Alec and I were both chosen as champions?" asked Maudlin, grinning wistfully. "It could happen too, now that we're both going to different schools, you know."

Astoria, who had not yet made this connection, was suddenly alive to the unfortunate fact that Maudlin would very likely be chosen for the pool of selected students to be put forth as potential champions. This might very well mean she would have to spend an entire year with him at Hogwarts, on her home turf, and this was a very sobering fact indeed.

"You?" Astoria asked skeptically, trying to keep her unflattering thoughts from showing.

"Why not?" asked Maudlin, his face darkening considerably at Astoria's expression. "You don't think I'm clever enough to play?"

"No," said Astoria, backtracking, "no, of course you are. It's just-" Astoria paused, trying to cover up her discomfort by looking worried. "Well, champions sometimes get hurt don't they?"

Maudlin studied her. Astoria carefully kept her look of doubt mixed with bizarre resentment buried. In truth, Astoria did _not_ think that Maudlin would make much of a tournament champion and she really wished he would just stay in France where he belonged.

It wasn't that Maudlin was not smart per say- he was certainly well educated- it was just that Maudlin was a creature of comfort in every way; he would always enjoy eating and drinking and theater over exercise, no matter how much he might protest otherwise. Astoria did not picture him faring well if he were tossed into the ring of a dangerous and violent sport.

Alec, on the other hand, might prove something of an adept under similar circumstances. There was always something about _his_ look that suggested he might savor violence.

"Yes, well," Maudlin sniffed, "they wouldn't hold the tournament at all if it wasn't safe. It's not the dark ages anymore."

"Still, Hogwarts will be interesting," Alec reflected. "People certainly do talk about it. We'll have you as a native guide, Astoria. You can be our ticket to the inside."

Alec smirked at her wickedly.

"I suppose," said Astoria uncomfortably. "To be honest, I only like a handful of people at school and I do my best to avoid the rest."

"Then I'm sure I'll avoid them with you," said Alec smoothly.

"None of of that, Alec," said Maudlin sternly.

Astoria was certain that Alec was only joking, but Maudlin had an annoying habit of becoming very big brotherly whenever the opportunity presented itself.

"We should start walking toward the woods," said Alec, peering out of the tent flap. It was just beginning to get dark outside and the game was supposed to begin just after sunset.

Astoria finished her drink, her stomach growling because she had not eaten since breakfast, and followed them outside the tent.

They joined the surging crowd that was working its way toward a singular path, leading though a field of vendors before it cut through the trees. Fairy lights were hanging in the lowest branches, illuminating the slightly treacherous pathway.

"Hi, Astoria!" called Ernie Macmillian as he went past with his father, his plump face wide with excitement.

Astoria waved at him, distracted by the trees roots beneath her feet, afraid she would topple over them in her heels.

The entrance to the stadium was split to admit guests who were headed for different levels. Astoria, who did not have any idea where she was going, opted to follow Maudlin.

They reached a ticket check and were then promptly ushered through he gate into a hallway, lushly carpeted and lit by a strange golden glow that did not seem come from any recognizable source.

Up, up, up they went, passing the nosebleed seats where people were jammed in without chairs and then individual boxes. These boxes became smaller and smaller the higher they climbed.

Maudlin dithered on the second to last story, apparently trying to decide what way they should turn, when familiar voices distracted him.

"Father!" he called out, pivoting so that they could enter the correct box.

Aston was already in his seat and talking to a tiny and rickety, (although very animated) man with strangely patchy facial hair.

"Ah," said Aston, looking up and making eye contact with Maudlin while continuing to nod along to whatever it was that the small man next to him was saying.

Maudlin pushed into his seat so that Astoria and Alec could file past him. They were not the only ones in this particular box. A swift glance told Astoria that they were sharing space with Mr. MacLaggen, his wife, and Cormac. Astoria's father however, continued to be conspicuously absent.

"Astoria!" said Cormac, pushing up in his seat, evidently surprised to see her. "I didn't know that you were sitting here!"

"Hello, Cormac," said Astoria, settling down in her chair and arranging the skirt of her dress so that it would not bundle up behind her. She hoped that Cormac would not try to chat with her, especially not now, when she would much rather admire the field below them in awed silence.

Alec slung himself into a seat beside Astoria, his long and loose limbs taking up the width of the aisle. Alec immediately proceeded to pat down the upper portion his linen pants. He withdrew a gold zippo lighter and transferred it to his breast pocket. Then, his eyes caught on Cormac.

"Only in England," Alec leered, looking privately amused. "Is this one of the few people that you _do_ like at Hogwarts, Astoria?"

"What do you think?" asked Astoria smilingly, knowing that this would answer Alec's question precisely as he had meant it, without any need for being outwardly rude.

"Is your father here?" puzzled Cormac, looking about for George's very familiar face. George and Cormac's father had just settled a patent case together and they got on quite well, considering the last time Astoria had seen them together, Astoria's father had ended the evening very cozy and alone with Mr. Maclaggen's wife.

"Presumably," said Astoria, doing a poor job of keeping the bitter edge out of her voice.

"Father, did you know George Greengrass is here?" asked Cormac, turning toward his dad.

A loud voice, emanating from somewhere just above their heads, made Cormac fall silent.

"That'll be Bagman, will it?" asked Aston, with something of a sly grin. "I've always said the British do a queer job of electing their heads of office- still, you'll never meet with a more enthusiastic man, will you?"

Aston had a rare way of being slightly scornful without ever causing offense that Astoria greatly admired. The small man Aston was sitting next to evidently thought the same, because he launched into a lengthy agreement with Aston's statement. Astoria's eyes went back to the field as Bagman announced the members of the Irish National Quidditch team.

The Irish players did not fly like any students Astoria had ever seen play at Hogwarts. There was a dazzling, fluid speed to their movements that made Astoria feel simultaneously dizzy and envious.

After a brief display involving leprechauns and fake gold, Bagman announced the Bulgarians.

The stands, which had heartily applauded each member of the Irish team, now positively stomped as Krum took the field. Astoria narrowed her eyes, trying to make out his features. Krum was not as small as she had imagined he would be. In fact, Krum was much larger than seekers typically were, but there was undoubtedly a grace to him on his broom.

When the Veela began to perform, the Mendels and Alec were all quick enough to put fingers to their ears to avoid being enticed by their siren song. Cormac was not so prepared however and Astoria continued to snicker long after Cormac had been pulled down off the side of the box by his laughing father.

The game itself was hard to watch. Each player was world-class talented and equipped with a Firebolt, so everything moved very quickly. Astoria rapidly began to loose track of who was in possession of the Quaffle and the muscles around her eyes began to ache from trying to follow the tiny red and green dots.

Somebody scored and Alec let out a long breath. "You can't even tell which _team_ they play for."

"Yes, you can," said Maudlin sharply, his eyes following the match intently, "by uniform color and the size of the player."

Alec, who was much less of a sports fan than Maudlin was, began to poke a tendril of Astoria's hair in a way that was so obviously calculated to be pestering that Astoria had to conceal an amused grin. Maudlin, distracted by the match, did not notice or voice a protest against their foolishness.

"I'm going to walk about," said Alec. "The vendors are selling binoculars."

Astoria understood that what Alec was really looking for was chance to stretch his legs. This sounded like a good idea to her as well, so Astoria volunteered to go with him. Maudlin waved them both by without budging an inch, obviously considering them both crazy for taking their eyes off the sky for even a second.

Outside the doors to their box was a railing-bordered walkway that led out and cut along their circuit of boxes. Astoria followed Alec onto it, gasping for breath as she took in their dizzying height. Alec cast his eyes downward lazily, apparently feeling none of Astoria's vertigo, because the hundreds of feet separating them from the grass did not seem to frighten him at all.

They looped along until they were directly behind the goal hoops. One of the Irish chasers (Astoria could tell this time, because the keeper was in Bulgarian red) scored a goal with a ball that fell short of their railing by less than twelve feet. Astoria flinched and clasped her hands over her mouth as Alec roared with laughter at the look on her face.

"Astoria!" yelled someone happily. "Oy!"

Astoria turned about and spotted Fred and George Weasley, stuffed into a row between the rest of their siblings and waving at her enthusiastically.

Astoria held the train of her skirt close to her thighs as the breeze from the Irish Chaser rocketing by hit them. Then, she started up the steps towards Fred and George.

"We looked for you all day!" said Fred, hanging over the banister.

"I know, I'm sorry!" said Astoria. "This camp is huge."

"What plot are you on?" asked George hurriedly, scooting forward as well.

"I'm not sure," said Astoria, blinking in surprise as she took in the rest of the company in the Weasleys box. "Are you sitting with the _Minister_?"

"Why, _yes_ ," said George in his fanciest accent. "Ludo got dad the tickets. Isn't this mad?"

It _was_ , particularly because just behind the twins sat Draco, Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy.

Draco had turned away from the match to watch her approach, but he seemed unwilling to lean over the Weasleys in order to speak to her in front of both of his parents.

The echoing commentary seemed to be coming from the twins box as well and Astoria guessed that a portly man nearby in yellow and black striped robes must be none other than Ludo Bagman himself. Fudge clapped politely beside the megaphone as the Irish scored yet again.

Alec came up behind Astoria with his hands in his pockets, slouching. Fred and George both examined Alec curiously, evidently wondering why Astoria was strolling about with anyone who would wear so much pink.

"Look for us later!" said Fred. "There's loads of us, so we shouldn't be hard to spot."

"Alec?" interrupted a very rough, eager voice.

Alec glanced about before brightening with recognition. A man wearing long, very regal black robes was making eyes at them. This well dressed man swept past Fudge and shook hands with Alec over the side of the banister, smiling widely. Alec and the stranger then began a fast conversation in rapid Bulgarian until Alec noticed Astoria staring and swiftly introduced her.

"Astoria, this is the Bulgarian Minister, Mr. Oblanski," said Alec, moving out of the way so that Astoria could draw nearer. "He and my father were in school together."

Astoria curtsied to Mr. Oblanski, wondering if he didn't look rather familiar.

"I'm sorry," said Astoria, smiling uncomfortably because she could not understand a word of what Mr. Oblanski was saying. "Alec, could you tell Mr. Oblanski that his robes are fantastic?"

Alec did as she said and Astoria was surprised to see that both Alec and Mr. Oblanski seemed to be smirking at each other. Mr. Oblanski indicated something behind him and then mimed the act of eating. Alec laughed boisterously and Mr. Oblanski bowed in Astoria's direction kindly.

"He says thank you," said Alec, but Astoria knew this could not have been all that Mr. Oblanski had said, especially because Alec was still grinning at their private joke.

All of their movement seemed to have caught Fudge's attention. A second later Fudge _too,_ was leaning precariously over the railing to understand the cause of the commotion.

"Ah," said Fudge, his eyes dancing over Alec dismissively and landing most peculiarly on Astoria, "but haven't I met you before?"

Astoria curtsied to him as well and smiled in his direction as generously as she had in Mr. Oblanski's. "Yes, at Hogwarts. My name is Astoria."

"I see, I see. _Astoria_! Yes, I remember now- I met you when I came to the grounds with Lucius," said Fudge in an almost fatherly tone, pushing up onto the balls of his feet. "Your friend speaks Bulgarian, does he? Would you mind asking him to ask the Bulgarian Minister what player he would like the cup handed over to, in the off chance that the Bulgarians win? Nobody seems to speak a lick of English and Barty must have been pulled into a mess somewhere back at the camp- bless the man!"

"Oh," said Astoria, torn between surprise that Fudge somehow remembered having met her before and wondering if he was being rather rude to Mr. Oblanski. Guessing that Mr. Oblanski's foreignness was the cause of Fudge's discomfort and nothing worse, Astoria turned toward Alec awkwardly.

Alec had already overhead this conversation however, because he immediately began speaking to Oblanski in a delighted, snickering tone.

"He says to hand the cup to Krum," said Alec, his amused smirk as unswerving as his English.

"Oh," said Fudge wearily, " _you_ speak English _too_ , do you?" Fudge threw his eyes up toward the heavens.

Draco Malfoy was leaning nosily around Fred Weasley now, perhaps judging that Astoria had caused enough of a scene for him to openly spy.

Fred and George were both repressing laughter.

"What?" whispered Astoria.

"Only _you_ go for a stroll and wind up having the magical leaders of two countries dangling over a railing to talk to you," said Fred.

"Give it a rest, why don't you?" added George, chuckling. "You make the rest of us look bad!"

Astoria lightly slapped his arm and retreated toward Alec, who was saying goodbye to Mr. Oblanski. Astoria curtsied to Oblanski a second time, eager to get back to her seat and away from the stress that the Malfoys and the various other political officials in their box were causing her.

"You seem amused," Astoria commented as she and Alec started back down the walkway. "Is Mr. Oblanski so hilarious?"

"Quite hilarious," said Alec with a grin, " _and_ of course, absolutely fluent in English..."

It was Astoria's turn to laugh.

"That took you long enough," said Maudlin as they climbed the stairs to their seats. "Where are your binoculars?"

"We ran into Mr. Oblanski of Bulgaria," said Alec, "who is winning?"

"The Irish," said Maudlin at once, "by more than two hundred-" he broke off as Krum went into a steep, lethal looking dive. Astoria turned, following the same spectacle with her eyes. The Irish seeker Lynch dipped and tried to follow him.

"Oh, _no_!" Maudlin groaned. "Don't dive! Stay in the air! You're up by two hundred and sixty points!"

Astoria understood what Maudlin had meant as Lynch was flattened by the grassy field and then promptly buried beneath the stampeding Veela below. Krum, bleeding profusely, rose upward clutching the snitch but it did not seem to matter. Ireland's seeker might be dead, but the Irish had most certainly won the match.

0o0

* * *

A couple of new characters here! I've mentioned them on and off (particularly the Mendels) but you'll probably be seeing Maudlin and Alec again come Triwizard time, so I thought now was a good chance to introduce them.

I'll have part two up soon. Maudlin and Alec have to go home but honestly, between the Dark Mark, the Death Eater riot and a lot of Draco-plot, part two was much more fun to write! In any case, I should have it posted by tomorrow because I'll be super busy this weekend and I really want both parts up before friday takes over! (There is a secret chance I may even post it tonight!)

Reviews are always such a treat to read!


	31. The World Cup Pt 2

Chapter Thirty One

The World Cup Pt. Two

* * *

0o0

"What a fool!" scoffed Maudlin, still peering distastefully down at Lynch. "He didn't need to chase the snitch at all! He'll be regretting that when they have to sew him back together!"

Astoria looked around, but there was still no sign of her father. Boxes to the left and right were starting to let out into the walkway. She no longer knew if she should be supremely annoyed or worried by his continued absence. Perhaps he was somewhere else in the crowd and she might manage to spot him now that everybody was standing?

Either way, the match was over and Astoria really needed to decide what to do next. Maudlin turned to look at the top box (where Ludo Bagman was announcing the Irish team members between waves of applause) but Astoria continued to search the crowded walkways.

Pretty soon, Troy and Quigley of the Irish team had taken hold of the cup. They began their own decent on brooms and the crowd broke loose, surging back onto the stairs.

"Astoria!" called Maudlin, trying to make her follow him.

"Hang on," Astoria muttered. She had just spotted a dark, familiar head of hair. "I'll be right back."

Ducking and weaving, she managed to reach the balcony-like walkway again. Two teenagers shuffled past and then, sure enough, she spotted her father and the McLaggens. George was laughing freely—as though he had _not_ forgotten about his teenage daughter for an entire day at a public venue—while Mr. McLaggen told jokes.

"Father!" exhaled Astoria shrilly.

"Darling!" called George, putting his arm around her. "I've only just gotten here—this match must have broken the record! I've never heard of one finishing so quickly!"

Astoria tried not to wonder where her father had been. Not with Mr. McLaggen—she'd seen _him_ climbing the stands...

"Just under thirty minutes!" agreed McLaggen, not noticing the flustered look on his wife's face. "You missed a show nonetheless, George! The mascots got into a feud."

"Father, could I talk to you for just a—" Astoria was cut off, jostled aside by two curly haired witches trying to gain access to the stairs.

"Yes, darling, of course," George conceded, trying to wave off McLaggen. Unfortunately, at that exact moment, they were joined by Bertie Higgs, Cornelius Fudge and Lucius Malfoy. Astoria was obliged to step back.

"One moment, Astoria!" called George, holding up a finger to indicate that she should wait. "Stay there!"

Feeling restless, Astoria leaned back against the railing. A cheap sensation of relief was beginning to overwhelm the bitterness that she could feel curdling in her gut. She took a deep breath and tried to reclaim her optimism. The night was a warm one and there was a soft breeze coming off the field. She had located her Father. With any luck, she would not lose him again. There was nothing wrong with the world; her basic needs were once again being met.

"So, that was Mendel, was it?" drawled a scathing voice beside her.

Draco Malfoy, free of both his mother and father's attention, had slipped through a gap in the crowd unseen.

"You know," he continued, looking unduly smug as he leaned against the railing beside her, "he _almost_ looks like me? Of course, I don't wear pink and I've never run headfirst into a wall with my face, but other than _that_ —"

Astoria laughed heartily. This was a truthful, if unkind, comparison of Draco and Alec's features, but the fact that Malfoy had bothered to weigh his own looks against Alec-the-false-Maudlin at all was what really struck Astoria as hilarious.

"I suppose he _is_ a little crooked," she allowed, still chortling. " That _wasn't_ Maudlin, though. That was his friend, Alec."

"Oh?" scoffed Malfoy. He peered through the crowd, hoping to catch a second glimpse. "Well, you should tell Mendel to buy his _friend_ a mirror. It would save them both some embarrassment."

"Alec's father is Aleksander Hundin," replied Astoria shortly. "He can afford his _own_ mirrors."

" _That_ was Aleksander Hundin's son?" sneered Draco disbelievingly, torn between annoyance and surprise as he registered this familiar surname.

Alec's family, although slightly less rich than Maudlin's—or Draco's for that matter—had a decidedly dark reputation. There was some exciting dispute about his being related to Rasputin, but Astoria never asked if this was actually true. What she _did_ know for a fact was that Alec's father was well-known for his cruelty. The Hundin name was recognized throughout most of wizarding Europe—but only because it was tied to some of the dirtiest deals and foulest manipulations that had never been proven by a court system.

Alec and Maudlin had been best friends ever since their very first day at Beauxbatons, but from what Astoria had managed to gather over the years, there was no love lost between Alec his own father. She knew that he had broken tradition by going to school in France; that Maudlin had even once gone so far as to suggest that _he_ thought this was because Aleksander preferred to keep his son at a distance. Within his group of friends, the Hundins' father-son fights were the stuff of whispered legend.

"I _know_ ," agreed Astoria delightedly, reading the look on Draco's face, "but don't let all the pink fool you. He really is a proper psycho."

"What do you think went _wrong_ there?" Malfoy sneered, clearly deciding that Alec's last name was not enough to acquit him of crimes involving pink linen. " _That_ must be why he knew the Bulgarian Minister, though. I wondered..."

Draco broke off to allow Astoria's father to push in next to them.

"Darling, I'm so sorry," breathed George, finally released from Bertie's orbit.

Astoria bit her lip tensely, all too aware of the way Draco's grey eyes were turned alertly onto her father.

George, meanwhile, was scrambling for things to say: "You found your seating alright? Is Aston still here? Will they be staying?"

"I don't know," murmured Astoria, trying not to let herself become angry in front of Malfoy. She did not want to to arm him with any knowledge about how pathetic her family was, afraid he would use it against her later. "Where _were_ you all afternoon?"

"Everywhere and nowhere," chortled George, and he looked as though he meant it. "Couldn't walk five feet without running into somebody who needed something."

"But where will you be tonight?" persisted Astoria pointedly, wanting to make sure George did not slip away from her again. "If Aston is leaving, I'll come find you—"

"Oh, no need for that!" frowned George carelessly. "Do whatever you like—the place is crawling with security."

"Higgs' probably won't stop until dawn," remarked Draco in an offhand voice.

If Draco had meant this as a hint about where Astoria might find her father later, it was not a very good one. George did not like to stay in one place for very long. In fact, the only thing this bit of information _really_ told her was were Draco and Flint would be as the night wore on.

"You remember where we're camped, don't you?" asked George.

"Yes," hissed Astoria, biting back anger. Her father hadn't even bothered to show her were their tent was...

"Yes, alright then," continued George distractedly, gazing over her shoulder at something else. "Enjoy yourself, sweetheart. Let me know where you are staying—"

"Where _else_ would I be staying?" asked Astoria hotly, knowing that her father was not paying attention.

This was precisely the sort of thing that made Belladonna dislike sending Astoria off with her father and she suffered a pang of sadness realizing it.

Meanwhile, Lucius Malfoy had finished with Bertie Higgs and was looking about for his son. Astoria felt Draco melt away beside her. She waited until he was out of earshot before continuing.

" _How_ will I even be able to tell you if I'm staying somewhere else?" Astoria hissed, feeling much freer now that it was just the two of them. "We don't have a meeting place!"

George blinked balefully but Bertie, now done with Lucius, swept back in. Astoria gave up and started back toward where she had left Maudlin angrily, hoping that he too had not up and left her.

The entire Mendel party was still gathered outside of their box, evidentially debating their own plan for the evening.

"Were you talking to your father?" asked Maudlin the moment Astoria had rejoined them.

"Yes," said Astoria flatly.

"Good," said Aston, stopping mid-sentence to peer at Astoria face, perhaps catching a flash of her unhappiness. Astoria rearranged her features because Aston knew her father of old and had never been overly fond of him.

Aston had been one of her mother's oldest friends after all, and Astoria did not want to upset Aston or trouble him with George's careless parenting. She suspected that he guessed too much about it already, and she was afraid of how deep Aston's indigence might strike if he knew just how scattered her plan for the night was. "We were just discussing Portkeys," said Aston at last.

"It's too bad the match was so short!" Maudlin complained bitterly. "I'd like to stay. I know Alec would as well, but the last portkey back to the continent is in an hour and if we miss it, we'll have to stay until tomorrow evening to catch another."

"I'd rather stay until tomorrow night, personally," said Alec. "We'll miss all the celebrating if we go now."

"But father wants to be back before the morning," Maudlin groused. "He doesn't want to deal with the rush. Frankly, I'm not sure I do either if it's as bad as we think it will be."

Aston was gazing at Astoria, perhaps trying to decide how she felt about all of this. "Will you be angry with us for leaving?" Aston asked, his tone light but his eyes surprisingly shadowed.

With a pang of embarrassment, Astoria realized that this was Aston's thinly veiled way of asking if Astoria was secretly counting on them for some kind of security.

"Never," said Astoria pleasantly. "I'm starving. I'll probably eat and go to bed. The morning is bound to be mad."

This settled the matter.

Astoria walked with them halfway to the Portkey station. At Aston's insistence, they stopped at cart selling various meat pies and curried chicken on skewers, where he graciously bought Astoria dinner.

Astoria was more thankful for this than Aston ever could have known. When Astoria had left her aunt's house that morning, she had thoroughly taken for granted the fact that she would be traveling with her father and had therefore not thought to pack any of her own money. This was a mistake she would not make again because, without Aston's kindness, Astoria very likely would have gone to bed hungry.

After a hasty dinner, Alec and the Mendels were obligated to make a dash for the portkey before it left without them. Astoria watched them go, finishing off the end of her chicken, thinking that for all of the complaining Maudlin was capable of doing about how much his father expected of him, he did not realize a good thing when he had it.

Astoria made the trip back across the campsite with surprising ease. Between the lights coming from the tents that she passed and the various celebratory fires, there was more than enough illumination to comfortably guide her.

Her own tent was lit by only a single lamp. Astoria kicked off her heels upon entering and threw herself onto her bed, leaving the door to the living room open for light. Outside, she could still hear the sounds of witches and wizards going past quite regularly. Someone in the distance was singing and the more Astoria listened, the more she began to find the noise of so many foreign lives slightly comforting.

Surely there were places to be and rowdy parties to be attending, but Astoria did not feel like putting forth the effort to find them. Between the scotch she had been fed by Terrence Higgs, the vodka she had drunk on her own and the heavily seasoned chicken, Astoria was actually beginning to feel rather sleepy. Her feet hurt from climbing so many stairs and navigating so many paths in heels. Astoria had managed to see herself through the night without any real disaster, why tempt fate further? Overall, the match had been a success, even if it had been short lived...

Astoria did not know how long she had been asleep when she was roused by the sound of screaming in the distance. For a moment, Astoria lay in the dark puzzling over this. _You're at the World Cup,_ Astoria reminded herself, scrambling about the corners of her brain to make sense of her foreign bedroom. This still could not explain the screaming outside her window.

The longer Astoria adjusted to wakefulness, the more a feeling of dread began to creep over her. Astoria hastily scrambled off her bed and back toward the living room in a state of disorientation.

"Dad?" Astoria called out unsurely, wondering what time it was. "Father, are you here?"

There was no response. Astoria stumbled over the book on Goblins she had been reading earlier and cursed at the sudden pain in her toes, searching blindly for her shoes.

The easiest pair to locate were the heels that she had worn earlier. They were not particularly practical footwear, but Astoria was so anxious to have a look outside that she hastily put them on anyway.

The campsite was a blur of panic and strange light outside her tent. People were running in the direction of the woods, tripping and staggering in their haste. The noise that had woken Astoria had indeed been the sound of many people screaming. Astoria swiveled about in shock, peering at the source of the strange fiery glow and shivering in the chilly night air.

Perhaps a hundred feet away, several tents were smoking. Beyond that, Astoria could just make out what looked like a pack of marching wizards in the darkness. They appeared to be masked and cloaked, so none of their faces were recognizable. The most confusing aspect was also the most horrifying, as a little boy running past with his mother, stopped and pointed out for her.

"Tops!" the little boy shouted. "Look, mommy! Tops!"

When Astoria realized what this child was pointing at, she felt some of her numb puzzlement begin to turn into real fear.

There were _people_ in the air, suspended above the marching wizards heads. Even from a distance, Astoria could almost see what the little boy had meant, because each of the suspended figures appeared to be spinning like a top.

A tent, this time a bit closer to Astoria, went up in flames. This new blaze illuminated the spinning shapes in the air and Astoria recognized one of them as the muggle campground owner.

This was all Astoria needed to see to take off running after the little boy and his mother. There was nothing in Astoria's tent that was priceless or could not be replaced, so Astoria felt no urge to rifle about for anything before abandoning ship.

Astoria kept moving, focusing mainly on her clumsy heels until she reached the edge of the woods. The moment she had barreled under the branches of the treetops, she made the familiar groping motion toward her pocket for her wand only to have her fingers scrabble aimlessly against the side of her dress.

What had hitherto been real nervousness suddenly became true panic, because Astoria's dress did not _have_ pockets. In a moment of sparkling clarity, Astoria understood that she had not had her wand with her since she had changed into her dress that afternoon.

The realization that was entirely alone and unarmed in a dark forest only feet away from a violent hate crime was nearly enough to undo her. Not only was Astoria unable to conjure even a simple lumos charm so that she could see, she also had no way of defending herself in the shadowy chaos that lay before her.

Bodies knocked against her, pushing her deeper past the tree line. Astoria staggered blindly, trying to see the ground and keep moving at the same time. She could hear the sound of screaming all around her, but Astoria could not see far enough in front of her own face to recognize any of the darting shapes. The sound of her hurried breathing seemed to be filling her ears like static.

"Oof!"

Someone running as fast as they could had hit her hard from behind. Astoria stumbled forward but instead of landing on even ground, her foot caught on a tree root and she barely had time to put up her arms before she fell face forward onto the gnarled track. A sharp pain in her knee told her it was bleeding and she could taste dirt on her mouth. Astoria muttered weakly, working about with her hands, trying to find something to grab hold of.

"Astoria?" demanded a snide, disbelieving voice. "Is that you?"

"Draco?" Astoria gasped desperately, unsure if it was scorn for Draco's connection to the scene by the tents that made her speak so loudly, or the sheer and unadulterated relief she felt at the sound of his familiar voice.

"Did you trip on the tree root?" Draco demanded. "Why isn't your wand lit?"

"Because I don't _have_ my wand," Astoria bit out, trying not to sound as terrified as she felt. "Malfoy, where _are_ you?"

This last sentence came out of her mouth as such a shaky plea for help that Draco lit his wand, holding the light between his fingers so as not to draw attention to his spot under a nearby oak tree. "Seriously?" said Malfoy, taking in the sight of her, tangled up on the ground. "I just watched Weasley fall on that same root a second ago-"

Astoria winced, looking at the cut on her knee. It was not deep. She pulled herself to her feet just in time to get out of the way. A pack of muttering goblins was creepily scuttling along without any light, their small, cunning bodies more adept at navigating in the darkness than Astoria was. One of them turned to look at her, his coal dark eyes glistening in the light of Draco's muted lumos spell.

Draco watched them nervously, not liking the look of their small fidgety forms one bit. Astoria quickly scrambled towards Draco before he could put out the light at the tip of his wand, grabbing hold of his arm to keep herself stable in her shoes.

"Nox," Draco muttered at once and Astoria knew she had been right in thinking that the the rogue goblins had unnerved him more than the scene back in the field possibly could.

Still, if the goblins had not needed light to see the path in the first place, Astoria seriously doubted that Draco extinguishing his wand would be enough to hide them.

Malfoy took a step backwards toward the trunk of the tree he had been standing under and Astoria, still clutching his arm, fell forward after him.

"Why don't you have your wand?" continued Malfoy rudely, perhaps beginning to fully appreciate Astoria's plight.

"I didn't realize that I didn't have it," said Astoria a little unkindly. "I forgot that my dress didn't have pockets and I fell asleep... it was disorienting. What's going on?"

Malfoy snorted and turned her so that she could see through a gap in the trees. Astoria reluctantly let go of his arm as she turned, privately terrified of losing him in the darkness.

"Are they just attacking muggles?" asked Astoria at last, in a low voice.

Draco did not respond.

Astoria let out a ghost of a breath and felt about behind her, suddenly irrationally afraid of losing yet another person that night. "Draco?!"

"Shhh," Draco hissed, grabbing hold of her arm to keep her from knocking him in the face. He pulled her a few inches closer to him and further away from the path. Astoria tangled a hand in his dark sports coat as a precaution, anchoring him in place.

Out of the corner of her eye, Astoria saw that there was a wand lit through the bushes and she understood that Draco was trying to keep his relative position unknown to passerby. It was almost impressive that he had even managed to recognize Astoria by her voice in the dark when she had fallen because Draco had truly chosen his hiding spot well.

"Are you actually _scared_?" drawled Draco almost gleefully once the foreign wand-light had passed by. His eyes flicked down to her hand where it was grabbing at his coat and his face flushed with undue smugness. "It's just muggles they want, Astoria. They wouldn't do anything to you."

"It sure _looks_ like they're blowing things up at random," said Astoria tartly, wincing as another fire went up in the clearing.

"They're not," said Draco, dismissing this notion with a maddeningly nonchalant shrug. "Although, I suppose wouldn't want to be Granger, caught wand-less on a night like tonight."

Astoria swallowed hard. If one of the Weasleys had just tripped on the same tree root that she had fallen over, then perhaps they were still nearby? Fred and George would make safe allies only _they_ would be very unlikely to take joy in the situation.

Still, Astoria wasn't sure she wanted to risk finding the twins alone while she was unarmed in such darkness. Astoria chafed at Draco's casual attitude towards the violence at the campsite, but she was not quite fool enough to view running into him as a bad thing. Draco had his wand after all, and a terribly calculating part of Astoria's mind was urging her to remember that Draco's father was probably one of the men in masks. Tactically, anywhere near Draco was probably the safest place she could be.

Astoria let go of Draco and pulled a little further away from him to wipe dirt off of her dress, feeling very conflicted. If _only_ she had her wand. _How_ had she been so stupid as to forget something so essential?

Sniffling slightly, Astoria wrapped her arms tightly around her chest. Now that her initial terror had worn off, she was becoming distinctly more aware of the chill in the dewy air. The sound of yet another explosion made her flinch and she caught a swift glimpse of her scuffed kneecap in the brief light.

Draco was watching her quietly, distracted from his former pursuit of keeping an eye on what was happening across the campsite. "There's nothing to be afraid of," he insisted again, almost complacently. "Not with _me_ here, at least."

Astoria snorted and then regretted it almost immediately.

"What? You really think any of those wizards would give me an ounce of trouble?" demanded Draco tensely, a hard edge to his voice. "They _know_ who my father is- they wouldn't dare."

Draco clearly wanted to hear her agree with him or to express some kind of gratitude at having him for a savior, but Astoria could not quite bring herself to do it. Instead, Astoria turned her eyes on Draco and fixed him with a look, dimly aware that this was the same trick she often used with her father when she wanted him to feel guilty about something but she knew that his mind was already made up.

Draco stared back at her, more affected by this little guilt-manipulation than her father had ever been. Had there been enough light to tell for sure, Astoria suspected she would have seen him blush and she knew that he felt her dissatisfaction keenly.

"Fine," snapped Draco resentfully, his tone extra nasty to make up for the exposed look she had just seen on his face. "If that's what you think, why don't you just go hide with the Ministry lot? I don't know _what_ you're hanging around me for."

Astoria sniffled again, not wanting to fight with Draco or worse- tempt him into to leaving her alone in the dark. It was bad enough having lost a parent and her wand already, Astoria really did not want to lose her only ally in so many miles of unlit woods.

"You're just mad at me because your father _ditched_ you, anyway," Draco went on when Astoria still had not responded, mistaking her silence for scorn and taking a cruelly accurate stab at what he had gathered from Astoria's conversation with George because of it. "It's not _my_ fault that you're all alone without a wand, you know!"

Normally this would have provoked Astoria to near wrath but because of the screaming in the distance, the stinging truth of Draco's words and the ominous shadow of the dark trees, Astoria suddenly felt very exposed and pathetic. The back of her throat ached with the desire to curl up and cry.

Astoria had a feeling that the most dignified thing to do would be to leave Draco and try to find her way along the path by herself, but all of the fight seemed to have gone out of her. She could feel a tremor in her chin, a sure promise of tears. The pain in her knee seemed to triple in sympathy.

"Just stop," said Astoria, surprised that she was able to make her voice came out sounding exasperated instead of tear-baited.

"Or what?" sneered Malfoy in an oddly nasal voice. "Are you going to cry on me?"

Astoria pushed him. There was no Crabbe or Goyle to stop her and because it was very dark, he had not seen it coming. Draco staggered back a step into an oak tree and a flash of something bizarrely wounded and furious crossed his face. A sense of dread steadied Astoria's quivering lip almost immediately.

"Oh, _that's_ rich," sneered Draco in a voice that was suddenly almost as shaky as Astoria's and contained a promise of a total abandonment of sense.

Astoria turned, deciding to brave the forest after all, desperate to get away from whatever it was that she had just started.

"You walk around pretending that you're so _innocent_ ," Malfoy shouted, no longer caring if anyone on the path heard him because of it. "You think people don't know about your mother?"

Astoria froze, dreading what was coming, paralyzed by fear and self-disgust.

Astoria opened her mouth, willing to beg him to stop before he said something destructive, but Draco was too quick for her.

"She's not dead, is she?" Draco sneered knowingly. "That's a lie. She's in Azkaban and you _know_ it. If she were here right now, she'd probably be out there _with_ my father-"

There were a million insults that Astoria might have reached for but her own desperation seemed to have washed her clean of any reason or shame. Astoria pushed Draco again, this time harder and Astoria almost had to wonder at his lack of resistance because the gnarled tree behind him looked like it must hurt.

"I mean, she _was_ a death eater, wasn't she?" Draco sneered, his wand all but forgotten despite the fact that he had now been struck twice. "I don't know how you thought you could hide it. Both of your uncles were- I'm almost _embarrassed_ by how long took me to realize."

Astoria pushed him a third time, this time with more feeling than actual force because her arms felt like jello. Between being goaded about her father's negligence and this dropping of secrets about her mother (perhaps Astoria's darkest) as though they meant nothing, Astoria had nothing left inside her but a clean longing to cause Malfoy as much physical pain as possible.

"I've always thought there was _something_ oddly punishing about you," spat Malfoy almost feverishly, grabbing Astoria's hand to keep her from hitting him again. "That's what you like, isn't it? Making people suffer just so you can be in control?"

Astoria was suddenly afraid that she might murder him. If he had been talking the same way where they could be overheard by people she knew or Astoria had had her wand, the threat might have been real. Astoria had never understood Belladonna's hatred for men so well as she did at that exact moment. _Why_ couldn't Draco ever leave it alone? What did he care _what_ Astoria thought about about the Death Eaters at the camp or her parents or any of it? Couldn't he see that she was about six inches away from ripping his throat out?

"Of course, I didn't realize that your problem wasn't just with your mother-" Draco went on recklessly, sensing that he had found her emotional jugular, "-it's with your father, as well, isn't it? Is it rare for him to leave you places and forget about you- or does he do that often?"

Astoria wrenched her hand free and slapped Draco so hard across the face that her fingers stung. Draco made a weird sound somewhere between pain and actual shock and Astoria immediately began to cry.

" _Fuck,_ " Draco swore through his fingers, clutching his affected cheek.

Astoria continued to sob, wanting nothing more than to push Malfoy down onto the grass and leave him there. An actual tear rolled down her face and fell soundlessly into the dull night air.

Astoria could not remember the last time she had let herself get so worked up that she had cried in front of someone. She did not think she had done it since she was in diapers. True, Astoria had once falsely cried in front Draco to Professor Vector, but this time there were actual tears on her face and she was shaking uncontrollably. Malfoy seemed to realize the difference too, because in the dim light of the distant fires, his expression was moving away from anger and toward actual alarm.

"Have you lost your mind?" Draco breathed, his face red all over, particularly in the place that Astoria had hit him.

Astoria let out a strange tragic sound that seemed to contain all of her horror and anger at once.

"Stop it!" said Draco, sounding almost panicky, clearly disconcerted by her weeping. "What's _wrong_ with you?"

What was wrong with _her_? It suddenly seemed to Astoria that Draco was perhaps just as insane as she was. Had he not just heard _himself_ speaking?

Astoria shook her head, trying to stop herself from crying but it was as though Astoria had already been walking around all day bleeding and all Draco had done was finally expose the wound. She did not know how to turn off this sudden feeling of endless hopelessness.

Astoria turned, fully intending to strike off down the path and make for the nearest stump so that she could wait out the scene at the camp there but Draco snagged her by the elbow regretfully. His desperation seemed to be so great that Astoria could not tell by his face if he was even angry anymore, despite the ferocity of the smack she had just dealt to the side of his head.

"Don't-" he muttered almost pathetically. "I'll stop-"

Astoria tried to pull away from him but at that moment, an eerie green light began to glow between the trees, cresting above the highest branches like a silent and ominous firework.

Astoria stared up at the light in the sky, waiting for the noise that she was sure would follow but it never came. It took her just long enough to realize what she was looking at that she had already yanked her arm free before the forest around them erupted with terrified screams.

"That's not coming from the campsite," said Draco sharply, his face betraying the first sign of nervousness all night at the sight hovering Dark Mark above their heads. "Look-"

The death eaters in the field were Disapparating, fleeing the scene lest they be connected with the Mark in the sky.

Astoria knew enough about the former Death Eaters who had avoided Azkaban to know that they had told all sorts of lies; had sold out former friends or allies to maintain their freedom. Dressing up in masks to taunt muggles was one thing, but to send a Dark Mark into the sky was another entirely. This was _bad_ , whatever it was, and Astoria did not want to be anywhere near it.

People were suddenly moving in the trees around them. The pathway had become chaos. If the crowd had been anxiously waiting before, they were now in a state of panic.

Astoria stumbled away from Draco, moving through the dense undergrowth as fast as she could, guided by the ghostly green glow. The problem of being able to see had been solved by the green light, but a new madness was in full swing. A little girl was sobbing nearby and someone was laughing unpleasantly in a patch of bushes. Two very official looking wizards wearing navy robes barreled past, knocking Astoria off course. She stumbled through a clump of low trees and into a patch of dark, mossy forest ahead.

Astoria kept moving forward, only realizing at the last second that the ground sloped downward. Astoria tumbled down the small hill and landed in a patch of dead leaves in a grim stretch of woods that was so dark and thick, that even with the Mark in the sky, Astoria could barely see her own hands. It was as though she had fallen through the Earth into a subterranean cave.

Who could be dead? Was that why the Dark Mark had been used for the first time in fourteen years? Surely the mob at the campsite had started because of too much drinking and easy access to an already confused muggle family. Could one of them have gone a step further and actually murdered in cold blood?

Someone else came through the trees behind her and Astoria had a very keen idea that it was probably Draco. This figure hit the slope as well and took the hill she had just tumbled down at a rough stumble.

"Draco?" Astoria called out shrilly, her fear overcoming her anger. The figure stopped at the sound of her voice.

Then, a second sound like a sharp popping but much closer at hand, made Astoria freeze again. Someone else had just Apparated into the woods.

Astoria thought of the men in masks, fleeing at the sight of the mark in the sky and felt her blood run cold. Astoria was not muggle born but she was still a young girl _without_ a wand. Was it such a stretch to move from muggle-torturer to rapist?

Astoria pushed back up onto her feet, determining that the best thing to do was run. Several twigs snapped beneath her feet as she did so.

"Who's there?" demanded a cold, hard voice from the place where the popping sound had emanated. "Show yourself!"

Astoria said nothing. The sound of her own pulse in her ears was suddenly so loud she wondered if she had gone deaf. Astoria turned desperately toward the place where the shape that she imagined was probably Malfoy had just been, praying that it was in fact him and not some poor, lost child. She opened her mouth to scream.

Several other small twigs snapped and a hand grabbed her from behind. Astoria whipped about, ready to use her fists if she had to but it was only Draco after all. His breathing was shallow from running and his grip was tense.

In a queer flash of deja-vu, Astoria recalled the last time that she had been alone and terrified in a forest with Draco. It had been during their first year and the sight of the cloaked figure drinking unicorn blood had never quite left her. This was not first year, however, Astoria reminded herself. Draco now stood a foot taller than Astoria did and he was armed. Their current treat was not mythological, but most certainly human.

All traces of her anger forgotten, Astoria threw herself at Draco. If the fight they had just had had been initially spurred on by Astoria's refusal to say that she thought Draco was impressive enough to keep her safe, he was about to get his money's worth.

"I can hear you! Show yourself!" the ruthless voice demanded again and there was no trace of forgiveness in its bark.

Draco stumbled a little under Astoria's sudden and unexpected weight, his eyes on the dark figure even as he tried to maintain his footing in the old leaves beneath his feet.

"Don't do it!" Astoria begged urgently, suddenly recalling the oddness of the Dark Mark, certain that there was nothing Draco could do to stop whoever it was from killing them both if he had been the Mark's caster. "Stop! You don't know if it was one of your father's friends who conjured the Mark- it probably wasn't! He could be anybody! _Think_!"

Astoria saw the uncertainly creep into Draco's eyes. It was enough. There was a second loud popping sound as the unknown stranger Disapparated. Draco flinched at the sound.

Silence once again swallowed them. Astoria could feel a second resurgence of tears threatening to choke her.

" _Don't_ ," pleaded Draco, his pale face panic stricken at the idea of Astoria starting to cry again.

Astoria squeezed her eyes shut, refusing cry a second time when she already loathed herself for the first. Spare moisture seeped through her eyelashes onto Draco's neck. Draco shivered a little at the perverse intimacy of this but he did not move away.

"Just, _stop_ -" Malfoy muttered tensely, his confusion making him nervous. "You should have let me speak- I couldn't think with you talking!"

The longer they stood, the more the green light seemed to trickle through the dense tree coverage.

"How do we get out of here?" Astoria wondered thickly, trying to locate the hill that they had both tumbled down.

Draco seemed to think that he had passed a gnarled lightning-struck tree a few feet back, so they set off in that direction. Astoria was relived when the ground beneath their feet became steep again. Panting and aching from so many falls in the dark, they came back out in the section of woods that Astoria remembered entering near the trail. It was much brighter here, but the unearthly green light was unsettling, almost diseased. With the Death Eaters dispersed, it now seemed to Astoria that the campsite was likely the safer place to be.

Draco seemed to think so as well, because he found a low place that sloped off toward the field and pushed aside several branches. Astoria followed him, relived as the green light above them gradually grew duller. By the time they had reached the first pitch of tents, it flickered and went out all together.

There was quite a gathering of witches and wizards near the edge of the forrest, waiting for a ministry official to appear and give them news. Astoria could not help but notice one woman in particular. This woman was standing next to a very shabby and shifting looking man and was so blonde (not to mention wearing robes of such a repulsive shade of magenta), that Astoria actually did a double take, thinking wildly that it might be her stepmother, Beatrice.

It was not Beatrice however, and Draco did not seem keen to hang around near this inquisitive crowd. When Astoria made eye contact with him, Draco made a slight head motion to indicate that he wanted to cut around the nearest tents. Astoria followed like a lost duckling in search of her flock, stepping over fliers and printed programing from the match that had blown free and now littered the path like tumbleweeds.

Here and there were other clusters of witches and wizards, gathered close together and muttering. One man pointed toward the sky and began to speak very rapidly in a language Astoria did not understand before making a swift indication with his pointer finger to his forehead.

"From half a word a way and he's still heard of Harry Potter," said Astoria, guessing that this was what the man had meant by his hand gesture. "Do you think something bad happened to Harry, tonight?" Astoria asked tentatively, her voice flickering a little, thinking of the Dark Mark.

"Who cares," muttered Draco darkly, obviously as put out by what he had just seen as as Astoria had been disconcerted by it.

They had reached the middle of the campground. Astoria began to feel awkward, no longer certain where she should go or what she should do with herself. She had not recognized anybody during the march across the field, and the collective mood of the people she _had_ seen had been so gloomy and worried that Astoria did not really want to break off by herself to continue her search for her father. It was George's fault that they had become separated during such a catastrophe and, as far as Astoria was concerned, it was officially _his_ turn to look for her.

"Where are you going?" Astoria asked, her eyes straying first left and then left right at a fork in the path.

"I don't know," said Draco, who seemed to be thinking along the same lines as Astoria. "I wish I _knew_ where my father was. They couldn't have been planning on someone casting a Morsmordre in the sky." Malfoy made a face. "Mother's with the Rowles, but I don't know if she can leave. She's probably worried out of her mind."

Astoria forgot her discomfort in a moment of fleeting fascination. To Astoria, the whole evening had been a blur of chaos and terror but to Draco, who had always had an eye behind the curtain of fear, the evening had been something else entirely. _She's probably worried out of her mind._

The idea of Narcissa Malfoy sitting around fretting over the lost members of her pack as though waiting for them to return from war, was a very odd one indeed.

"Can I follow you?" asked Astoria quietly. A chill wind swept down the pathway, sending leaves scattering.

"Yeah," said Draco in an offhand voice, perhaps not wanting to appear overly eager at the idea of keeping her.

Astoria eyed the darkened campsite warily.

"Come on," Draco muttered, taking the left path. "I need to leave word with my house elf. Mother will probably try to check in..."

Even in the darkness of the very early morning, Astoria could tell that the Malfoys were the owners of one of the least muggle-looking tents, although they did _not_ seem to have a jacuzzi or a giant purple fireplace as some of the others had.

They approached the tent from behind. Draco ran swiftly up a set of actual granite steps and gained entrance through a set of tall patio doors, hung with heavy curtains.

Astoria dithered in the doorway, resisting the allure of the space beyond, which was quite dark but almost seductively warm. Gradually, Astoria's eyes began to adjust and she realized that she was _not_ standing near the front entrance to the tent. The patio they had just walked across seemed to connect to one of the bedrooms. Realizing that this meant that Astoria was very unlikely to run into Lucius Malfoy or any of his friends, she moved inside, shivering with pleasure at finally being out of the damp night air.

Draco was looking about for something on top of a nearby table. He located a watch in a shallow ornamental dish and held it up to check the time.

"Barns!" said Draco, opening the bedroom door with a snap.

Astoria heard a house elf pop into sight on the other side of the door. A cool breeze wafted in from the patio, driving Astoria further inside. She sat on the end of Draco's bedspread and inspected her knee.

It felt tacky to the touch but it did not seem to be bleeding. Still, the scrape would leave a mark for a week unless she asked her aunt for a spell or a salve of some kind. Asking for any assistance from Belladonna would be most unwise however, as Astoria did not want to have to explain why she had fallen so many times in the first place. If Astoria's aunt _ever_ found out that her father had left her alone during a Death Eater rally...

Draco and the unseen house elf named Barns were having a hurried discussion. From what Astoria could make out, neither of Draco's parents had returned yet.

Astoria rested her head against the cool fabric of the blankets and closed her eyes. Her feet, which were still in heels, hurt from so much walking and then stumbling. There was a warm, raw feeling running across both of her palms from where she had caught herself falling. Astoria had been _useless_ without a wand... she had nearly killed herself just trying to move about all night.

With her eyes closed, Astoria could have nearly tricked herself into believing that she had a fever. Her limbs hurt and her chest was tight from so much worry. If she had been anywhere other than the Malfoy's tent, she might have considered pulling a blanket over her bare arms.

"All right," Draco sneered, hitting a brick wall with his elf. "Fine. If they come back here before I find them, tell my mother that I'm alright and I made it out of the woods."

The elf made a sound of demurred agreement. Draco was about to turn before he caught himself and added, "If I'm here and I'm sleeping, tell them _not_ to wake me unless we're leaving. You can tell mother you saw me last around three in the morning- she'll understand."

He shut the door on the elf's face, which Astoria considered a trifle rude. Then again, Astoria herself had been waging a war with Bonky for years now and she knew that she did not have much of a leg to stand on where this sort of thing was concerned. For all Astoria knew, Barns had once dropped Draco out of a window as an infant and he still had a memory of the incident.

Draco turned around and must have caught sight of her laying half asleep on top of his duvet but the moment passed without a sarcastic comment.

"Is it really three in the morning?" asked Astoria dully.

"Yeah," said Malfoy, his voice curiously subdued. She heard him put the watch back on the table top.

"Did you see my father tonight?" asked Astoria after another long silence, thinking of the insults Draco had flung at her earlier, suspecting that he might have seen something of George after the match.

"No," said Draco. "I thought you must have both gone somewhere else."

Astoria hesitated, thinking of Mrs. MacLaggen and her suspicion that George probably knew Cormac's mother as more than just a friend. "Did you see the MacLaggens?"

"Keeping tabs on Cormac, are you?" asked Draco icily. There was a brief pause. "I didn't see them, but I know they're camped in the next lot over if you want to go find _them._ "

"I don't want to move," Astoria sighed, pulling her feet, which were hanging over the side of the bed, up a little closer to her body. She thought of Mr. MacLaggens boisterous drunk laughter, certain that was the exact sound she could expect if she turned up at his doorstep in the middle of the night. "Can we just stay here?"

There was a moment of dastardly silence. Astoria could hear Malfoy's steady breathing across the room and knew that he must have heard her. It would have been nearly impossible for him not to have.

Astoria waited, so tired that she did not particularly care what happened next. It seemed to her that Draco had spent years of his life lurking about in odd places just so that he might have a clearer shot at either annoying Astoria or spying on her personal life. Astoria had never once fed him a dose of his own medicine and, now that she was finally doing so, she was almost devoid of fear.

Clearly her position could not get any more pathetic. Either Draco would allow her to sleep where she was already lying, or he would kick her out and Astoria would be no worse for it than she had already been since the start of her day. Moreover, if Draco's parents weren't going to wake him up until they were leaving, they would never even know that Astoria had been there at all. The house elf hadn't even got a glimpse of her. Astoria could leave when the sun came up and start afresh in her search for a way home from there.

Draco must have realized the same thing because he closed the patio door, blocking out the sound of several wizards who were arguing a short distance away on the grass. The heavy curtains blocked the last of the light.

Astoria kicked off one shoe with ease and pulled the blanket over herself, aware that by doing so she was committing to one of the most unexplainable things that she done in quite some time. Her second shoe proved tricker and ended up lodged at the bottom of the bed between the sheets and the duvet. The pillows in Draco's tent were probably just as nice the ones Astoria had in her actual home, so Astoria pulled her hair out from under her arm and buried her face into one willingly.

She heard Malfoy shrug out of his sports coat and throw it onto a nearby chair. He emptied his pockets, putting his wand and several galleons onto the bedside table. Astoria thought about that wand. Astoria had hit Draco earlier- hit him so hard that her fingers had smarted and here she was, volunteering to sleep next to him. If Draco was anything like her aunt, he would smother Astoria in her sleep.

Astoria shook herself as Draco got into bed, trying dislodge this bizarre and frightening train of thought before it could get a firm hold of her mind. She moved slightly so that the blankets weren't trapped underneath her.

She was being ridiculous. Draco _wasn't_ going to smother her. In fact, something about the stiff way Draco was lying seemed to mark him as more unsure than vengeful.

Astoria briefly tried to picture Draco's sleepovers as a child and it began to occur to her that Draco's version of a slumber party had probably never involved everybody piling into one bed at the end of the night. Surely Narcissa and Lucius ran their home more formally than that, not to mention had bedrooms to spare. Draco didn't have any siblings either, unlike Astoria, who had spent her childhood snuggling next to Daphne. It suddenly seemed very probable that Draco had never actually had to sleep in the same bed with another person in his life.

Draco's arm brushed against her hair, then twitched away uncertainly and Astoria considered her theory quite proven.

Astoria took pity on him. Slowly, almost silently, she shifted toward him until her shoulder was touching his chest. She curled up slightly, naturally drawn to the warmth of his body and pushed her feet against him.

Draco breathed out and Astoria realized by the sound that he was much closer than she had originally thought. Draco moved so that his arm wasn't jammed between them and then paused. Astoria pressed back against his chest, almost daring him to drop his arm over her, which he did the moment she made it clear that he should.

The darkness had the effect of anonymity. There was nobody around to see them and now that Draco was certain that Astoria would not kick him away or run and tell her friends that he had tried to cuddle her, he was suddenly much less hesitant. For a moment there was nothing but the sound of rustling fabric as they both moved, searching. Astoria felt Draco's other arm slide under her head. His face was on the edge of her pillow. It occurred to Astoria that she was wedged so neatly against him that she could smell his deodorant.

Draco's breathing slowly grew deeper and more even with sleepiness, his touch faintly less calculated and more possessive. The longer they were silent, the more Astoria became aware of a dull thrill that was slowly pulsing in her chest, warning her that she was basking in the lazy comfort of something potentially dangerous and unclear.

What had started out as a matter of convenience had quickly turned into a moment that Astoria would be forced to conceal. After all, Astoria would rather tell a thousand lies than admit to the fact that she had slept underneath Draco Malfoy because a pack of Death Eaters had scared her. Not to mention the scorn Theodore would undoubtedly express if the incident was ever mentioned in front of him.

Astoria closed her eyes, lulled by the startling warmth and the crispness of the sheets, thinking that in the end, Draco was probably as unlikely as she was to recount this moment to anybody. Astoria's father may have abandoned her, but it was Draco who had ended up taking her in. Surely he would not want to to admit that out loud just for the sake of embarrassing her.

Astoria came floating back into consciousness a few hours later, blinking in the dark, uncertain if the dim light around her was an effect created by the curtains or if it was still actually nighttime. A fierce desire to keep her head still and her eyes closed told her that she had not slept long however, and it was a moment or two before she realized what had woken her.

Astoria could hear soft voices from the other side of the bedroom door. Someone else had managed to make it back to the tent, but whether it was Lucius, Narcissa or both, Astoria could not tell.

Neither option was reassuring. As much as Astoria did not like to admit it, Lucius Malfoy had always struck her as a figure of almost fearsome authority. Much like Belladonna, Lucius had a way of always getting the final word and they both shared a general air of self-preservation and orderliness. Both of them would like to think that they were the final line on law and taste, but unlike Belladonna, Lucius had the money and the political connections to _ensure_ that his opinion was almost always heard, and this made him particularly frightening.

Astoria did not really believe herself to be in any danger, not even after watching the mob sweep across the campsite. Astoria _was_ a pureblood after all, but Lucius had a taste for the fanatic that her aunt did not share. Belladonna, for all of her many faults, had never been a Death Eater. Belladonna certainly shared some of Lucius's feelings of superiority over those who had been born into non-magical families and something of his dubiousness at the inherent abilities of most muggle-borns as well, but Belladonna was very unlikely to view the idea of muggle murder as tasteful.

Surely Lucius would not be particularly tolerant of Astoria's unannounced presence in his home so late at night? Especially on an evening that had been so nearly incriminating for him.

It was a mark of just how vulnerable Astoria felt, that the idea of Lucius Malfoy catching her napping with his son was not at all funny to her, not even in her state of almost delirious fatigue. Astoria pushed the blankets away from her ear and shifted under the dead weight of Draco's arm to listen as closely as she could.

There was definitely more than once voice and, if Astoria had to guess, both of them were male. The dull clunk of something heavy being placed on wood put her in mind of a glass, weighted down by liquor.

"Karkoroff! He was always something of a coward..." a low, unfamiliar voice rang out vehemently.

How bizarre it was, listening to this faded conversation that Astoria had been given no permission to hear. Astoria would have been willing to bet all of her earthly possessions that both of men considered themselves quite at liberty to speak freely without the threat of being overheard. It was no wonder that Draco was such a font of ministry gossip; between what Lucius told him and what he was able to overhear, he probably knew nearly as much as the senior undersecretary.

Feeling like a spy, Astoria slumped back down. Draco shifted his arm over her again in his sleep and his breathing stirred the hair near her face. Astoria was intrigued past the point of her fatigue, however. Lucius and his friend were talking about Barty Crouch.

"...his elf. The whole squad of them stunned her, or at least that's what Runcorn says. Clutching the wand..."

Barty Couch's elf had sent up the Dark Mark? That made no sense to Astoria. Runcorn? Didn't he work for the Department of Mysteries? Or was it the Department of Magical Law Enforcement? How would he know the Malfoys? Or was it possible that Runcorn shared sympathy with the rest of the Ex-Death Eaters and their cause?

One of the men said the name 'Potter' and Astoria suspected that it must have been Lucius, because he was not speaking in such a bellowing tone as his guest. Astoria strained to hear but failed to catch what this had been in reference to. There was more murmuring and then the room went silent. After a moment's wait, it remained that way.

Guessing that the conversation had broken up due to the lateness of the hour, Astoria felt safe enough to get out of bed. She poked about in the darkness until she found the watch that Malfoy had looked at earlier.

It was five o'clock in the morning. Astoria had been asleep for less than two hours. A glance at the crack in the curtains served to confirm that it was not yet light out. After having warmed herself so thoroughly, the floor beneath her feet felt cruelly cold.

Astoria slipped back under the blankets as lightly as possible, feeling more than ever like an intruder. Draco had moved into the divot that Astoria's face had left in her pillow, his normally sleek hair slightly disheveled. Astoria gently nudged him aside until there was space for her own head to fit again and pulled the blankets up as high up as she could. Draco stirred next to her, roused either by the cold air from when she had rearranged the blankets or her subtle movement.

Astoria pressed her face down below the pillow, resting her cheek against the cotton of Draco's sleeve. Goosebumps formed on her arms as she reacclimatized to the wondrous warmth.

"Time'sit?" Draco mumbled, startling her slightly.

"Five," answered Astoria in a muffled voice, partially afraid that he would suggest that she should leave before sunrise.

Astoria was about to voice her plan to leave within the hour out loud, just in case, when Draco rolled back into her, sliding his face onto the bare spot of pillow that Astoria's head had just vacated before reclaiming sleep. Astoria stretched out her arm and something cold brushed against her skin.

She located the source, running her fingers over Draco's exposed hand. He was wearing a silver signet ring, embossed with his family seal. Astoria traced the pattern with her fingertips softly, seeing how many of the shapes she could recognize.

A moment later, Draco surprised her by blinking against her hair and Astoria realized that he was not asleep at all, but laying quite still, watching mutely as her fingers moved over his.

Astoria immediately ceased this needless touching, trying not to understand what sort of appeal could have compelled Draco to watch her for as long as he had without twitching his hand away.

0o0

* * *

Hmm. Well, I personally like this chapter, although I think an argument could be made for the fact that there is a whiff of dysfunction about it that could probably stand to be slightly softened. In this chapter's defense though, Draco finally admitted to knowing about Astoria's mother and I feel like that _would_ be a dirty fight provoker. I also feel as though there is some real development present that will push character maturation, so I give only the weakest apologizes for all the unpleasantness.

I also kind of like the fact that Astoria ends up in Draco's space for a change, since it always seems to be the other way around. You never see much of the Malfoys with their guard down and I imagine the experience would be a little surreal.

I'll probably post again on Sunday/Monday. Until then, happy weekend to all!

Reviews are the ultimate treat so feel free to tell me what you think. :)


	32. Daphne's Return

Chapter Thirty Two

Daphne's Return

* * *

0o0

Astoria awoke for the second time that morning feeling even more panicked than she had the first.

A clean, golden shaft of daylight was streaming in through the gap near the curtains. Disoriented and oddly sore considering she had managed to avoid sleeping on the forest floor, Astoria consulted the watch. It was nearly nine o'clock and she had slept far longer than she had meant to. What if her father had given up on finding her and left without her?

Astoria managed to dislodge the shoe that was still trapped in the blankets and slipped out from under Draco's sprawling limbs in almost perfect silence. Gathering up both shoes and holding them by their straps, (for nothing could have compelled her to put them back on her feet) Astoria unlocked and exited through the patio door quietly.

Considering how desperate most of the crowd must be to return home in light of the terror of the night before, a remarkable number of people still seemed to be camped in this particular lot.

Astoria quickly cleared the stone terrace and made her way back onto the throughway, not wanting to be seen on the Malfoy's property looking so bedraggled and disoriented.

"Scuse!" hollered a wizard wearing lime green overalls, charging past with a wheelbarrow containing a trunk and a large umbrella.

Astoria stepped out of the way, blinking to adjust to the sudden light. Her knee, which had looked so scraped the night before, now only appeared to be bruised. Her dress was white and therefore showed smudges of dirt here and there, but was otherwise surprisingly clean. Astoria ran her hand through her decidedly messy hair, trying to flatten it against her head and caught the faintest trace of the scent of Draco's soap smell there. Blushing for reasons she could not entirely explain, Astoria gave up trying to groom herself and set off down the widest part of the path.

She soon spotted Ernie Macmillan and his mother, sitting around on the grass outside their tent. Thinking that they perhaps had news, Astoria lingered for a moment.

"Slept in?" asked Ernie understandingly, taking in Astoria's confused state. "I don't blame you. Last night was late for everyone, wasn't it?"

"Yeah," said Astoria, feeling bizarrely like a liar despite the truth behind both of these assumptions.

"Dad's off trying to help Ministry," said Ernie. "We're waiting on him before we try to get a portkey out. The line has been jammed for hours. So many people are trying to get to different places. The leaving was supposed to be staggered but obviously that can't happen now, you know?"

Eventually, Astoria broke away and made for her father's tent but before she could reach it, she ran into Mr. Patil, Parvati and Padma.

"Astoria!" remarked Mr. Patil good-naturedly, catching sight of her. "You're looking a little dusty this morning."

"Oh, I was wearing this last night," said Astoria, glancing down at herself, realizing that her current state of desperation would need some polishing over to remain socially acceptable. "When I woke up I was so confused and worried that I didn't bother showering."

"Our tent didn't even _have_ a shower," said Parvati, eyeing her father as though this was something he should feel guilty about.

" _Real_ muggles don't camp with plumbing, sweetheart," said Mr. Patil. "We were just doing our part to blend in. Not that we need have bothered, what with all the racket last night- it'll be a madhouse in London."

"Did you end up in the woods, Astoria?" asked Parvati, her eyes going wide. "Padma and I ended up spending hours in a clearing."

"Yeah," said Astoria, reaching for a reasonable solution to her problem. "Listen, Mr. Patil, are you catching the same Portkey back that we took yesterday?"

"We are," said Mr. Patil, checking the ticket in his hand. "It leaves in thirty minutes."

"Can I come with you?" Astoria asked, trying to appear as casual about this as she could, remembering what Ernie had said and deciding to parrot his story as her own. "My dad's trying to help the ministry and I'm waiting on him to leave, but it could take hours."

"Oh," said Mr. Patil. "Well, I can't see why not- unless, but won't your father be wondering where you went?"

"I'll send my Aunt's house elf back for him," said Astoria swiftly. "I'm just so hungry and exhausted. This way I can shower without breaking the rules!" Astoria laughed, but even to her own ears, the lightness in her tone was slightly unconvincing.

The worry in Mr. Patils's eyes vanished, however. They stopped by Astoria's tent very briefly. Astoria did not expect to find news of her father waiting there- she had only wanted to collect her wand. Once this had been achieved, Astoria tagged along behind Mr. Patil's daughters, trying to keep the shame that she felt for having to lie in order to get home from creeping into her expression.

The Portkey delivered them to the same patch of woods off the road near Belladonna's house that they had departed from the day before. When they reached the asphalt, it was time to go their separate ways. Astoria waved goodbye to Parvati and Padma and thanked Mr. Patil again for his assistance, injecting as much light-hearted and unworried fatigue into her mannerisms as possible.

Astoria was forced to put her shoes back on in order to walk up the gravel driveway a few moments later. Consequently, the first thing she did after opening the front door of her aunt's house and peering both ways, was to kick them off again vehemently, wincing at the sound they made skidding across the floor.

Belladonna was nowhere to be seen- out perhaps, or else in the kitchen. Astoria padded up the staircase as quickly as she could, knowing the grace period before Bonky realized that she had returned was growing smaller by the second and afraid of the questions that might arise from being caught looking so muddy in the hall.

Astoria unzipped her dress the moment she reached her bedroom and pulled it over her head, disposing of it by burying it like evidence in her hamper. Unwilling to send Bonky after her father, certain that Bonky would repeat Astoria's message to Belladonna of she did, Astoria scratched out a quick note to her sister and dispatched it, leaving a message for George at home.

As soon as she had showered and done what she could with makeup to make her face appear less haggard, Astoria went straight down to the first floor. It occurred to her that lingering in her room without greeting Belladonna would appear suspicious, and now that Astoria had put so much effort into avoiding a ruckus, she thought it best to follow through and seek out her aunt's company willingly.

Belladonna was in the kitchen, crushing herbs with a mortar and pestle. A smoldering cauldron bubbled behind her and several of the windows had been thrust open, letting in the peaceful scent of nearby greenery.

"I thought I heard you come in," muttered Belladonna, running her finger along a page in her spell book, distractedly. "The poppies have finally come up."

Astoria's eyes strayed warily onto several seed pods, which were oozing a dark and resinous taffy onto the wooden table top. Belladonna was quite an adept hand at potions but she rarely ever brewed frivolously, without a purpose. Having so recently been somewhat poisoned herself, Astoria gave the cauldron a wide berth.

"What are you brewing?"

"Nothing that wizards haven't been brewing for centuries," said Belladonna, smiling wryly. "Of course, _this_ one is practically legal."

Astoria's sense of foreboding tripled but she did not inquire further.

"So," said Belladonna, sprinkling a pinch of brown powder into the open liquid, which was just starting to bubble. "A crushing mob... panic... and the Dark Mark is seen again for the first time in more than a decade. Have you satisfied your endless boredom for a few weeks at least, my darling?"

Astoria helped herself to a pot of cold coffee, pouring out a large measure into one of the tin kitchen mugs. "I'd say so," she remarked flatly.

Belladonna tapped Astoria's mug to warm the coffee inside it before Astoria could even manage to sip on it, a tiny act for which she was immensely grateful.

"Your father must have been out of his mind with confusion," said Belladonna slowly. Astoria strained to read her aunt's expression, not sure if she was amused or testing Astoria as to her father's whereabouts. Feeling a little paranoid, Astoria settled for a half-truth.

"I guess so," said Astoria carefully. "We were separated for a bit when everyone started running."

Belladonna's eyes flashed dangerously over the steam that was rising from her cauldron.

"Everyone was, though," Astoria went on quickly. "It was madness. I almost got run over by two men from the Magical Law Enforcement Squad and it's their _job_ to help keep _order_. By the time the Dark Mark went up, nobody even knew where they were anymore. The forest was dark and everybody was in a panic."

"Foolishness," Belladonna tutted. "Too much drinking! The ministry really should have acted more quickly." Belladonna made a few motions over the now spitting potion with her wand and then paused, staring at the liquid's purple surface thoughtfully. "What did the Death Eaters do when they saw the Mark?"

"They all fled," said Astoria at once.

"That's what I thought," said Belladonna darkly, heaving a sigh. "Strange happenings, my dear. Strange happenings. I'm certainly glad that you are alright- when I didn't receive any word from your father, I began to worry that you both might have been trampled."

"I think I'll go to Theodore's later," said Astoria after a thoughtful pause of her own, changing the subject. "He didn't go to the World Cup and I imagine he must be curious."

"That's just as well," said Belladonna. "I'm having the Yaxleys for lunch and I'd prefer it if you were _not_ here." Belladonna gave her potion another little prod and the flames at the base licked the iron bottom of the cauldron almost sinisterly. "I had counted on the World Cup lasting longer than a single evening, of course."

"Are you sure?" asked Astoria, thinking that leaving her aunt alone with Alistair Yaxley was almost as bad as being forced to eat with him herself. Who knew what her aunt might say or suggest if Astoria was not there to hear her...

"Quite," said Belladonna primly.

"Are you switching methods, then?" asked Astoria, her eyes moving back to the weeping poppy pods. "I'd assume you wanted me gone in order to court them, only it looks as though you mean to poison them both."

Belladonna laughed dryly, neither confirming nor denying this theory.

"Be back before dark," Belladonna called after Astoria when she put her coffee cup in the sink and prepared to use the floo.

Mr. Nott's office door was shut when Astoria stepped out of the fireplace. Astoria could hear voices on the other side of the thick wood, but neither of them seemed to be Theodore's.

Perhaps one of Mr. Nott's colleagues had stopped in? Mr. Nott _had_ been a Death Eater, Astoria reminded herself. The happenings at the Word Cup were surely of an abiding interest to him.

Moving silently across the front hall, Astoria made her way towards the door, hoping that Theo, who spent half of his time in the garden reading, might be sitting on one of the benches. Astoria hated trying to find Theodore inside his house; there was always a feeling of breaking and entering about exploring the dusty corners of his home.

Theo was indeed outside but he was not alone. Astoria's theory that Mr. Nott was probably discussing the reappearance of the Dark Mark was officially confirmed by the sight of a very familiar and yet decidedly out of place blonde head directly across from Theo's in the sunken garden.

Astoria froze, feeling a little thrown. She had not expected this. Astoria was quite unused to walking in on Theo when he had company in the first place, (Millicent no longer counted, as she hardly ever spoke anyway) and the fact that it was Draco Malfoy's high carrying voice that floated across the lawn caused a strange rush of anxiety to skip into Astoria fingers and flood her face with warmth.

Astoria had made peace with the fact that she had both cried on Malfoy and then resorted to sleeping in his bed all in the course of one evening, but she had not been counting on having to actually _see_ him again for several weeks. His sudden and unexpected appearance now struck Astoria as both unusual and highly awkward.

A lightning-quick instinct took hold, urging Astoria to return inside and leave before she was spotted. Just as this thought began to form however, Theo caught sight of her over Malfoy's shoulder and blinked in surprise.

"Astoria?" he called eagerly, leaning around Draco.

Draco's head twitched instinctually at the sound of her name. He turned, almost as readily as Theo had, but Astoria could almost swear that she saw some of the same jolted and unguarded panic that she had just experienced herself on _his_ face. Thankful that Malfoy had not at least had the opportunity to see _her_ jump, Astoria continued across the lawn feeling distinctly less tense.

"Hello!" said Astoria breezily, swatting Theodore's feet aside so she could sit on the edge of the stone well between him and Malfoy without having to choose a side. "Talking about the Cup, are you?"

"Yeah," said Theo. "I was going to come over later, but I wanted to give you a chance to get home first."

"Just as well," said Astoria with a shrug, shielding her eyes and glancing up at the cloudless blue sky. "Belladonna's in the kitchen brewing a pot of something- poison presumably- and I only got home an hour ago."

Draco snorted but something about the sound betrayed an odd jitteriness that even he seemed to hear, because he did not go on to make any snide comments about Belladonna's cauldron full of poison.

"It took you that long to get out of the camp?" asked Theo curiously.

"Yeah," said Astoria briefly, wanting to shift away from the subject of the morning, as it was rife with hidden peril.

"Of course, the only people who wanted to get out early were the muggle champions and the foreigners, anyway," said Draco, reclaiming some of his usual swagger. "No one else left early."

"Did you read the paper this morning?" Theo asked, turning toward Astoria.

Astoria shook her head.

"Giant photo of the Dark Mark," said Theo. "Half of the country is in a panic. Some of the shops down Diagon Alley even refused to open."

"Ridiculous," Draco sneered.

"Probably," agreed Astoria fairly. "They didn't catch the person who cast it, I take it?"

"Nope," said Theo. "The paper was terribly paranoid about it- trying to sow fear, saying that only Death Eaters know the spell, but that's not true, is it? All of the pureblood families call it a Morsmordre for a reason, don't they? Because that's the incantation. What do you reckon it was just some kids trying to be impressive?"

"Well," drawled Draco in a tone of maddening smugness, "I don't know about that."

Draco obviously knew something but he was inclined to make them work for it before sharing with them.

"What, you think an actual Death Eater would have been stupid enough to cast the Dark Mark?" asked Theo skeptically.

"Probably not," drawled Malfoy comfortably, savoring the piece of information that he was withholding.

Theo scoffed but Astoria had heard something about this spoken of during the night before, while Draco had been sleeping, so she listened carefully.

"Of course," Draco went on, his eyes on Astoria, who must have seemed like the more active audience, "they _did_ find the wand that was used to work the spell."

"So?" said Theo tightly, not enjoying the goose chase. "I suppose it was in the woods somewhere?"

" _No_ ," said Malfoy, "they found it in the hands of Crouch's house elf, actually. You _do_ know who Barty Crouch is?"

"Of course I know who Barty Crouch is," said Theodore almost aggressively.

"Was anyone in the Crouch family ever a Death Eater?" Astoria frowned, causing Theo to pull a very superior face and Draco to scoff loudly.

"No, Astoria," said Theo darkly. "Crouch was a mad man about locking the Death Eaters up at the end of the war. That's how he rose to power and why so many of the old families secretly hate him; half of their relatives are in Azkaban because of-"

"She _knows_ , Nott," interjected Draco snidely, cutting off his rant. "She's got uncles in prison, doesn't she?"

Theo broke off, blushing slightly, clearly having forgotten in the heat of the moment how much Astoria already knew about having imprisoned relatives.

"But Crouch is an old name too, isn't it?" said Astoria slowly, doing what she could to alleviate Theodore's apologetic awkwardness. "Did Barty ever have any brothers or sons that his house elf might have an old loyalty to, or something? Someone _else_ with a Death Eater affiliation that the elf might have met in his house?"

Astoria could tell by the looks on both boy's faces that the idea of a house elf feeling loyalty to anyone other than its current master would have not occurred to either of them, but to Astoria, who had so often resented Bonky's almost singular dedication to her aunt, the idea seemed very logical.

"I mean, maybe," said Theo, scrunching up his face to think. "I'm pretty sure Barty had a son actually, but he died years ago. There was some kind of scandal involved-"

So what if he did?" Malfoy sneered, obviously looking to control the course of the conversation. "Why would Crouch's house elf finally do something about it now? That's absurd."

"The paper said something about bodies being removed from the forest," said Theo, turning back toward Malfoy. "Do you know if anyone was actually trampled to death?"

"Ha!" said Astoria, with a bitter little laugh, causing both Draco and Theo to stare at her.

Astoria did not really believe that anyone had been killed (surely either Ernie or Mr. Patil would have mentioned it that morning) but it suddenly seemed to her that this was perhaps the only way her father had left of redeeming himself after abandoning her so thoroughly. Perhaps he had simply been trampled...

"I doubt it," said Malfoy, shrugging carelessly. "Father would have heard if there had been casualties."

"What did _your_ father say about the whole thing, Astoria?" asked Theo. "Did it ruin his night of party hopping?"

"No," said Astoria tartly, busying herself with picking vines and stray wild flowers. "It takes more than the threat of war to sober him." The flowers were sprouting from between the stones of the well and provided her with a perfect way of avoiding careless eye contact with Draco, whose eyes kept darting toward her shiftily.

Astoria waited in a state of agitation, ripping up stray plants, anxious to see if Draco would give some voice to the fact that Astoria had been abandoned all evening. Perhaps out of fear of what Astoria might say by way of defense however, Draco simply slouched back against the stone wall and settled for a lesser blow.

"Does _anything_ sober him?" Draco sneered halfheartedly. "I saw him with Alistair Yaxley this morning and they were _still_ drinking."

"Alistair Yaxley?" snapped Astoria sharply, momentarily forgetting herself and her weeding preoccupation. This made twice in one day that the Yaxleys had been mentioned. Astoria began to feel the jaws of a trap she had not even known existed start to tighten. "What are you talking about?"

At that moment, Astoria heard voices coming toward the patio and she realized that Lucius must have finished up whatever business he had with Theo's father.

"So what if they were together?" asked Draco accusingly, looking a little put out by the rudeness in her voice. "Aren't you cousins?"

"Were they alone together?" Astoria pressed tensely, wanting to get as much out of Draco as she could before he was summoned away.

But it was too late. Lucius was standing in the clean afternoon sunshine and Astoria knew that his son would not keep him waiting.

"I don't know," said Malfoy, standing up, obviously a little thrown by Astoria's reaction to this bit of seemingly trivial news. "Bertie Higgs might have been with them."

This was as good as alone then, especially if Bertie had continued drinking at the same rate he had established in the late afternoon. Astoria peered at Draco tensely, trying to think of how to phrase a last question so that she might know all that he knew, but she could not think how to do so without giving away more than she wanted to.

"Well, I'll see you at Hogwarts then," said Draco, raising an eyebrow in Theo's direction before shooting Astoria one last inquisitive glance.

"That's just bloody brilliant," Astoria muttered, watching as Draco strode off across the lawn.

"Who cares if your dad was drinking with Yaxley?" remarked Theodore in a reasonable tone which only annoyed Astoria more. "I thought his beef was with your aunt, anyway. I'm sure your dad would have mentioned it to you, if Alistair had said anything suspicious."

" _No_ , he couldn't have," Astoria snapped angrily, "because I lost my dad after the match and never found him again. I had to catch a Portkey home with the Patils. I thought he might have accidentally been knocked unconscious. I had no idea he was drinking with _Yaxley_ instead."

"Are you serious?" asked Theo in mild surprise. "You didn't see him all night? What about after the Dark Mark went up?"

"Nope," said Astoria. "I stumbled about in the woods for hours without a wand and finally went home with the neighbors this morning."

Theo blinked, evidentially unsure how best to respond to this. "I thought the Mendels were there?" he tried.

"They left after the match," Astoria admitted bitterly. "I spent half the night with Draco under a tree, hoping the forest wouldn't catch on fire."

Astoria was surprised to see that this did not appear to be news to Theodore.

"Malfoy mentioned he ran into you," said Theo dismissively. "He almost never comes over with Lucius. I thought he must have done it just to annoy me by talking about you. He made it sound like you were some simpering little damsel, but I knew better."

"No," said Astoria, hating herself more than ever, "he pretty much had the make of it. I didn't have my wand and all I seemed to do well was fall down in the dark."

"Well, you look fine," said Theo dryly. "So obviously it's no real damage done."

"It wasn't enough that my father abandoned me and I was wand-less, either," said Astoria, beginning to prickle with annoyance at the fact that Theo seemed to think she was being dramatic. "Malfoy basically called me a hypocrite for lying about my mother in Azkaban."

Theodore blinked and there was something almost like pity in his expression.

"I'm not surprised," Theodore murmured. "It was really only a matter of time before Malfoy realized."

"I _know_ that," Astoria snapped. "It didn't stop me from hitting him, though. More than once too- you'd think he might have realized that the more he said, the harder I was going to try to smack him."

" _Please_ ," snorted Theo scornfully, "he'd do anything _else_ to get your attention. I don't know why letting you hit him should be any different."

"Yeah, well," sneered Astoria "I finally ended up slapping him across the face and then sobbing, so it was really just a _great_ night for everyone."

"You _cried_?" gaped Theo, thrown at last.

"Yes," said Astoria in the most sarcastic tone she could manage. " _Wept_ might actually be a better word to describe what I did- I _wept_."

This proclamation, while embarrassing did serve two purposes well; Theodore no longer seemed to think that Astoria was being overly dramatic, and Astoria was now relatively certain that Malfoy had exercised some cunning in his own retelling of the evening. If Theodore did not know about Astoria crying, he most likely did not know that she had slept over with Draco either. Draco had concealed the worst of it. Astoria heaved a small sigh of relief and stood up from the edge of the well.

"What do you want to do today?" Astoria asked, resolutely changing the subject. "I can't go home until later. The Yaxleys are over for lunch and my aunt was pretty specific about not inviting me."

0o0

When Astoria returned home hours later there were three letters waiting for her; one from her sister, another from her father and a third envelope addressed from Aston Mendel. Astoria started with her father's letter, because his was the one she was the most curious to read.

 _Astoria,_

 _I'm very happy to learn that you're home safe! I can only assume that Aston handled the Portkey for you (you'll have to offer him my thanks!) and that you left sometime in the morning, as I spent all afternoon searching for you._

 _I've had an idea, darling. Why don't you spend the last week of break here? We didn't spend enough time together at the Cup and I know your sister misses you terribly._

Astoria crumpled up the letter and tossed it into the bin without finishing it. _I can only assume Aston handled the Portkey for you..._

Well, that explained why her father had been in no rush to find her. It also explained why he had written her back so quickly. Astoria had a hunch that her father was a little afraid of Aston, and would not want to incur his anger. Astoria turned her attention to her sister's note.

 _Astoria,_

 _I'm so glad that you are safe! I've been reading the papers all morning and it's all just so terrifying! Rita Skeeter went as far as to suggest that there were fatalities! I'm so sorry you were caught up in all the mess! Dad says he thinks you might be here for a week before vacation ends? I hope that's true. I haven't seen you in months._

Astoria did not crumple this note. Instead, she reread it four times, feeling a little warmer with each perusal, searching for a hint of falseness and finding none.

It had been more than a year since Daphne had made it sound as though she was even remotely eager for Astoria's company and the idea that, in an actual crisis, Daphne had been truly concerned about her was very cheering.

Astoria made up her mind on the spot to comply with this plan, despite the fact that she knew her father had only offered it out of guilt in the first place. Astoria promptly flipped Daphne's letter over and confirmed her visit in a short message, sending it off with the same owl that had delivered it.

0o0

On the morning of September first, Astoria lay in bed in her father's house, awake despite the fact that it was almost five o'clock and she had not managed to get a wink of sleep. A storm had been blowing all night and it sounded as though it would go on into the morning. Tiny drops of water clung to the window glass, glistening in the early morning light.

It had been a very long time since Astoria had slept in her old bedroom and she had not adjusted to the change very smoothly. Her last visit home had been nearly a year ago now, and the sounds of her father's house, once familiar to her, had become jarringly foreign. In contradiction to what had otherwise been a surprisingly good visit, Astoria had spent all week in a state of strange insomnia.

George had worked during most of her stay, spending the majority of his time at his office, but Astoria had expected no less. Her real reason for coming had been to spend time with Daphne and this she _had_ achieved.

In fact, without Pansy around to point out the worst or an active audience for Astoria to somehow shame herself in front of, she and Daphne had gotten on almost the same way as they had used to as small children.

"Pansy isn't as bad as you think she is, you know," Daphne had said one afternoon while they were playing chess on the front lawn. "She's only defensive when she thinks she's right- she's actually very loyal."

The Pansy Astoria knew would probably throw Daphne in front of a bus if that was what it took to achieve her own personal ambitions, but Astoria did not have the heart to say so.

"Maybe," Astoria said flatly, moving a chess piece towards Daphne's rook. "She's not very nice, though."

" _You_ are," said Daphne, staring at the board, puzzling over whether to move her rook or her bishop. "You helped her when she was throwing up. Pansy didn't say anything about you for a whole week after that. I think she was too embarrassed."

The fact that her sister even remembered this, much less thought of it as a mark of Astoria's good character, had been so baffling that Astoria fell silent.

"Did you see Tracey over the summer?" Daphne asked almost wistfully. "I miss her, sometimes. Pansy and Flora both think she's nothing but trouble, but I think she'll grow out of it..."

Astoria's stepmother Beatrice was wearing an aquamarine day suit when Astoria finally managed to get out of bed make her way down to breakfast that morning.

"Gracious!" Beatrice squealed, taking in the sight of Astoria's restless hair. "I hope you aren't planning to catch the train like that!"

Astoria rather _had_ been planning on catching the train just as she was and it occurred to her that Beatrice was the last person who should be making comments about how other people went out in public. Still, the reflection in her cereal spoon was enough to drive Astoria back upstairs before they were due to leave, in order to groom herself properly.

Daphne was attempting to cover a spot on her chin in their shared bathroom mirror when Astoria entered the room.

"All packed, Daph?" Astoria asked, dragging a brush through her tangled hair, wincing as the bristles ripped through a particularly ardent knot.

"Yeah," said Daphne absently. "Do I look like Eloise Midgen with this?" she asked, pointing to the spot on her chin.

Astoria snorted, not entirely liking the new sense of vanity her sister seemed to have developed in less than a year. "No," said Astoria. "You look perfectly fine and natural."

"I don't _want_ to look natural," Daphne mumbled under her breath. "I'd _rather_ look like you."

Astoria, not knowing what to say to this, continued to rip her hair apart. There was a part of Astoria that was very afraid of the dark and moody undercurrent returning to her sister's voice now that the promise of Hogwarts loomed over them again and Astoria was not willing to provoke Daphne further by saying something foolish.

George was in a meeting, which meant that it was Beatrice's job escorting them both to London. Several years ago, this would have caused Astoria aches of embarrassment and nervousness (particularly considering the aquamarine suit) but as it was, Astoria was so happy to be boarding the train with her sister that she would have willing gone anywhere with Beatrice, even if her stepmother had decided to go out naked.

The station was packed as usual and very noisy. This turned out to be a small mercy, as Beatrice was wearing a pair of heels that were so tall she was having trouble weaving between students. She left them at barrier with a kiss for Daphne and an awkward, feather light hug for Astoria.

"Well," said Daphne awkwardly, peering about for Flora and Pansy.

"Astoria!" shouted an excited female voice. It was Tracey and Astoria had never been so happy to see her.

They all boarded the train together, Tracey questioning Astoria excitedly about the mayhem at the World Cup, her fountain of speech punctuated only occasionally by comments as Daphne chipped in, because she knew all of the answers herself.

They found a large compartment all to themselves. When Daphne took a seat and produced a magazine, Astoria felt her body relax for the first time all morning.

It was a very gray day outside and the lights in the cabins were all on by the early afternoon. Sporadic rain showers created a churning bathtub-like steam that rolled across the grassy moors as the Hogwarts express chugged through the countryside.

"So," said Tracey, who had been reading Daphne's magazine over her shoulder, "have you lot heard that the quidditch tournament won't be happening this year?"

"What?" asked Daphne, obviously surprised by this bit of news.

"Yeah," said Tracey. "My brother Roger is captain for Ravenclaw and they never sent him a letter about holding team tryouts. There isn't going to be a season, he says."

"Why not?" asked Daphne, her soft, round face marred by disappointment.

"The Triwizard tournament is happening instead," said Astoria, forgetting that this was only old news to her.

"Never!" Tracey gasped, her disappointment about the quidditch cup more than mollified. "Are other schools actually going to be playing?"

The compartment door opened and Theodore, looking out of breath and very put upon, stumbled in.

"Here you lot are," he muttered angrily. "You _never_ look for me Astoria! I always end up having to hunt you down."

"If it isn't prince charming," said Tracey wryly. Astoria hid her smile behind her hand.

Theo pushed Daphne's _Witch Weekly_ and the pink pen she had been using to fill out a quiz onto the floor and promptly began to pick wet grass out of the cuffs of his pants, grunting in annoyance.

"Do you think our school champion will end up being Potter?" asked Tracey curiously, obviously not entirely sure what she made of this.

"Oh," said Theo in disappointment, "you're talking about the bloody tournament as well, are you? I've only just escaped Malfoy. He's been going on about it to Crabbe, Goyle and Adrian Pucey for hours."

"How can you _not_ be excited?" asked Tracey emphatically, her eyes gleaming. "You know what this means, don't you? Other schools will have to send _students_ to Hogwarts to compete!"

"So?" sneered Theo. "We've got our share of amateur celebrities at Hogwarts, haven't we?"

"I couldn't agree more, Nott," said Draco Malfoy, his tone positively dripping gleeful sarcasm as he slid open the compartment door.

"Oh, look," said Theo in a tight, unpleasant voice, "Malfoy followed me."

"We might have our own _celebrities_ ," said Tracey pointedly, ignoring Theo, "but we certainly don't have many cute foreign _boys_. Do you know anyone at Beauxbatons, Astoria? Mendel must have friends that he's introduced you to. Are any of them roguishly handsome?"

Astoria laughed, both at the look of eagerness on Tracey's face and at the looks of twin annoyance on both Draco and Theodore's.

"None that I can think of, off of the top of my head, Trace," said Astoria, "but you'll be able to ask him yourself. Maudlin as good as told me that he's planning on entering the tournament. I'm sure he'll have a few names for you."

"Oh, that's right," said Daphne thoughtfully. "I forgot that Maudlin still has a year of school left. He's really going to enter?"

Astoria could tell by the look of mild skepticism on Daphne's face that even _she_ knew what a bad fit this would be.

"Real go-getter, is he?" sneered Draco at once, irrationally irritated by this. "I suppose you hope he'll be champion?"

"Oh, he won't be champion," said Astoria dismissively. "He'll show up, throw his name in and then spend the rest of the year harassing me about all of my poor choices and the lack of purple in my wardrobe"

"No he won't," said Daphne soothingly. "Who knows? It might be nice having new students around."

"Why don't you think he'll be champion?" asked Tracey, evidentially intrigued by Astoria's lack of faith in her old friend. "Is he quite stupid?"

"No, not at all," said Astoria, backtracking at once. "He's really quite clever, it's just, _well_ -"

"I think he's a giant poof," said Theo briskly, causing Draco to laugh in surprised delight.

"Theo!" laughed Astoria, "You've never even met him! He's just-"

"Refined?" tried Daphne.

"Fond of smoking expensive cigars and wearing velvet shoes?" suggested Theo, describing Maudlin exactly as he had seen him in the photographs from Astoria's last Christmas vacation.

Astoria laughed deeply at this.

"It sounds like you're describing Zabini at fifty," drawled Malfoy, looking distinctly cheered. "I suppose Maudlin wears as much pink as his friend Hundin does?"

"Maudlin's not as arch as Zabini," said Daphne, her brow furrowing at the comparison, "and Maudlin's actually probably _better_ looking, to be honest, which sort of makes up for some of his vanity but I can see what you mean, Astoria. I can't really picturing him being very good at an athletic tournament."

"You've met him as well, have you?" asked Draco in a cold voice that put Astoria's teeth on edge, evidentially less pleased by Daphne's description than Theodore's.

"Once or twice," said Daphne, blushing slightly. "I've never met Alec Hundin, though. I'm actually sort of excited to finally see him."

"You're awfully curious about a couple of blokes _you've_ never met, Draco," said Theo in a flat, insinuating voice. "Looking forward to meeting Astoria's friends, are you?"

"What's that supposed to mean?" sneered Malfoy hotly.

"Draco!" squealed Pansy, coming up behind Crabbe, who was still lurking in the hallway. "There you are!"

Her eyes moved from Draco to Daphne before moving onto Astoria and becoming chilly.

"I didn't think I'd find _you_ here, Daph," said Pansy with a wide, probing look, forcing Draco and Crabbe further into the compartment in order to speak over them.

" _Hi_ , Pansy!" said Tracey very loudly from her seat, forcing Pansy to acknowledge her presence in the most rude way possible.

"Hi?" replied Pansy snidely, glancing at Tracey as though she were some kind of slug before raising her eyebrows at Draco, urging him to quietly mock the lunacy of Astoria's compartment with as well. "Listen, Flora and I are going to get lunch, Daphne. Do you want to come along?"

Daphne hesitated, torn between hunger and not wanting to look as though she had been waiting for an opportunity to escape from Astoria.

"Go on, Daphne," said Astoria calmly, sacrificing her happiness to spare her sister the awkwardness. Surely the best way to peace was to not to create any drama in the first place. "You haven't eaten yet."

Daphne stood up, casting Astoria a very grateful look.

"What about _you_ boys?" asked Pansy, turning her attention onto Draco and Crabbe.

"I ate when the cart went by," said Draco lazily. "I'm sure Crabbe wants to go, though. Goyle's probably following lunch around right now."

Crabbe grunted and a flicker of annoyance crossed Pansy's features. This was obviously not what she had wanted at all and Astoria could not help but feel a faint surge of triumph.

"Fine," said Pansy huffily, stuck with Crabbe when she had wanted Draco, "come on, then."

They continued down the corridor. Astoria waited to see if Draco would strike off on his own but he continued to lean idly against the doorframe, much to Theo's increasing displeasure.

"Who _is_ Alec Hundin and why is Daphne excited to meet him?" asked Tracey, undeterred. "Is he cute?"

Draco laughed nastily at the idea of Alec being described as 'cute'.

"You've never heard of the Hundins?" scoffed Theodore in surprise. "They're like Russian crime lords. Even _my_ dad says that they're proper psychos."

" _Please_ ," sneered Draco skeptically. "I saw the son at the World Cup and he was more pastel than a tea party invitation. How frightening could he _possibly_ be?"

"I don't know," said Theo warily. "I heard he tried to murder his father once. Could that be right?"

Draco turned, immensely interested in any story that featured attempted old-money patricide despite himself.

"Could be," said Astoria honestly, shrugging. "They don't get on, Alec and his dad. That's why he went to school in France in the first place."

"So, will your two friends be fighting against each other in order to be Beauxbatons champion?" asked Tracey, excited by the idea.

"No," Astoria sighed. "Alec goes to Durmstrang now. Knowing my luck, both of them will end up competing."

"That would literally be the best thing ever," exclaimed Tracey shamelessly.

"I don't see why," sneered Draco. "It's not like it'll effect _you_ either way, Davis. They probably won't even have time for Astoria once the tournament starts and they _know_ her. They'll have better things to do then hang around with _fourth_ years."

Something about the nastiness of this comment made Astoria's stomach swoop. She didn't very much like the idea of Maudlin or Alec coming to Hogwarts but she couldn't say that she liked the idea of them ignoring her in favor of better or more mature things, either.

"Here's hoping," said Astoria a little falsely, turning her eyes back toward the window and ignoring Draco's reflection, which was staring at her nosily behind her back.

0o0

* * *

Well, this was a short little installment. Sorry guys. I had a super busy traveling weekend and I wanted to get a post in as soon as possible. The next chapter will be longer and more plot driven. For now, I thought it was best to just get on back to Hogwarts.

Next chapter will introduce Moody, (who I suspect will get much more dialogue than Lupin did) and will also include Draco's debut as a ferret. (Jeez, I'm really going to have to dedicate some time to Remus in book five because he got _totally_ ripped off in the third year here, didn't he?)

As always, reviews are a rewarding delight!


	33. Alastor's Moodiness

Chapter Thirty Three

Alastor's Moodiness

* * *

0o0

By the time the train had reached the station, the rolling mists and light showers of the day had turned into an all out storm. Lightning forked the sky as they hustled toward the carriages. Astoria used Daphne's magazine as a makeshift umbrella, dancing around the puddles on the station's cobblestone floor.

After much jostling, Theo, Tracey and Astoria managed to get a carriage together. It was a bumpy, damp ride up the drive and by the time they had passed the gates topped with winged boards, Theodore was complaining loudly.

"At least we didn't have to cross the lake," said Tracey, stumbling into the entrance hall and shaking rain off her cloak. "Ooh," she murmured. "Look at Blaise!"

Rain drenched and surly, Astoria could not quite understand what it was about Blaise that Tracey thought merited pointing attention to.

"He looks like a wet cat," muttered Theo in annoyance, pulling his frayed scarf away from his mouth.

"He _looks_ like a perfume model," said Tracey mistily.

Astoria thought Blaise looked closer to a cross between the two, but before she could respond, Ron Weasley let loose a surprised yell.

"OY!" Ron hollered, ducking next to a suit of armor because he had just been pelted with a mysterious water balloon.

Astoria's eyes went toward the ceiling, where they spied Peeves, hovering in a corner and cradling an armful of bright red water balloons. Peeves threw another balloon, this time at Harry Potter. Harry stepped back in time to avoid the majority of the spray, but several Third Years squealed.

"PEEVES!" thundered Professor Mcgonagall threateningly, summoned by the sound of shouting near the entryway.

"Come on," said Theodore, tugging on Astoria's arm to pull her in the direction of the Great Hall.

Draco was laughing maliciously at Ron, who was doing a forced jig to avoid being pelted a second time, so Astoria took great care to avoid his line of sight as they wove through the crowd.

A wave of heat and a cloud of seasoned cooking smells wafted over Astoria as they passed through the doors into the hall. She shivered gratefully in her damp school uniform and pushed her drenched hair away form her face.

Theo and Tracey made for the Slytherin table, so Astoria set off in search of Fred and George. She found them sitting with their friend Lee Jordan, both looking decidedly more freckled than the last time she had seem them.

"Astoria!" called Fred enthusiastically, scooting over to make more room.

It had been a long time since Astoria had been able to leisurely converse with either of the twins. When Fred and George proceeded to talk merrily all through the sorting, stopping only to clap politely when new Gryffindors were sent toward their table, Astoria did nothing to interrupt them.

"Of course, we looked for you in the woods," said George, as the discussion turned to the World Cup. "There were an awful lot of people running around, though. it was impossible to find anyone. We all got separated. Blimey, Ron and Harry reckon they actually heard whoever it was that cast the Dark Mark! Harry swears it was a man's voice, not an elf's. You heard that story about Crouch's house elf?"

"They were that close?" asked Astoria quietly, considering this. "Harry's _really_ lucky that the man who sent up the mark didn't recognize him. Whoever did it was probably rogue. I bet they would have killed Harry, if they knew they had the chance."

"I know," agreed Fred in an equally grim tone. "Trouble always finds our Harry, doesn't it?"

Fred paused to clap for Dennis Creevey as he became a new Gryffindor.

"What do you reckon that kid is Colin Creevey's little brother?" asked George, pointing at the narrow faced newcomer and smirking.

"Anyway," said Fred, turning his attention back to Astoria while Laura Madley was sorted into Hufflepuff, "we cursed a muggle this summer."

"You _what_?" Astoria spluttered, unsure whether to laugh or gape.

"Yeah," said Fred proudly, his eyes going brightening with fondness at the memory. "Harry's cousin, Dudley. His tongue swelled up to the size of armchair. Dud's about the size of a whale anyway, mind you, but it was still quite a feat."

"Ton-Tongue Toffee," explained George enthusiastically. "We're marketing it this year. That's not all we've been working on either."

"There's the Canary Creams as well," Fred added. " _They'll_ turn you into a bird for about a minute. The molting is a bit wonky at the end though..."

The best bit of business was yet to come, however. When Dumbledore got to his feet and began the start of the year notices, Astoria turned halfway in her seat to watch, waiting for him to announce the Triwizard Tournament.

"Let me introduce our new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher," said Professor Dumbledore, sweeping a hand toward his rain-soaked companion. "Professor Moody!"

There were a few half- hearted claps, but mostly, it was a scattering of chatter that went up and down the hall in leu of applause. Astoria's attention was no longer on Canary Creams or the Tournament as she turned to take in the sight of the heavily scarred and gristly looking man seated on Dumbledore's left.

" _Mad-Eye_ Moody?" wondered George. "Is he serious?"

Astoria was wondering the same thing, although perhaps for rather different reasons. At that moment, a great clap of thunder accompanied by bolt of forked lighting lit up the enchanted ceiling, throwing Alastor Moody's face into greater and even more frightening relief.

Astoria had heard Moody's name mentioned a few times before; certainly often enough to know that Moody was considered something of a paranoid joke these days, which was surely what had caught George's attention. Astoria however, also knew that Moody had been one of the top Aurors during the war and that he had been responsible for rounding up many Death Eaters after the fall of the Dark Lord.

Moody might be skittish but Astoria was not fool enough to assume that this also meant he was foolish. Indeed, there was a keenness about Moody's face that left Astoria with little doubt that he was a rather clever man. Astoria's sudden discomfort about having a teacher who might have been present at her mothers criminal trial knew no bounds. She turned her eyes back toward Dumbledore, itching with the desire to be distracted.

When the moment came, even knowing that the announcement for the Triwizard Tournament was coming could not prepare Astoria for the outcry of loud excitement around her.

"You're JOKING!" cried Fred so earnestly that he earned a response from the headmaster himself.

"I am _not_ joking Mr. Weasley," answered Dumbledore smoothly. "The heads of Durmstrang and Beauxbatons will be arriving with their shortlisted contenders in October and the champions themselves will be selected on Halloween."

"I'm entering!" declared George adamantly, rapping his knuckles against he table top as though he meant business. "Glory _and_ a thousand Galleons prize money? _Think_ of what we could do with a thousand galleons!"

"We could fund research," whispered Fred excitedly.

"We could start a mail order business!" insisted George.

"-have agreed to impose an age restriction this year," Dumbledore went on. "Only students who are of age- that is to say, seventeen years of age or older-"

"No!" cried George furiously, his mouth dropping open as his heart's desire was ripped away from him. "No!"

"You're not seventeen?" Astoria guessed.

"Not until April!" said Fred resentfully.

"They're _not_ going to stop me from entering," George vowed. "Where there is a will, there is a way!"

The table was clearing of the last remaining remnants of dessert and students were standing up all over the hall, making their way toward the doors.

"Hang on," said Astoria, nimbly snagging the very last lemon tartlet before it vanished from its golden platter. "Are you only mad that you can't compete because of the prize?"

"Well, that's _part_ of it," insisted George stubbornly. "That and the fact that we're almost of age, anyway! What a crock of-"

"Listen," said Astoria quietly as they reached the marble staircase, checking to see who else was listening because a brilliant, yet faintly incriminating idea had just occurred to her her, "there _might_ be more than one way to earn that thousand galleons."

"What d'you mean?" snapped Fred sarcastically. "You think we can sell two thousand Canary Creams to the delegations from Beauxbatons and Durmstrang?"

" _No_ ," said Astoria, looking for any Slytherins who might have lingered after dinner, and dropping her voice still lower. "I think we could do what we always do..."

"Oh," said George, catching on. "You mean take bets. On the Tournament, that is?"

Fred and George exchanged looks.

"I don't know," said Fred, staring at George almost guiltily.

"Yeah," agreed George, rubbing his neck and refusing to meet Astoria's eye.

"Why not?" asked Astoria, thoroughly surprised by this most uncharacteristic reluctance. "This is a high stakes event with tons of publicity. The Triwizard Tournament is _famous_. It's not just students paying attention. There might be some real money in this."

"It would be easier just to enter the damn thing," muttered Fred resentfully.

"Maybe," said Astoria doubtfully, more certain than ever that she was onto something. "You two are looking at this the wrong way. If we were _really_ careful, we could make loads more than a thousand galleons gambling."

There was an awkward pause, during which neither twin responded.

"We'll see," said George evasively.

0o0

By the next morning, the sky was a cold, pewter grey. It was no longer raining and the enchanted ceiling in the great hall was flat and dull from end to end. Astoria breezed by the Gryffindor table just long enough to pick up her new course schedule, and by the time she was headed back across the hall, Theodore had come in for breakfast.

"What does your morning look like?" asked Astoria, stealing a croissant from the bread basket. "Mine is all outside. Herbology and then Care of Magical Creatures."

"I nearly dropped out of that class this summer," said Theo, pouring himself coffee. "I've got Charms first, otherwise mine is the same. Oh look, we both have double Arithmancy this afternoon. That's not bad."

The mail arrived overhead in a clamorous swirl of feathers. Astoria watched the post owls swooping down at left and right, idly. She was just about to turn back to her breakfast when a large black bird landed on her plate, crushing her pastry before sticking out its leg importantly.

"Who's that from?" asked Theodore nosily, trying to read the address on the envelope. "What does your aunt want with you so soon?"

"It's from Maudlin," sighed Astoria, reading the contents of the letter. "He's been shortlisted as a potential champion."

"Happy day," muttered Theo grimly.

"That's that, then," said Astoria, dropping the note and taking up her croissant before remembering that the black owl had stepped on it and dropping it again. "He'll really be coming to Hogwarts in a month. There's no way out now."

"I can't see what everyone is getting so excited about," muttered Theodore frustratedly. "There's enough people around without inviting more! It all just sounds like _drama_ to me."

Astoria did not see Theodore again until her Herbology class was over. After a lengthy first lesson on how to squeeze the pus out of Bubotubers, Astoria dallied for far too long by the tap, compulsively washing herself and she was already late by the time she spotted Hagrid's cabin at the bottom of the sloping hill.

Astoria was the last to arrive, and she had missed much of Hagrid's introduction but the Slytherins had already made the decision to fall away from the open crates on the grass, so Astoria peered into one nervously.

"What _are_ those?" Astoria asked, tapping Tracey on the shoulder and pointing toward the ominous looking boxes.

"Shhh," hissed Pansy from the row ahead of them.

Astoria was certain that Pansy could care less what Hagrid had to say and was just looking for a chance to be rude, but she held her tongue. The sight of Daphne's messy braid, which sticking out between the coils of her scarf like a feeble tail, served as a reminder not to pick any fights.

"He's calling them Skrewts," whispered Tracey slyly. "I think Hagrid might have _bred_ them."

Astoria tried not to laugh at this rather intimidating prospect, because nobody else standing nearby seemed to think the matter was at all funny.

"They've got suckers and stings and _some_ of them blast _fire_ ," said Tracey quietly, her grin betraying the fact that she too found the lesson amusing. "Malfoy asked what the point of them was and Hagrid got all flustered and said, "thas' next lesson'."

Astoria broke into a fit of silent laughter.

"Granger thinks they'll be as magical as dragons," continued Tracey sagely, grinning irresistibly.

"Is that all?" asked Astoria, turning her head into Tracey's sweater to laugh when Pansy shushed them again.

After Lunch, Astoria met Theo and Tracey in the entrance hall and they all began the long trek up to the seventh floor Arithmancy classroom together.

"Blast-Ended mutants, they are!" said Theo, huffing and puffing up the steps. "Shell-less monsters! One of us should do the school a service and go down there some night to smash them while they're sleeping."

They had reached the top of the stairs, where a small queue of students had gathered in the usual spot, waiting to be let in.

"How would you even know if they were asleep?" Astoria pointed out. "They haven't got _eyes_."

Malfoy was standing several feet away, lost as he always was before Arithmancy because neither Crabbe nor Goyle was smart enough to take the class with him. When he spotted their heads, he immediately moved away from the wall toward them.

"Alright, Malfoy," said Theo gravely, "which one of us is going to sneak down to Hagrid's cabin and crush those Blast-Ended beasts before they're big enough to set the class on fire? Does Montague take Care of Magical Creatures? _He's_ violent, isn't he? I reckon he'd do it."

"Who cares," drawled Draco at once, distractedly. His eyes sparkled maliciously as he withdrew a newspaper clipping from his pocket. "Look at this!"

Astoria bent closer so that she could read the newsprint. The article was entitled _'Further Mistakes At The Ministry of Magic'._ After the second paragraph, Astoria had had enough.

"...by the antics of Arnold Weasley of the misuse of Muggle Artifacts office," read Theodore out loud, taking hold of the paper so that he could read further, because it was angled so that only Astoria could read it without having to tilt her head.

"That's not even his _name_ , is it?" insisted Draco gleefully. "It's Arthur Weasley, not _Arnold_. How pathetic do you have to be in order to be a Ministry Official and _still_ have the paper get your name wrong?"

"They've mentioned the flying car!" said Tracey, jabbing at the _Prophet_ and laughing out loud.

"Look at the picture!" Malfoy drawled, flipping the paper around and holding it up. "Look, they're in front of the Weasley's house- can you believe that dump!"

"There are chickens in the background," said Theo, smirking repressively. "Actual chickens."

"So what if they have chickens?" asked Astoria snappishly. "This article is trash."

"Well, yeah," said Theodore, taking the paper from Draco, "but it's _funny_ trash."

"Hagrid wasn't enough?" demanded Malfoy resentfully, taken aback by Astoria's attitude. "Are you forming a support group for Weasley now, too?"

" _No_ ," said Astoria stiffly, entirely done with the article and its accompanying photo.

"It's not _Ron_ she's in a huff for _,_ " said Tracey keenly "She pals around with those twins, remember? Pass it here, I want to see the picture."

"Oh yeah," said Draco slowly, his annoyance receding slightly as he realized that it was not a new alliance with Ron and Harry that was causing Astoria to champion his family. "Well, it's not my fault that they have a pork pie for a mother. _I_ didn't print the photo, you know."

The doors to the classroom opened, saving Astoria from having to smother a retort.

"That's an interesting bit about Moody though, isn't it?" said Theo, peering at the article that Tracey was still goggling at.

"What did it say about Moody?" asked Astoria, suddenly alert. "I didn't read that far."

"He got into about fight with some muggle law enforcement," said Theo. "Something about enchanting dustbins."

Draco laughed, watching closely as Astoria took the article from Tracey and finally read it through to the end.

"I don't _know_ about Moody," said Astoria at last, giving voice to an inner anxiety that ought to remain suppressed.

"That's because he's an absolute nutcase," agreed Draco scornfully. "I swear, Dumbledore's new staffing arrangements get worse and worse every year."

"I don't see what's so wrong with Moody," said Tracey. "He sounds like a paranoid laugh. I bet he's a riot."

Astoria however, who had at least one relative that Moody had probably had a hand in locking away, was not very inclined to think of Mad-Eye Moody as a funny joke.

In fact, if Moody's paranoia about Death Eaters was any kind of a clue as to how he might react to his students, Astoria had a funny feeling that Moody might not like her at all. Something about the looks on both Theo and Draco's faces told her they seemed to share some of Astoria's mistrust.

"I dunno," said Astoria, pulling out her textbook and a few spare bits of parchment, prepared to let the conversation die.

It was not as though Astoria could blame Moody or the rest of the ministry for arresting her mother and uncles, but something about the connection made Astoria feel sad and oddly defensive.

"Astoria, can I borrow your dictionary?" asked Tracey.

"I've left mine," said Astoria, checking her bag.

Tracey got up from her seat and moved down the row toward the shelf of spare texts.

"They say Moody's still got a real vendetta against anyone he thinks was a Death Eater. Especially the ones who got away," said Theodore. "Do you think he'll extend that toward their kids?"

"How can he?" drawled Malfoy smugly. "Half of the Death Eaters who avoided Azkaban are the people who write _his_ lousy paychecks now. It's not as though Moody can do anything about it."

"Maybe he'll like me just fine, then," said Astoria tensely.

"Because _your_ family was so blameless?" insisted Draco stubbornly.

"Because there _are_ no free Death Eaters in my family, are there?" asked Astoria stonily. "He arrested them all."

Theo stared at her quietly.

"Wait," said Draco, a hint of morbid fascination coloring his voice, which was far too loud for Astoria's approval, "are you saying it was _Moody_ who-"

"I don't know," said Astoria tensely, beginning to wish that she had not spoken at all. " _Probably_. There were only five real Aurors left at the end of the war. Moody sent more people to Azkaban than anyone else. I've got a mother and two uncles. You do the math."

Draco made an odd noise somewhere between a snort and a 'huh' and continued to stare at her calculatingly.

Theodore, perhaps startled by the mention of Astoria's mother out loud, had frozen. Malfoy already knew this secret however, and Astoria was in no mood to be particularly subtle.

Wishing to cover the moment, Astoria forced herself to crack a sly grin. "I'll give ten Galleons to anyone brave enough to ask Moody."

" _Nobody_ needs ten galleons that badly," said Theo grimly, perhaps thinking of Moody's scarred and misshapen face as he had seen it the night before, lit up by lightning.

Draco stretched back in his chair almost cockily, taking up as much room as he could and scoffed again. His eyes darted back toward Astoria. "You're probably right. Even if he is old and senile, Moody is a _problem_."

This wasn't quite what Astoria had said, but even as Draco spoke, Astoria realized that it was precisely what she had meant.

Astoria opened her mouth to argue, angry with herself for her own instinctual prejudice but Tracey had returned with the dictionary and Professor Vector had appeared.

Astoria flipped over a piece of parchment, feeling confused and trapped inside of her own thoughts. Draco and Theo continued to murmur together until Vector rapped his wand on the blackboard to call them to attention.

Draco leaned forward to snag his quill off the desk and Astoria caught the faint, familiar scent of his shirt. A pervading awareness suddenly caused Astoria to freeze as it occurred to her, for perhaps the first time, that she genuinely _liked_ the way Draco smelled.

Unlike Draco's face, which was almost always fixed into a look of smugness or disgust, the clean and decidedly masculine scent of his clothing was almost instinctually comforting to her as opposed to off-putting.

Prickling at this uncomfortable new observation, Astoria peered sideways at Draco's face, which appeared lazy and only half interested in the lesson. She watched him for a moment, wondering if he would laugh if he knew what Astoria was thinking, or be secretly gratified by it.

If Astoria was being totally honest with herself, she did not really think that Draco would find any urge on her part to be closer to his body particularly funny.

The more she thought about it, the more it occurred to Astoria that, if she wanted to inch toward Draco and lean into his bubble of mistrust and hatred for the people who had stood against the Dark Lord at the height of his power, she was certain Draco would readily let her. If Astoria was prepared to resent Moody for arresting her mother, Malfoy was clearly prepared to join her. If Astoria wanted to hear Moody abused and belittled, she was certain Malfoy was more than up to the task of bringing that about for her.

Nothing could have made Astoria want to spare Moody her resentment more thoroughly than this however, because Astoria did not particularly _want_ to play for Draco's family team this way, nor did she want him to think that she did.

After all, Astoria herself had never committed any sort of hate crime in her life, nor did she plan on doing so. Alastor Moody had done _her_ no wrong. He had simply been acting the way any _good_ person would act when he had arrested Lucrezia Lestrange and it would do Astoria well to remember that.

Dizzied by her emotional turn around, Astoria silently vowed to herself not to be hasty in judging Moody and to hold back when it came to speaking about him. Astoria was just going to have to force herself to give the man a chance.

Professor Vector let them out for dinner early without assigning any homework. Astoria packed her bag and avoided Draco, who seemed keen to continue the discussion about Moody, speeding up to walk with Tracey instead. To Astoria's surprise, Theodore lingered behind with Draco.

"Blaise sat next to me at lunch today," said Tracey in a tone of hushed delight. "He wanted to know all about my summer."

"Hmm," said Astoria, half spying on Theodore and Draco and half listening to Tracey. Astoria had not forgotten the way that Blaise had spoken to Astoria at the end of the last term and truthfully, she was no closer to liking Blaise than she had been. The fact that Astoria had not seen him in several months did very little to soften her dislike.

"I didn't even have to find him, he just came and sat with me," said Tracey. "Do you think he thought about me over break?"

"Probably," said Astoria absently. "Blaise seems like the type of creepy bloke that probably spends all of his free time analyzing his friends, searching for weaknesses."

They had reached the entrance hall but they were early and the doors to the Great Hall had not yet been opened.

"You're crazy," said Tracey roughly. "Blaise isn't like that. He's observant but he's not diabolical."

Astoria snorted, watching out of the corner of her eye as Malfoy produced the newspaper article about Arthur Weasley and showed it to Pansy and Flora as they came down from Divination.

" _What_ are you looking at?" asked Tracey sharply, following Astoria's eyes toward Pansy and the newspaper. "Are you really going to get all bent out of shape about this Weasley thing?" she snapped. "I don't think I can take another year of you trying to defend lost causes against Malfoy."

"Huh?" asked Astoria distractedly, trying to understand how the Weasleys had come back into the conversation.

"The _article_ ," said Tracey waspishly, perhaps a little angry that Astoria had not been very keen to listen to her talk about Blaise. "You _know_ Draco is going to spend a good week laughing about it. Am I really going to have to watch you get all defensive every time he brings it up? It's so _boring_ watching the two of you fight- I swear, you only do it to see him get bent out of shape."

"What are you talking about?" Astoria frowned, feeling slightly accused of a crime she had not committed. "I don't like bending people out of shape."

"Yeah?" said Tracey snidely. "Malfoy gets mauled by a hippogriff, and the second his father tries to take the matter in front of the school board you're all 'save the bird!' You might as well have just told Malfoy that you were disappointed when he didn't die."

"That was different!" Astoria insisted. "Draco was only doing that to get back at Hagrid for being nice to Harry! The whole thing was ridiculous."

Pansy was laughing sycophantically across the hall, pointing out sentences in the _Daily Prophet_ article and then repeating them shrilly in a very carrying voice. Astoria looked away, finding something about the sight to be particularly irritating.

Tracey's eyes narrowed, focusing on Astoria intently.

"What?" snapped Astoria.

"Nothing," said Tracey evenly. "I just don't understand what you're mad about."

"I'm _not_ mad," Astoria insisted. "I'm just hungry. Tell me about Blaise. I'm sorry, I wasn't listening."

Tracey had only just taken up where she had left off when she was interrupted for a second time.

BANG!

Astoria physically jumped. Tracey flinched so hard that she dropped the book she was holding and brought an arm up to instinctually block her face. The sound had come from the other side of the hall, and they both turned around anxiously to look.

Draco and Harry both had their wands aloft. If Astoria had to guess what had happened, she would have put her money on a scenario involving Draco trying to curse Harry while his back was turned. Hermione was pulling hard on Harry's sleeve and Harry was fighting awkwardly to turn back.

"OH NO YOU DON'T, LADDIE!" bellowed Moody, barreling down the stairs, dragging is lame leg a half-step behind him.

There was another loud bang and several people screamed. Astoria stood on her tip-toes, unsure of what she was seeing. The hall suddenly fell silent and began to push away from where Moody was standing.

"What's going on?" Astoria complained, watching as Moody broke away from Harry and staggered toward Crabbe, Goyle, and the place Malfoy had been standing a second before.

There was a terrified shriek that Astoria took for either Flora or Pansy at first, before she spotted a white ferret trembling on the floor, trying to dodge between the feet of the nearest Slytherins and slip away down the passage toward the dungeons.

"I don't think so!" roared Moody. The ferret flew into the air, where it levitated for a millisecond, before Moody gave a quick twitch of his wand and slammed the ferret against the floor with such a forceful impact that it sounded as though someone had been slapped.

"Stinking, cowardly, scummy thing to do..." said Professor Moody roughly as the ferret flailed, its legs and tail flopping listlessly like a rag doll's. Again and again Moody forced the ferret to collide with the flagstone floor, and each time the ferret howled in pain.

"Oh my effing God," said Tracey slowly, her eyes bouncing along with the ferret. "Is that-?"

Astoria could not respond. Her eyes were locked on the scene that was playing out in front of them.

Professor Mcgonagall appeared at the bottom of the staircase and seemed to gain the measure of what was going on quickly enough, because she dropped her books the same way Tracey had and attempted to force herself in front of Moody, who was continuing to bouncing the sobbing ferret, unfazed.

Astoria grabbed Tracey's shirt sleeve and pulled her forward through the crowd so that they could see properly.

"No!" cried Professor Mcgonagall, remembering her wand.

Next moment, Draco Malfoy had reappeared in an undignified heap on the floor, his normally sleek blonde hair all over his wincing face, which was as pink as valentine heart.

Tracey clapped a hand over her mouth to hide her shocked grin.

"Nothing like a good sharp shock, is there?" asked Moody carelessly, absolutely unaffected by the unfairness of the injuries he had just inflicted on an underage student.

Grimacing, Draco dragged himself to his feet, obviously determined not to remain on his back in front of a crowd of students. The effort of standing seemed to have cost him something however, and he staggered slightly. Pale eyes watering with pain and humiliation, Draco put his hand against the wall to steady his footing.

"I'll do that, then," said Moody, concluding a conversation he must have been having with Mcgonagall, which Astoria had not been listening to at all.

Draco muttered something that Astoria could not quite hear, but he must have mentioned his father because Moody laughed coldly and said, "Oh yeah? Well, I know your father of old boy. You tell him Moody's keeping a close eye on his son... you tell him that from me. Now, your Head of House will be Snape, will it?"

" _Yes_ ," said Malfoy resentfully.

"Another old friend," muttered Moody, seizing Draco's arm in order to march him toward the dungeons.

Draco tried to pull away, repulsed by the contact, but Moody grabbed him harder still before giving him a brisk push toward the top of the dungeon stairway.

The hall remained silent for a long moment before positively exploding.

Tracey swore breathlessly. "See? I _told_ you Moody would be a riot!"

Astoria, however, could not see it this way. Her worst fears confirmed, Astoria tried to catch Theo's eye in the crowd, thinking that he would be a voice of reason but Theodore, for his part, did not seem to be looking for Astoria. Even as Astoria watched, Theo made a beeline for Blaise Zabini, (another unlikely duo) and Astoria knew that he was thinking exactly what she was thinking. Moody, as it transpired, was going to be a problem after all.

0o0

Astoria did not see Theodore again until the next morning, standing in line with Tracy before potions class.

"I still think it was funny," Astoria heard Tracey say in an offhand sort of way as Astoria worked to move around Lavender and Parvati in order to reach them.

"Mental, you mean," said Theo coldly, his eyes darting about the dark passageway, perhaps to check to see if they were being watched. "Moody _never_ would have done that to Potter, you know."

"Of course not," said Tracey. "Then again, who would? He's the boy who lived, isn't he?"

"Because _that's_ fair," snapped Theo.

Astoria had never seen Theodore come to Draco's defense before and she had to marvel at the loyalty that Theodore seemed to have secretly been hiding all along. An actual camaraderie for anyone who would stand with him against the forces that wanted attack his family's cause. Draco, Crabbe and Goyle, joined the line as well and Astoria saw Theo nod at Draco to express his solidarity.

"What did your father say, Draco?" asked Theodore, his expression lofty and removed from Tracey.

"He hasn't written yet," said Malfoy resentfully, a flicker of embarrassment crossing his features. "I'll hear from his this afternoon- he's not home."

"I still think you are all too surprised by this," said Tracey. "Everyone knows Moody's touched. You shouldn't have been using spells in the halls."

"So _what_ if I was doing magic in the corridors _?_ " Draco hissed hatefully. "He should have given me detention! Teacher's aren't allowed to _torture_ students! The man should be in Azkaban, where he belongs. He thinks he's such a big man for beating up children, does he? I wonder how long he'd last in _prison_."

"Well, Astoria thought it was funny," said Tracey easily, "and she's always got a sense of humor."

"No, she didn't," said Theo snottily before Astoria, who had nearly reached them, even had a chance to speak for herself. "Didn't you see the _look_ on her face? She was horrified."

"When was I horrified?" asked Astoria, coming in around Crabbe.

"You didn't think that stunt with Moody was funny?" said Theo confidently. "Did you?"

Astoria's eyes flicked from Tracey, who looked faintly annoyed to Theodore, who looked firm.

"No," said Astoria, silently remembering her vow to give Moody a chance and picking her words carefully, "not _funny_ , no."

"And why would she think it was funny?" sneered Draco, looking very relived, despite his bravado, to learn that Astoria had not laughed at him. "It could be any of _you_ next."

"Why would he turn _us_ into bouncing ferrets?" asked Tracey skeptically, perhaps missing the greater political turn of Moody's behavior. "None of _us_ are going to try to attack Potter while his back is turned. You taught us _our_ lesson, thank you."

Draco rounded on Tracey, eyes flashing malevolently but the line had begun to move forward, robbing Malfoy of the chance to cut Tracey down the several notches that he probably believed she deserved.

Snape was in a particularly foul mood, which Astoria did not find surprising. Snape had never cared for any of their old Defense Against the Dark Arts teachers, but this Moody business was something new. Snape might be cranky, but he was also slightly _subdued,_ a trait no other teacher had managed to scare into him before. Astoria, who had come to think of Snape as a strong (if unpleasant) personality over the years, could not help but find this switch in his behavior slightly disheartening.

When Neville caused a diversion by melting his sixth cauldron since First Year, Astoria leaned back in her seat so that she could be heard and whispered to Draco, "What did Moody say to Snape when he took you to him yesterday?"

"Idiot boy!" sneered Snape, charming the mess off of the floor.

Draco's eyes flicked toward Snape, but Snape looked preoccupied enough to merit whispering.

"Threatened him, mostly," said Draco in a low, snide voice. "Snape was furious, of course but what could he do? It's not as though he was going to duel the psychopath. I know for a fact Snape went to the headmaster after I left, though. If Dumbledore won't do something about it, Snape will- he _always_ backs my father."

It was a funny thing, but even after seeing Draco sprawled across the floor and shivering with humiliation and pain, it was rather hard to feel sorry for him when he spoke this way.

Astoria nodded and turned back toward the front of the class, resolved to try and forget about the incident altogether. It was none of her business, after all.

Snape continued to yell and threaten Neville, who had turned very pink and was now trying to pick bits of a glass beaker out of his twisted and gooey cauldron.

Draco had not had his fill of griping it seemed, and now that Astoria had opened the door, he was content to carry on.

"Of course, it'll be hard to get _rid_ of Moody," Draco sneered rapidly. "He's been in legal trouble for years, but nobody else _wants_ Moody's job. Think about it- why else would even Dumbledore have hired him? He _couldn't_ get anybody else."

Astoria bit her lip, beginning to wish that she had not asked about Moody at all or, at the very least, that she had waited until after class. Astoria was afraid of turning Snape's attention toward them, as surely it would be Astoria and not _Draco_ who would be punished for speaking during class.

"You should have heard Moody _talking_ ," continued Malfoy, oblivious to the fact that Astoria was no longer responding to him. "He's an _absolute_ lunatic, positive that there are enemies inside the castle walls, looking to _murder_ him in his sleep. It's a wonder the man hasn't drank himself to death by now, considering how paranoid he is. It's not _juice_ in that flask of his, I can tell you that much..."

Astoria imagined Draco was probably right about this, but Snape had nearly finished yelling at Neville and she could sense his attention beginning to shift back toward the rest of the class. Astoria turned in her seat, prepared to tell Malfoy to be quiet before he got her a detention but a faintly lavender storm cloud of a bruise near his jaw distracted her.

"Mark my words," sneered Draco resentfully, "it'll be Potter and Moody in it together now- no doubt Moody thinks he's the next _messiah_."

Astoria leaned sideways, trying to have a better look at the bruise. The moment Malfoy realized what she was staring at however, he twitched back into his seat reflexively with a look of surprisingly shamefaced anger.

This was most uncharacteristic of Draco, who generally liked to brag about his wounds loudly with an air of great personal suffering. Still, Astoria reflected, _this_ was not a fake injury and Draco had gotten it in front of a crowd while being beaten by a teacher. Perhaps the fact that Moody, who was limp and old, had managed to get the better of him was faintly embarrassing to Draco's sense of manliness.

"Greengrass!" snapped Snape, causing Astoria to nearly slide sideways out of her chair.

Most of the class turned to stare at her, curious as to what she had done wrong. Several tables away, Astoria heard Pansy begin to whisper something to Flora under her breath.

Astoria righted herself and continued brewing in silence.

0o0

If Moody's little escapade in the entrance hall hadn't been enough to mark him as mad and a little dangerous, his first class sealed the deal completely.

"Did you see it twitch?" muttered Parvati after their first defense lesson, shivering slightly.

"I _hate_ spiders!" said Lavender sternly. "I don't know _why_ he couldn't have used something else to demonstrate the curses on!"

"Like what?" muttered Astoria, thinking of the three Unforgivable Curses they had just seen performed and wondering what the school board would have to say when they learned that Moody had performed them in front of students. "Would you rather he had used something cute? The third spell is a killing curse..."

Lavender did not seem to know what to say to this so she sped up, taking Parvati by the hand.

Astoria had seen enough during the lesson to put her off her dinner. Instead of heading down toward the Great Hall, she turned her feet toward Gryffindor tower.

Astoria was glad of this decision the moment she climbed through the portrait hole and spotted Fred and George, sitting together on an Ottoman near the fire. It was very unusual to find the twins on their own, as they were rather popular and liked to socialize.

"Don't write that," muttered George grimly, taking a quill from his brother. "We don't want to threaten him in writing. He could show it to someone-"

Fred had a clipboard on his lap and Astoria became wary as she approached and realized that they were composing a letter.

"What's going on?" asked Astoria.

Both twins jerked up straight guiltily. Fred turned the clipboard over to conceal the letter before turning around to face her.

"Nothing," said George, taking a passing stab at causal. "Why aren't you in the Great Hall?"

"I just had Moody's class," said Astoria, sinking onto the nearest arm chair. "Put me off my dinner."

"Right," said Fred. "Did he go over the Unforgivables with you? We had him on Tuesday."

"Mhmm," said Astoria, staring at the clipboard nosily. "Who are you writing to?"

"No one," said George. "Just a pen friend."

"Since when have you had a pen friend?" asked Astoria, reaching toward the clipboard.

"Never _you_ mind," said Fred sternly, snatching the half composed letter away from her reaching fingers roughly. "We're entitled to some privacy now and then!"

"Alright," said Astoria, taken aback. "Sorry..."

George sighed and looked up at the ceiling irritably. Fred cast a half of a glance at his brother, obviously trying to read his train of thought.

"Well," said Astoria, feeling a little hurt, "I'll leave you to it."

"Don't," said George as Astoria stood up to go. "Come back"

"Sit," commanded Fred resignedly. "Look- we've got to tell you something and you probably aren't going to like it."

"Ok," said Astoria, a lick of baffled fear caressing her insides. "What's wrong?"

"Well," began George hesitantly, "nothing is 'wrong' per say, it's just that Fred and I made a bit of a mistake over the summer- that is, we did something that might make taking bets on the Tournament a little tricky."

"What did you _do_?" asked Astoria tensely, her sense of foreboding mounting. "You haven't accidentally blown up a muggle with a sweet, have you? Is the law looking for us?"

"No, no!" said George quickly. "Nothing like that. We just- well, we bet some of the money we made off of the quidditch tournament last year on the World Cup."

"How much?" asked Astoria at once, feeling oddly betrayed that Fred and George would have tapped into these resources for anything other than proper research on joke shop items. They had made that money together, after all. In fact, when it came to the gold they had earned gambling, Astoria had been the one to ensure that they won most of it.

"All of it," said Fred in a flat, miserable voice.

Astoria gaped at them.

"Don't look at us like that!" said George angrily. "We saw an opportunity and we took it- you would have done the same!"

"But you lost?" demanded Astoria accusingly.

"No, actually," said Fred tightly. "We _didn't_ loose. That's where this all gets confusing."

"How is it confusing?" snapped Astoria. "You either won or you didn't!"

"We won," said George in a dark voice, "only the person we bet against never paid us."

"So it'll be hard to start a new pool," said Fred sadly. "We don't have any money at all now and we won't be able to pay people if they win. There's nothing left in the kitty. "

"Who did you bet aginst?" asked Astoria, chafing against the injustice of this.

Fred and George exchanged looks again.

"Ludo Bagman," said George, handing Astoria the clipboard at last.

"The head of the Department of Games and Sports?" Astoria spluttered. "What is he doing taking bets from _minors_? And then _not_ paying them!"

"Yeah, well, it turns out he's a crooked little thief," said George hotly. "He paid us in leprechaun gold and ran off on us."

"Maybe he made a mistake?" Astoria suggested hopefully.

"We've written to him twice," said Fred in a low voice. "I don't think he made a mistake. I think he's trying to take us for all our money."

"It looked like he was betting pretty hard against the Goblins," added George. "He probably came up short trying to pay _them,_ so he tapped into the money he had taken off of other people- people that won't find him at his house and beat him bloody, you know? Goblins can be nasty- awful reputation when it comes to gold. Fred and I were no threat in comparison..."

Astoria scanned the draft of the letter that the twins had been composing. It was marred with crossed off insults and threats.

"We're _really_ sorry, Astoria," said Fred dismally.

"It's ok," said Astoria, forcing herself to stay calm, trying to come up with a plan. "Bagman's pretty important at the ministry. We can use that _against_ him. He won't want people running around accusing him of taking illegal bets. We'll get the money back, we'll just have to be really careful about how we do it.

Fred and George both nodded.

I _don't_ think we should put it in writing, though," Astoria added.

"Yeah," said George, taking the letter and ripping it into two clean pieces. "We were just coming to that."

0o0

* * *

Ok, I know this took a really long time to get posted. I'm sorry I've been so lagged lately. In fact, it has be been requested via review that I try to mention when my next post will be, (which is probably a good idea because I know the way I upload is erratic sometimes) so I'll be making a point of trying to do that from now on. Expect the next chapter to go up sometime late tomorrow night or the following morning!

Annnnd a second round of apologies for all the Mad-Eye fans out there, because I have a feeling he's going to take a slightly less flattering light than he did in the books. If it makes you feel any better, Mad-Eye is one of my favorites as well. Still, I have a feeling that (impostor-Moody, especially) was probably a lunatic with the the other students.

As always, reviews make me very happy!


	34. By Boat Or By Horse

Chapter Thirty Four

By Boat Or By Horse

* * *

0o0

The weather grew steadily colder throughout the week as the soft September sunshine gradually hardened into the chilly amber glow of fall, bringing with it one of the oddest lessons that Astoria had ever had at Hogwarts.

On Thursday afternoon, Professor Moody, scowling and irritable as always, informed them that he would be subjecting each of his students to the first hand effects of the Imperius Curse in person.

"He's joking," whispered Anthony Goldstein impatiently. "He _can't_ do that, it's illegal."

Somewhere near the front of the class, Hermione Granger seemed to be insisting the same thing. Heedless of these warnings however, Moody was undeterred. He began beckoning each of them forward in turn to the front of the classroom.

It was the first time that Astoria had ever _not_ been happy to see Anthony Goldstein proven wrong.

"I don't want to do that!" whispered Parvati Patil, frightened past the point of endurance as Dean Thomas shuffled by to take his turn with Moody.

"Maybe there won't be time," suggested Lavender hopefully, looking at the clock.

As though he had sensed Parvati's weakness, Moody made quick work of forcing Dean Thomas to do a set of spectacular headstands and then turned his eye onto their row. "Miss Patil!"

Parvati looked about in wild terror.

"Come here, girl," called Moody impatiently. "I can _make_ you, if you'd rather."

"I- I don't want to," Parvati stuttered. "I'm afraid."

"You'll be more than afraid when a group of wizards finds you late at night and decides that the easiest way to make you stay docile-"

"I'll go next," said Astoria, taking pity on Parvati, who had turned a delicate shade of grey.

Moody's magical eye twisted in his skull to observe Astoria at a very unnatural angle. Astoria had not yet spoken in one of Moody's classes, preferring to stay silent and avoid his attention as thoroughly as possible. He peered at her now, curiously.

"Alright, Greengrass," said Moody after a long pause. "Let's see what you're made of."

Astoria stood up, trying to control the shaking in her legs, and made her way toward the front of the class. Parvati made a small, thankful sound as Astoria passed her desk but Astoria could not bring herself to respond.

Astoria squared herself and faced Moody, forcing herself not to blink. Moody raised his wand.

" _Imperio_!"

The effect was immediate; it was as though she had slid into a warm bath at the end of a very long day. Something- an awful thing that Astoria was just conscious of, which she seemed to have always been grappling with- had been lifted. For the first time in her life, there was no choice to be made. Astoria sighed as terrible relief blossomed in her chest.

Moody suddenly spoke into her ear, his voice private and small, like the squealing of her own conscience: ' _Do a cartwheel.'_

Relieved of the burden that was her own mind for the first time in her life, Astoria felt herself springing forward, felt her hands reach for the ground.

 _Coward!_ Astoria's own mind whispered back, drowning out some of Moody's insistence. _You've never been able to make a choice or pick a side. You would like this._

Astoria felt herself stiffen mid-spring.

Some of the bathtub-like effects of the spell seemed to be wearing off. She no longer wanted Moody's voice inside of her mind. It was bad enough to be subjected to her _own_ thoughts, but Astoria's mind was the only place that was truly hers and Moody's presence suddenly felt like a terrible invasion.

' _Do a handspring,'_ whispered Moody, his niggling voice suddenly less tiny and more commanding.

' _No,'_ thought Astoria nauseously.

' _Do a handspring!'_

Suddenly Astoria was awake again and nothing was warm or peaceful. The sounds of the classroom came back at full force. Astoria was laying on the ground, suddenly aware of an ache in her arm that had not been there before.

"Well!" said Moody in his real voice, peering down at her with apparent surprise. " _That_ was something."

"Ow," muttered Astoria, testing her arm.

"Well, well, well. You fought back, Greengrass," growled Moody. "You did a half of a handspring and then pulled away. You'll be feeling _that_ in your neck tonight."

Astoria struggled back to her feet, already feeling a dull ache from where she had hit the ground without raising her hands to block her fall. Astoria stumbled forward, ready to go back to her seat, but Moody threw out an arm out to impede her progress.

"Nope," he barked. "We're going to do that again. Watch her eyes, the rest of you! That's where you'll see it."

By the end of the class, Astoria and Harry were the only two students who had managed to throw off Moody's curse completely. Astoria had never been less proud of an academic achievement in her life. Her body hurt too much to celebrate.

"Potter, Greengrass, Longbottom!" barked Moody before Astoria could make it to the door. "I want to see you here tomorrow night at eight o'clock. I have a special lesson in mind."

Astoria could tell that even Harry was deeply uncomfortable with Moody's notion of what a 'special lesson' might be, but all three of them nodded warily. Even Neville, who looked as though the promise of having to undergo the imperious curse _again_ might just do him in.

Moody paused, eyeing the rest of the class, most of whom were snaking toward the door as furtively as possible.

"You too, Goldstein!" Moody called. "Eight o'clock!"

0o0

The next day's Care of Magical Creatures lesson did nothing to dissuade Astoria of the dread she felt for Moody's fast-approaching, nighttime lesson.

"He did _what_?" asked Theodore in surprise.

"He put the Imperius curse on all of us and then asked Harry, Neville, Anthony Goldstein and I all to come back at eight o'clock tonight for more," said Astoria tensely.

"He put us under the curse too," whispered Theo. "Malfoy had a fit and refused to come up to the front. Moody made him stay back after class. You almost have to give him some credit for refusing- what if Moody had turned him into a ferret _again_?"

"Talk about shaking things up," Astoria muttered. "Moody couldn't just have us take notes out of the textbook, could he?"

"I don't know what he's thinking," mused Theodore pensively. "It's illegal to use an Unforgivable Curse at all, let alone on minors! He can't seriously have expected any of us to be able to fight him- it's like he just wanted to prove how helpless and incompetent we are."

"I fought it," admitted Astoria quietly. "So did Harry."

"Why is he pulling you two in for extra work, then?" asked Theo, looking distinctly impressed despite himself. "There are grown wizards that can't fight off the imperius curse, you know! What did you _do_? Every time he tried on me, I blacked out completely. Blaise Zabini almost had it near the end, though. He was the closest in our group."

Their conversation ended when a Skrewt set the nearest crate on fire and Astoria and Theodore were both obligated to run for cover behind Hagrid's cabin.

A notice had been pinned up in the entrance hall when Astoria and Theo climbed back up the hill after class.

"It's about the Triwizard Tournament," said Theodore, who stood a half a foot taller than the rest of the crowd and could read the sign with ease. "The other schools are arriving at six o'clock on friday," Theo added. "Class gets out early. We'll miss thirty minutes of potions."

"Great," said Astoria, thinking of Maudlin's rapidly approaching arrival, feeling an odd sensation of nervousness at the prospect. "Extra Moody with a side of visiting guests."

Theo laughed but his chuckle did little to brighten Astoria's mood.

By seven thirty that evening, Astoria was beginning to seriously wish that she had just allowed Moody to force her into doing gymnastics like the rest of the class. Surely Moody had only picked Astoria because she had stood out from the the crowd, as Harry had? She could not think what he wanted with Anthony and Neville, but Astoria suspected it could be nothing good.

It was Astoria's firm opinion that being fairly promising at something rarely merited further punishment, but she could not see a way of phrasing this feeling to Moody, so at quarter of eight, Astoria left the common room and made her way down to Moody's classroom alone.

Harry, Anthony and Neville were already there waiting. To Astoria's surprise, so were Ernie Macmillan, Blaise Zabini and Susan Bones.

Unsure who to stand next to, Astoria settled for making eyes of acknowledgment at Neville and Harry before leaning against the wall opposite the door. Several moments later, Astoria heard the dull thunk of Moody's wooden leg making its way down the hall.

"In!" Moody growled at them, throwing the door open.

"Sir!" said Anthony Goldstein the second Moody had limped inside after them. "I don't understand what we're doing here. I'm positive that I didn't do any worse than the rest of the class, and I _really_ don't appreciate being insulted-"

"You'll stop talking now, or I'll show you what insulted really looks like," barked Moody, heaving himself into his desk chair and panting slightly.

Anthony fell silent at once.

"Sir?" asked Ernie uncertainly, competing with the sound of the ticking clock on the wall. "Sir, should we have our books out?"

"You won't be needing your books," growled Moody roughly, eyeing his noisy clock carefully, "but we'll give them 'till eight o'clock on the dot before we start without them."

Astoria did not know what Moody meant by this but she could only assume that they were waiting on more students.

Sure enough, when the clock chimed eight and Moody shoved out of his seat to begin his lesson, the door opened and admitted a very resentful looking Draco Malfoy, who was followed by Crabbe and Goyle.

"There you are," growled Moody. "Pushing punctuality to its limits, I see."

Malfoy leaned against the nearest desk, crossed his arms over his chest and glared at Moody insolently. For once however, he did not dare to talk back.

"Alright then. Now, you're all here to participate in a little experiment of mine," said Moody, his voice as bumpy as rocks. "I have a theory about how I can make a better impression- especially for those of you who are struggling in class."

"I'm _not_ struggling in class," insisted Anthony, who could not seem to keep his opinion to himself. "I did the _same_ as everyone else-"

"Not the same as Potter or Greengrass," Moody sharply. "They both managed to throw _off_ the curse. _You_ sang the national anthem. Pride can be a real asset when it comes to fighting the imperius curse, but it can also be a hinderance. You were more concerned with how you looked in front of your peers than you were with fighting. _That's_ why you're here, boy."

Anthony blanched, clearly wanting to retort but lacking the courage to do so. Astoria exchanged an accidental look of embarrassment with Harry, not appreciating her name being used as a success story any more than he did.

"So, this is what we're going to do," said Moody. "I'm an adult and I've been trained as an Auror. Some of you may not be having any luck fighting me off because the starting point is way above your threshold. We're going to split into pairs and I'm going to have you try cursing each other-"

" _What_?" sneered Malfoy, breaking his sulky silence at last.

"You heard me, Malfoy," growled Moody threateningly. "Since you wouldn't participate during class, you're going to break up into a pair _now_ and practice fighting the imperius curse. If you _refuse,_ you'll work directly with me and I can't promise that I won't personally curse whatever dignity you have left out of that greasy little head of yours."

There was a very heavy silence. Draco had gone a shade red that Astoria had rarely seen before and the look on his face quite literally threatened murder but he objected no further.

Personally, Astoria could not quite see what Moody was playing at. Certainly _Draco_ was only a school boy, but Lucius was another matter entirely. Hadn't Moody gone far enough by turning Draco into a ferret? Did he really need to reinforce his point so dramatically? Or was that, perhaps, the point?

"Ok," said Moody, rubbing his hands together sinisterly. "Our pairs..."

Draco quickly stepped toward Goyle, but Moody was having none of it.

"I don't think so," growled Moody, reminding Astoria oddly of Snape. "Goyle, you partner Bones- _she_ looks nervous and _you_ shouldn't put up much of a fight."

Poor Susan Bones was literally shaking as Goyle lumbered toward her.

"Malfoy-" Moody broke off, surveying the cluster of students, his swiveling eye coming to a rest on Harry.

"Are you kidding?" sneered Malfoy ferociously. "I _won't_ do it. You can take me to the headmaster-"

"Greengrass!" barked Moody, staring hard at Draco with his normal eye while running a hand over his chin thoughtfully. "You partner Malfoy."

Malfoy went a second shade of red but Moody had already moved on, partnering Zabini with Harry and Neville with Crabbe. Anthony moved toward Ernie once it became clear that they were the last unpaired students remaining, neither of them looking displeased about the arrangement.

"Now," barked Moody, moving toward the front of the class, "I doubt many of you will mange to pull off even a weak version of Imperius Curse-"

"This is _illegal_ , sir," intoned Anthony flatly. "No one is supposed to use an unforgivable curse. The sentence is Azkaban. Why are you trying to teach us how to _use_ the curse instead of throw it off?"

"That's the thing about magic," said Moody softly. "It does a person good to understand how it works in _both directions_. A Healer's job may be to tend to the sick but you'll nearly always find that, in learning how to cure, a Healer also unintentionally learns how to _kill_. Often, the cruelest of murderers and fiends are in charge of our well-being." Moody's eyes flashed dangerously. "Do yourselves a favor children and don't allow yourselves to grow up to be fools."

Once again, nobody dared to speak. Moody cleared his throat and went on, "As I was _saying_ , I doubt that many of you will be able to bring about even a weak imperious curse. It is advanced magic and it requires a certain _force_ of will that many of you will continue to lack, even as adults. In the off chance that one of you does gain control however, I don't want any enthusiastic rule breaking. Your command is to force your partner to kneel. That's all. See what it takes to force another person to do your bidding and, with any luck, you may come to understand how to prevent being turned into a mindless slave yourself. You may begin."

There was a great deal of muttering and an awkward shuffling of feet. Nobody seemed very keen to be the first to utter a highly illegal and immoral spell out loud.

Finally, Astoria heard Blaise's shout from the other side of the room. " _Imperio_!"

Astoria turned to look, curious to see if his spell would have any effect on Harry, but Harry appeared mostly unscathed.

Draco scoffed, disappointed. When he felt Astoria's eyes on him, he turned to look at her almost awkwardly.

"Well," said Astoria unhappily, seeing no way around the matter, "go ahead then."

Draco raised his wand uncomfortably before lowering it again, his eyes darting toward Moody shiftily. "When my father hears about this!" he muttered nastily.

"Just go, Draco," Astoria sighed, sensing that dallying would only bring Moody back toward them.

Draco raised his wand again and squared his shoulders, his lack of motivation showing despite his efforts to hide it. " _Imperio_!"

Astoria waited for the warm, bathwater-like charm to settle around her head but it did not come. Astoria shrugged, feeling a little relieved, even if she did not want to admit it.

"Alright," said Draco, pulling up his sleeves, looking a little embarrassed by his lack of affect. " _Imperio_!"

This time, Astoria could sort of feel it; a weak warmth in her limbs. With a quick shake of her body however, she was able to push the tingling sensation out past her fingertips.

" _Imperio_!" said Malfoy again, becoming frustrated.

The room began to grow slightly muffled but, as before, there was nothing stopping Astoria from shaking the feeling away. There was no force of will to command her attention, much less to make her want to submit to his spell.

"Fine," Malfoy sneered. "You go."

" _Imperio_!" shouted Susan Bones and, to everybody's surprise, Goyle blinked stupidly and swayed a little before snapping up straight again in shock.

Astoria raised her wand, uncomfortable in the extreme.

"You have to mean it, Greengrass!" Moody called across the room. "Think of how you meant it yesterday when you forced me out of your head. Imagine that you are desperate, that you _need_ that boy to do your bidding. Do _that_ and you will understand the enemy."

Draco sneered, hating this instruction even more than Astoria. "The enemy?" he echoed nastily.

" _Imperio_!" said Astoria.

It was a very odd feeling, not warm or muffled at all because Astoria was no longer on the receiving end of the spell. She was the decision now; not the impulse. At that moment, Astoria understood that, unlike Arithmancy or potions, this was something she was _good_ at naturally. Astoria had been rubbish at math since the day the concept had been introduced to her, but she had _always_ been good at convincing people to see things her way. That same principle of skill seemed to apply to this brand of magic. Astoria could almost _feel_ Draco, because she had created a living, breathing link between the two them.

So precise and so minute was this bond, that Astoria could sense Draco's discomfort as the spell hit him. He did not _want_ to appear weak in front of Moody. He was angry, desperateto avoid shame. He hated the fact that Astoria was trying to force him to do this. Deep down, he felt that she should know better, that she should side with him. He didn't want to curse her either.

Malfoy might instinctually want to resist being a puppet, but there _was_ a powerful part of him that was willing to be convinced, to do as she told him. Draco was capable of following blindly, in a way that Astoria often forgot when she was not forcefully linked into his mind. Astoria thought of the way that Draco sometimes parroted his fathers words without thinking first, dimly understanding that the key to forcing Malfoy into submission lay somewhere in this hazy truth. The way ahead was to convince Draco that what Astoria wanted was the safest thing; if Astoria managed that, she was certain her spell would work.

Astoria jerked backward, sickened, no longer wanting to feel whatever it was that she had just felt. She broke the connection, bringing her wand safely down by her side.

Malfoy blinked confusedly, his cheeks going slightly pink. Astoria could tell by the distracted look on his face that he had just felt some of the warm absence of self that Astoria had felt when Moody had put the imperius curse on her.

"You didn't mean it," grumbled Moody, limping across the room. "You stopped before he could fight! Do it again."

Astoria hesitated, staring at Moody's gaunt, scarred face, seeing him for the first time.

Surely the only two students that Moody believed had a real shot of being able to make the curse work had been Astoria and Harry. It suddenly seemed very likely that Moody had chosen Astoria to partner Malfoy simply because Moody knew that Draco would hate Astoria shaming him and that Astoria would not only be able to so, but would hate doing it herself. It was a carefully calculated punishment and, for a long moment, Astoria stared at Moody defiantly, speaking volumes of hatred with her eyes.

"Forget this!"sneered Malfoy shakily, collecting himself. "I'm leaving."

"You've been warned, boy," said Moody dangerously, pointing a gnarled finger at his chest.

Draco looked as though he would have spit in Moody's face if he thought he could have got away with it.

Moody turned toward Astoria. "Go ahead. To his knees."

" _Imperio_!" said Astoria, wanting to get this public mortification over with as soon as possible.

She meant it this time and she felt the connection come shooting back into her train of thought. Draco gave in readily, privately desperate for the numbness, preferring Astoria's authority over the furious smudge of his own thoughts.

Draco dropped smoothly to his knees on the classroom floor, as though it had been his plan to do so all along and he had needed no prompting. Astoria lifted the spell immediately. The class had gone quiet again, watching from behind Moody.

"Good," growled Mad-Eye in an eerily reverent voice. "Now, _that_ is how it's done."

0o0

"Draco!" Astoria yelled, weaving between Susan Bones and Ernie Macmillian as they made their way out of the classroom at nine. "Malfoy, wait up!"

Draco had left Moody's classroom so quickly that, by the time Crabbe and Goyle had had found each other again, Draco was already heading down the steps to the dungeon, arguing with Blaise Zabini.

Astoria sprinted after them, only dimly able to spot his sleek blonde head in the gloomy tunnels below next to Blaise's dark curls. "Draco, stop for a second!"

" _What_?" snapped Malfoy, stopping where he was and jerking away from Blaise, seething.

"Oh, look," said Blaise in his smooth, amused voice. "It's Greengrass, come to curse us all."

"Shut _up_ , Blaise," panted Astoria, reaching them at last and turning her attention toward Draco, who looked like he was in no mood to listen. "You were right about Moody, he's insane. I'm sorry-"

"Yeah?" sneered Draco in a cold tone that Astoria had never heard him use before, his face actually twitching with repressed anger. "You _think_? He seems to like _you_ enough. I guess you were right- having a whole family in prison really is like having a magic charm, isn't it?"

Zabini chuckled, as delighted as he was surprised, looking positively dizzy with glee at the idea that Astoria would chase Malfoy down the hallway looking for forgiveness.

Astoria flinched, determined not to let Malfoy or Zabini put her off from apologizing, because the humiliated and angry look on Draco's face when he had come-to on the floor was still seared onto the back of Astoria's eyelids.

"No, it's not!" said Astoria angrily, ignoring the fact that Draco had just loosely spoken about her mother in front of Blaise. "Moody doesn't like me any better than you. He just paired me off with you because he _knew_ I would feel bad cursing you-"

"You could have just said _no_!" Draco burst out snarlingly, a flicker of something very accusing passing across his face before he caught himself.

Blaise had frozen, his eyes no longer on Astoria but on Malfoy instead, trained in fascination. Whatever fun Astoria had offered by being ridiculous, Malfoy had just topped by being wounded. Draco seemed to realize this too late, because he suddenly looked even angrier than he had when Astoria had stopped him.

" _Don't_ follow me around like some sad little _puppy_ trying to apologize," he spat. "As if spending a night with Moody, Potter and Longbottom didn't make me feel sick enough! Go back to your common room and mull the whole thing over with _that_ dynamic duo. _Potter and Longbottom_ -" he laughed "- I think I'd throw myself out a tower first!"

"I know," said Astoria, so desperate to alleviate her own guilt that she ignored this comment about Harry, "but it's the whole scenario that's wrong. Moody just forced a class of fourth years to use the _Imperius Curse_ on each other! Think about it, Malfoy! Don't yell at me- you could have just left!"

"And _what?_ " Draco snapped, loosing his glossy veneer of coolness again. "Have that _madman_ turn me into a _ferret_ and beat the living _piss_ out of me again!?"

This was a fair argument, in truth. The bruise on Draco's left jaw was faded but it was still visible, even in the gloomy dungeon torchlight. How many times had Moody levitated Draco ten feet into the air only to bring him down again onto solid stone?

" _I'm_ sorry," drawled Blaise in taunting disbelief, "would you two like a minute?"

" _What_?" snapped Draco distractedly before catching onto what Blaise was insinuating with a scowl. " _Piss off_ , Zabini!"

Draco pivoted and Astoria knew it would be smarter to let him keep walking, but she just couldn't quite give it up.

"Did you even go to Madam Pomfrey for that?" asked Astoria tightly, hot on his heels

"For what?" sneered Draco evasively. Astoria pointed at his face and Draco let out a breath through his teeth that came out sounding like a hiss. "Why?" he asked, jerking away from her before muttering, "It's just a _bruise_..."

"Draco!" said Astoria, becoming progressively more annoyed for reasons she could not quite name, "look, I'm sorry but I really didn't have any choice with Moody standing there-"

"You were impressive, really," said Blaise. "Not many fourth years could have pulled off an unforgivable curse. I thought I felt something the last time I tried, though- "

"It's an Unforgivable Curse for a reason," said Astoria uncomfortably, liking this praise about as much as she had enjoyed the actual lesson. "It's not something to get excited about. That whole class was _so_ illegal I'm surprised Crouch didn't _sense_ it from London."

"So what if it's illegal?" asked Draco lividly. " _Moody's_ happy enough to use it on all of us against our will! Maybe we _should_ teach ourselves how to use it. It evens up the playing field, if you ask me."

Astoria could not agree with this but she did not want to argue. She had followed Malfoy to apologize, not to fight.

"Your dad will probably have Moody sacked any day now," said Astoria in exasperation. "I don't know why any of this even matters."

"Will that make you angry?" sneered Draco accusingly. "Now that you're Moody's little pet project?"

"No!" said Astoria, feeling that this was very unfair. "Moody's insane! Come _on_ , Draco..."

"His father told him to keep his head down, anyway," smirked Blaise. "It doesn't sound like he's planning on trying to have Moody fired anytime soon to me..."

Draco shot Blaise a look of ill-concealed contempt and Astoria suddenly understood part of what was making Draco so irritable.

Draco had written to his father to complain but Lucius had told him to suck it up and ride it out. Lucius was probably just as afraid of going toe to toe with Moody in public as Snape was.

"He _won't_ say that when I tell him that Moody's been putting us under the Imperius Curse in class," spat Draco resentfully.

"Or _maybe_ he'll tell you to stop going out of your way to get Moody's attention," said Blaise unkindly.

"Stop it, Blaise!" said Astoria, annoyed that he was provoking Draco further on purpose when Astoria was doing her best to calm Draco down and make him forget that she had just used an illegal curse on him.

"Oh-hoo," said Blaise, his eyes sparkling with repressed mirth. "She's standing up for you, Malfoy! That must be the _guilt_ talking."

" _Both_ of you stop it," Draco muttered hatefully, embarrassed by this comment despite himself.

"I'm only trying to say sorry," said Astoria irritably.

"You've _said_ it," snapped Draco, his eyes hard and unforgiving.

"Fine," said Astoria, in a voice that was equally chilly, wishing she had caught Draco alone because she was certain he that would have been more willing to listen to her if she had.

Astoria spun around and headed back toward Gryffindor tower, feeling guilty and unhappy.

She was not alone in this feeling. The moment she had tumbled through the portrait hole, Astoria spotted Harry sitting by himself on a couch near the fire, looking very conflicted.

"Some lesson, eh?" spat Astoria angrily, still shaky from the confrontation in the hall. "That'll be one to tell the kids about."

"Yeah," said Harry in a low voice. "It wasn't really what I was expecting, either."

"Moody is a head case," said Astoria tightly.

"Moody's alright," said Harry, coming to Mad-Eye's defense slowly. "A little overzealous maybe... he's just paranoid."

"Real into punishing Death Eater's kids too," snapped Astoria, her anger reaching a level in her voice that was a bit unacceptable. "Or haven't _you_ noticed?"

"What, you mean Malfoy?" asked Harry, frowning.

"Yeah, I do actually," said Astoria coldly.

"I wouldn't feel bad about that," said Harry. "Malfoy had it coming."

"Moody turned him into a ferret and beat up him, Harry!" exclaimed Astoria exasperatedly.

" _Only_ because Malfoy tried to curse me while my back was turned," said Harry flatly. "Anyway, it's not as though Malfoy got seriously injured."

"No, but-" Astoria had to stop herself, because she was dangerously close to speaking about her own mother in order to prove a point and she did not want to do that in front of Harry. "You're right," said Astoria thickly, after struggling pause. "I'm going to bed. Night, Harry."

"Night," said Harry, peering at her in concern. "You sure you're alright?"

"Yeah," said Astoria. "I'm _fine_. Why wouldn't I be?"

0o0

Astoria spent much of Friday in a haze of anxiety, unsure about whether she was more excited or nervous to welcome the delegations from Beauxbatons and Durmstrang. There was a powerful part of her that was inclined to believe that having fresh faces around might be fun, but it was also hard to focus on the positive while the idea of having to show Maudlin around the grounds loomed over her like a scheduled visit to St. Mungo's.

When potions class was let out early, Astoria followed the rest of the Gryffindors back up to the tower in order to drop off her bag and then went down to the lawn to wait.

The students were organized by class. Astoria found Theodore in the line of fourth years easily enough, as he was the tallest person in their year by several inches.

"I wonder how they'll do it," said Theo, shivering slightly as a light breeze picked up and the moon came up above the tops of the trees in the forbidden forest. "They can't Apparate in."

"I suppose not," said Astoria, drawing her cloak closer around her shoulders.

"Look!" screamed a third year boy, pointing to a large object that was hurtling toward them at a great speed through the air above the forest.

"Its a dragon!" screamed the third year, losing his head completely. " _Dragon_!"

"Shut up!" snapped Draco Malfoy in annoyance, cuffing the third year about the ears.

It was not a dragon at all however, but a flying, horse-drawn carriage. The carriage came to a loud, almost catastrophic landing some twenty feet away with a tremendous spray of dirt and rocks.

A boy in pale blue robes hopped out first to fix the stairs in place. The headmistress came next- a giant woman, the size of Hagrid but much more magnificently adorned. She stepped down onto the grassy lawn in relative comfort. Dumbledore began to clap and the rest of the assembled students followed suit.

Astoria watched beadily as the Beauxbatons students formed a line behind the giant woman, waiting to spot Maudlin's familiar, well coifed head.

Astoria had never seen Maudlin in his school robes before, and she could not help but recognize that the blue striped shirts that the boys were wearing under their pale silk robes suited his complexion well.

A girl with dirty blonde hair came out of the carriage next and scuttled along quickly so that she could stand next to Maudlin. Astoria realized that this must be the girlfriend she had never met and, for a moment, Astoria was faintly surprised by the girl's meek appearance. Unlike Maudlin, who had clearly spent a lot of time fine-tuning and fussing over himself, his girlfriend wore her hair in a simple pony tale and wore no jewelry.

 _She's probably the heir to a entire country's fortune,_ thought Astoria somewhat cruelly, feeling guilty for this mental stab almost the second after she had thought it.

The Beauxbatons students went into the castle and the eyes of the Hogwarts students drifted back toward the air, waiting for the inevitable arrival of the Durmstrang delegation.

"They're coming from the lake," said Theo a moment later, prodding Astoria in the side.

With a sonorous squelching sound, the lake hiccuped and began to give birth to a gigantic ship, which seemed to have come upward from far below the surface of the watery depths. It surfaced and settled, bobbing against the choppy current. A plank was lowered and they were able to catch their first glimpse of the students from Durmstrang.

Astoria laughed out loud when she spotted Alec, who was wearing the red robes of the north, trimmed with silver fur, as if they were a terrible punishment. There was always whiff of rebellion about him, his long angular body somehow expressing his message of distaste without words.

A man in magnificent furs seemed to be the Durmstrang headmaster, even though he stood a head shorter than most of his male students. This man pushed himself to the front of his pack importantly.

"Dumbledore!" the man in the furs beamed, his mouth curling into a smile as cold as the arctic from which he appeared to have come.

"Look!" hissed Ron Weasley in a carrying voice when the Durmstrang party reached the light from the entrance hall. "Harry- it's Krum!"

"Krum?" whispered the same third year that Draco had smacked. "Viktor Krum?"

It was undoubtedly the Bulgarian national quidditch star in the flesh. Astoria stood on tip toe to have a better look, noting as she did so the bored and almost annoyed expression on Alec Hundin's face as heads in the crowd turned to stare at his very famous classmate.

"Come on," whispered Theo, pushing Astoria toward the edge of the crowd so that they would not be trampled by a pack of sixth year girls, who were tying to edge their way closer to Krum.

They ran into Fred and George Weasley on the outskirts of the Hogwarts group and Astoria was amused to find that they were almost as starstruck as the girls had been.

"Bloody hell!" said George, almost beside himself. "Did you have any idea he was so young?"

"I _did_ actually," said Astoria, recalling what Maudlin and Alec had said about Krum before the World Cup.

Theo raised his eyebrows and continued shimmying his way toward the castle, not keen on hanging around with the twins.

"Think about how _rich_ he must be," said Fred longingly. "He's already played in a world event! _That's_ what we should have done, George. Never mind a joke shop, we should have been up at dawn every day, _training_..."

The great hall was noisy and clamorous, busier than Astoria had ever seen it with such an influx of people and colors to stand out against the standard Hogwarts black.

"Where do you think they'll sit?" wondered George, staring at the pack of surly looking Durmstrang students, who were busy removing furs and gazing up at the enchanted ceiling in awe.

"Eh," said Fred. Krum and some of the larger boys took seats at the Slytherin table and the rest began to follow suit. "Figures. Look at Malfoy-"

Draco had leaned over his golden plate and was attempting to strike up a conversation with Krum, looking very smug. Crabbe and Goyle seemed to be built the same way as most of the larger Durmstrang boys and Astoria could sort of see why this had seemed like a natural seating arrangement to them.

The students from Beuxbatons, meanwhile, had settled in at the Ravenclaw table and all of them- save for perhaps Maudlin and two or three his more merry friends- looked cold and a little sulky.

"Woah," muttered George with a laugh, pointing to a particularly stunning blonde girl in pale blue Beauxbatons silk.

Even Astoria was forced to concur with this assessment. The girl George was looking at really _was_ radiant. Astoria wondered how it was that she had never heard Maudlin or Alec mention such a creature before.

"Reminds me a bit of the Veela that we saw at the Cup," mumbled Fred, trying hard not to stare. "Sort of otherworldly, isn't she?"

Astoria imagined that Fred was probably spot on in this comparison. Maudlin was a terrible sucker for aesthetics, it was true. Things that were not beautiful or convenient rarely interested him for long, but if this girl was only part human, Maudlin would be thoroughly old school in his way of thinking about her. He was not nearly as rude as Draco could be about blood purity, but Maudlin would certainly consider spending much time with somebody- even someone as beautiful as this girl was- faintly beneath him, if one of her ancestors could be considered less than human.

Dumbledore, meanwhile, had conjured up extra seats at the staff table and was clapping his hands in order to gain their attention.

"The tournament will be officially opened at the end of the feast," he announced. "I now invite you all to eat, drink and make yourselves at home!"

The food appeared and Astoria noticed at once that, along with the usual hearty Hogwarts fare, several rather foreign dishes had made their way to the center of the tables as well.

Astoria watched out of the corner of her eye as Maudlin stood up from his seat and crossed the hall toward Alec, who was sitting with the rest of the Durmstrang students at the Slytherin table.

Astoria knew that the most appropriate thing to do would be to go and say hello herself, but she helped herself to a bowl of chicken stew instead, putting off the inevitable moment when she would have to reconcile Maudlin as part of her Hogwarts life for as long as she could.

The beautiful blonde girl stood up behind Maudlin but came toward the Gryffindor table instead. She tapped Ron Weasley on the shoulder and pointed toward something, requesting a dish of some kind. Ron did not move however, as he seemed to have been stunned speechless at the sight of her.

"What a prat!" laughed George as Ron finally came to understand what the girl was asking for and managed to pass her a bowl of fish, looking baffled.

Everybody had nearly finished their dinner now and Astoria could see that Maudlin was beginning to peer about the hall curiously- a most dangerous sign of impatience. Mostly to prevent him from coming and finding her in front of people, Astoria pushed her plate away and stood up.

Maudlin and Alec were sitting on the other side of Krum, talking very animatedly. To Astoria's intense discomfort, they seemed to have taken Draco Malfoy away from his interest in Viktor and pulled him into their own discussion

"At least you had air to breathe," Alec complained. "Imagine being sealed inside a ship with almost nothing but men, miles underwater for a half of a day, and you'll begin to grasp what I'm talking about."

"There you are!" said Maudlin brightly, catching sight of Astoria. "I looked for you-"

Out of the corner of her eye, Astoria saw Draco Malfoy turn his pale eyes onto her slyly.

"You were looking at the wrong table," said Astoria lightly, kissing Maudlin once on the cheek. "I sit on the other side of the hall."

"Oh, that's right," said Maudlin running a hand through his thick, dark hair. "I forgot- you're in the disreputable house, aren't you? Do they put you in the corner on purpose?"

Maudlin probably had not realized how rude this comment was, if his smile was any indication, but Draco Malfoy laughed anyway.

"I've always thought you two might make good friends," said Astoria, her eyes falling onto Draco suspiciously before switching back to Maudlin. "Funny how _quickly_ you managed to find each other."

"You are not supposed to have this," said Krum in a surly voice, surprising them all. He was indicating a gold lighter in the pocket of the fur trimmed cloak that Alec had cast off. "Professor Karkaroff said-"

" _Karkaroff_ can blow me," said Alec smoothly, looking perfectly unconcerned. "On second thought though, who would want him to? The snaggletooth on that man!"

"Alec," said Astoria, her eyes sparkling with amusement.

"Darling!" Alec purred.

"What to you mean by laughing? This is not funny," said Krum, turning back to his stew and scowling.

"I thought it was," said Alec smoothly, smirking.

"Sit down," said Maudlin, scooting over so that Astoria could fit next to him. A flash of silver against his navy shirt caught Astoria's eye- a cufflink perhaps- before it disappeared under the table again.

"Just so you know," said Astoria lightly, "there are _some_ who would say that the table you are sitting at right now seats the _most_ disreputable house."

"One can only hope," said Alec in an offhand voice.

" _You're_ in the same house as Harry Potter though, aren't you?" said Maudlin, intrigued by Harry's fame just as much as anyone who didn't know Harry always was. "Point him out to me, Astoria."

Astoria managed to find Harry and indicate which was his head between Ron and Hermione's.

"Well, he's not very impressive to _look_ at, is he?" said Maudlin.

"He's not very impressive, period," Draco sneered, annoyed by the turn the conversation had taken. "The _way_ people talk about him- like he's some kind of powerful wizard. He's just a boy with a messed up face. He's not even particularly smart."

"Really?" asked Maudlin, who seemed to find the idea of the 'Famous Harry Potter' being nothing more than a scarred boy slightly funny.

"Yeah," said Draco smugly, his eyes twitching onto Astoria, perhaps challenging her to contradict him. It was clear that he felt himself to be very much in his element. "Sure, he can _fly_ alight, but that's about the only skill anyone _here_ has ever seen him show."

"That's interesting," said Maudlin. "He's quite famous in your country though, isn't he? Do you share a common room with him, Astoria?"

"Mhmm," said Astoria, annoyed already.

"What about a bathroom?" wondered Alec mischievously. "Do you all sneak in to watch him shower? The pitfalls of fame..."

"Only on very slow nights," said Astoria coyly, stealing a french fry off of Alec's plate. "We mostly sit around and plot new ways to make ourselves seem a bit more _disreputable_."

Alec laughed but Draco seemed more annoyed than ever at the notion of Astoria and her classmates trying to catch a glimpse of Harry naked.

"Alight, alright," said Maudlin with a stiff smile, perhaps not loving this visual either. "Who here _is_ worth knowing then, if we can't even count on Harry Potter for excitement."

"No one in Gryffindor," said Malfoy, "that's for sure-" he began to point out some of the more charismatic Slytherins and Astoria watched, faintly annoyed as Maudlin took him for his word, asking invested questions about each of the people Draco pointed out in turn.

"What do you think, Astoria?" said Maudlin at last. "Where are your friends?"

"I don't know," said Astoria simply, not wishing to have to introduce Maudlin to Theodore, Tracey or- Merlin forbid- Fred and George. "I wander."

"Tracey Davis down there is her best friend, probably," said Malfoy, indicating Tracey's sharply framed face. "Unless you count Theodore Nott, but I almost never do because all he ever does is complain or lurk about quietly."

Astoria gave Draco a long, hard look, no longer certain of his motive. It was natural that he might have fallen into conversation with Maudlin and Alec based on the arrangement of their seating, but Astoria rarely saw Draco go out of his way to charm anyone who could not give him something that he wanted. Perhaps it was just that Maudlin's family was consequential enough that Draco knew better than to be his usual, instigating self in front of him?

"Do you have any better _looking_ friends?" complained Alec, grinning at Astoria from across the table. "Why is it that the most beautiful people always surround themselves with ugliness?"

"Tracey is _quite_ good looking, I think," said Astoria stoutly. "She's funny as well, which I happen to think is a more winning trait, personally."

"He was only kidding, Astoria," said Maudlin placatingly, not even bothering to glance at Tracey.

"She's friends with the Weasley twins as well," said Draco slowly and there was something calculated about his tone. "They've got a terrible reputation of course- always in detention for stealing or blowing things up."

" _Really_?" asked Alec, his attention properly piqued at last. "Where are _they_?"

"I'm sure they're not as bad as that," said Maudlin, his tone polite but just firm enough indicate that he was not entirely pleased. "I'm sure Astoria wouldn't spend all of her time with thieves."

"I'm only repeating what I hear other people say," said Draco, raising his eyebrows cooly, but the fact that Maudlin had instinctually stood up for Astoria's honor was clearly not lost on him.

The arrival of Ludo Bagman and Barty Crouch soon put an end to their talk. Dumbledore stood up and began to reiterate the rules of the tournament, focusing heavily on the age restriction that he himself was personally reinforcing.

"The campions will be chosen by an impartial selector: the Goblet of Fire," said Dumbledore, rapping his wand upon a large wooden case that Filch must have snuck in while Astoria had not been looking.

The box melted away to reveal a roughly hewn and very old wooden cup. The cup was completely unremarkable in every way except for the fact that it was full of dancing blue flame.

"Who _carved_ that?" wondered Alec, smirking rudely. "Merlin, I suppose?"

"Anyone wishing to submit themselves as champion must write their name and school upon a slip of paper and feed it to the flames of the Goblet of Fire," said Dumbledore. "Aspiring champions will have twenty four hours to do this. Tomorrow night- Halloween- the champions names will be drawn."

Maudlin was looking at the Goblet of Fire tensely, as though he was steeling his nerves before a round of boxing against a giant. Astoria wondered idly why Maudlin was even bothering to submit his name when it could not have been any more clear from the look his face that he did not wish to compete. A second later however, Maudlin had blinked and the look of hesitation was gone.

"I'll see you tomorrow, Alec," said Maudlin, standing up with the rest as the feast came to a close. "I have to get back. Draco-" he nodded, shaking Malfoy's hand.

Alec raised a feeble hand in Maudlin's direction, fumbling about in his pockets for his illegal lighter.

"What do you think?" asked Fred, catching up with Astoria outside the Great Hall. "Reckon we can fool an age line?"

" _I_ wouldn't risk it," said Astoria truthfully, grinning at him just the same. "Who knows what kind of enchantments Dumbledore could have put around the Goblet- the man has a funny sense of humor."

0o0

* * *

Oy, late again. This chapter should have been up yesterday. I'm trying guys, I'm trying so hard. My summer job is batty.

This chapter reminded me a little of the one where Sirius Black attacked Astoria and Neville in third year. This story isn't usually action heavy and when it does turn the focus that way, I'm never quite sure if I'm satisfied with the results. In either case, I sort of enjoy having a glimpse into Moody's mind and I think I like the fact that (for people who aren't Harry) he's sort of sowing seeds of resentment and fear all over the place.

I also like the fact that it forces Astoria to feel some of the loyalty she generally represses for people with Death Eater connections.

As always, reviews are a treat and a privilege. I hope to have the next chapter up on Wednesday (for real this time, as it's already mostly written and only needs some editing). I'll probably do some Maudlin and Alec exposition with it!


	35. Key Players

Chapter Thirty Five

Key Players

* * *

0o0

The next day was a Saturday. Normally, Astoria would have slept in for hours but a nagging fear that she might miss something exciting or important drove her out of bed before ten o'clock.

She found Theodore eating a late breakfast alone at the end of his stable in the hall. Something about the fatigued way that he was holding himself made Astoria feel certain that he had been sitting there since the early morning by himself.

In the middle of the room, a white line drawn clearly about it in a neat chalk circle, was the Goblet of Fire and if Astoria had to guess, she would have wagered _this_ was the object of Theodore's singular fascination.

"Who have you seen put their name in?" asked Astoria, snagging a piece of cold toast and chewing it eagerly, heedless of its rubbery constancy.

"Most of Durmstrang," answered Theodore, sounding as though the topic was already beginning to tire him. "Your mates, the Weasleys, gave it a go a few hours ago. Took an aging potion, I think. The line around the Goblet spit them both back out with beards as long as father time's."

Astoria slid a hand over her mouth to muffle her laughter, feeling that Fred and George's plan to sneak across the age line had been doomed from the start.

"Everyone in the hall lost it," continued Theo dryly. "Your _other_ best pals Maudlin and Alec had a fit— they're not here anymore, of course." Theodore shot Astoria a very odd, almost amused look out of the corner of his eye. "They took off for the grounds with Malfoy about an hour ago."

"Did they?" asked Astoria carefully, not wanting to show just how uncomfortable she herself felt about this new, although not _entirely_ unexpected friendship.

"Yeah," said Theo slowly. "Isn't that pleasant? So many friends, all together in one place..."

Astoria took an annoyed swig of coffee. She was about to stand up and suggest the library when she spotted the side of Maudlin's head near the entrance chamber.

"They're right over there, actually," said Astoria primly, imitating Theodore's disinterested tone. "Come with me and meet them?"

"Oh, no," breathed Theodore. "I"m sure they came back specially, looking for you— wouldn't want to get in the way."

"Fine," said Astoria, annoyed by this attitude. "You'll have to meet them eventually, though. They'll be here all year."

"Hang on— " said Maudlin, cutting off whatever Alec was saying as Astoria made her way toward the front doors, "—Astoria! Come here!"

Maudlin, Alec, Draco, Crabbe and Montague from the Slytherin quidditch team were all lingering near the steps. There was a fourth boy with them as well, who who Astoria did not recognize, wearing one of the striped navy shirts of Beauxbatons.

"Good morning," said Astoria, shielding her eyes against the blinding sunlight. "Have you put your names into the Goblet yet?"

"I did an hour or two ago with Luc," said Maudlin, "So did Montague- that's how we met. Have _you_ met Luc? No? Luc Millefeuille, this is Astoria Greengrass- Astoria, Luc Millefeuille."

"Millefeuille?" asked Astoria, thinking at first that it was his family name she was recognizing, before realizing that a mille-feuille was a pastry and the word had only caught her ear because of its faint absurdity.

"He's named after custard, but his grandfather was famous for poisoning Muggles with puff-pastry, if you can even believe it, so we let it slide," continued Maudlin generously.

"Charmed," said Astoria flatly, shaking Luc's hand. "Are you on your way to put your name in, Alec?"

"Oh, no," said Alec smoothly. "I'm not entering."

" _What_?" drawled Draco, as amused by the unashamed cowardice of this remark as he was scornful.

"I only volunteered for the Tournament so that I could get away from the Durmstrang grounds," confessed Alec shamelessly. "I'm not _actually_ going to put my name in. Why would I want to spend all year fighting against unknown perils when I could just as easily be a spectator?"

Astoria laughed buoyantly at this and by the time she had recovered, even Maudlin, who normally worshiped propriety in public, looked amused. In fact, all four boys had a decidedly bright-eyed look about them.

"Have you been drinking?" asked Astoria suspiciously, peering at Draco in particular, who seemed far too smily for a Saturday morning before noon.

"We have, in fact," smirked Alec. "We were just coming to find you to bring you to the lake with us."

"Do you have any other friends who want to come along as well?" asked Luc, smiling in a false way that did nothing to endear him to Astoria's heart. "Alec promised he would find us girls."

"Did he?" sneered Draco, his voice tinged with annoyance.

" _Luc_ has already found too many girls in his life," said Maudlin firmly. "If he comes anywhere near you, Astoria, come find me and I'll tell you a few stories that are guaranteed to ruin your taste for him forever."

Astoria laughed and Luc continued to smile, but the look stiffened and he fell back, chastened.

The day was clean and glorious and as Astoria could think of no good excuse for going back indoors, she followed the troupe of boys down toward the lake, privately wishing that Flint was still in school, as Astoria might ideally have swapped him for Montague.

They chose a small cove near the boathouse with a bank that curved inward, hiding them from the sight of anyone on the Durmstrang ship. On the opposite shore, several Hufflepuffs were laying about on blankets reading and enjoying the last of the autumn sunshine, paying Astoria's small group no mind.

Alec produced a bottle of wine out of nowhere and set about opening it.

"Where did you get that?" asked Astoria in surprise.

"Madame Maxime," said Alec, shrugging as he tugged on the cork. "She stayed out late last night, talking to your caretaker Hagrid. Someone- who shall remain nameless- took the opportunity of slipping into her stores."

As Alec lived on the Durmstrang ship and Maudlin did not appeared at all phased by this comment, Astoria immediately assumed Luc was the culprit.

"They're the same size, aren't they, Hagrid and Maxime?" remarked Maudlin in disbelief.

"Can you imagine what it would look like if they reproduced?" drawled Draco, his nose wrinkling at this mixture of theoretical delight and disgust.

"Like two giants fucked, probably," suggested Alec, yanking the cork loose from the wine bottle with a pop that echoed all the way toward the Hufflepuffs on the opposite bank.

Astoria snorted and took a glass when it was handed to her.

"I thought _you_ liked Hagrid," commented Draco, his eyes flickering onto to Astoria.

"I do," said Astoria in a dignified voice, still fighting off a horrible case of the giggles.

"I'll leave it to you to babysit, then," said Draco, shaking his head and trying not to be amused. "I wouldn't go near _that_ mess with a ten foot pole."

Maudlin, who by now was looking a little drunk, emphatically agreed with Draco.

"Really?" remarked Alec in surprise. "I'd have a look."

"Of course _you_ would," said Maudlin indulgently, taking the bottle of wine from Draco. "You've always had a fascination with _horror,_ Alec."

By noontime, the idea of slipping off to the castle for a nap before the Halloween feast was beginning to cross Astoria's mind quite frequently. Unfortunately, Maudlin was making this very difficult for her. For a boy that had rarely ever showed Astoria any interest in his _own_ home, he was bizarrely happy to see her in a foreign place and every time Astoria stood up or made eyes at the castle, Maudlin seemed to find the wine for her again.

At first, Astoria thought that this must be because Maudlin assumed that she was slightly more popular at Hogwarts than she actually was, but as the afternoon wore on and their conversations progressively became looser and looser, Astoria began to notice that Maudlin's fixation was rather nostalgic. Twice he told stories involving Astoria from when they had both been little children- stories Astoria had, for the most part, largely forgotten, as Maudlin was three years older than she was.

"I don't remember this," Astoria insisted when Maudlin began a third meandering, childhood tale. "I think you're making it up."

"I am _not_ ," said Maudlin, laughing to himself at a particular memory. "It was summer time and you were visiting. I told you to go into Mr. Bonaccord's room and take his watch because I thought it was fantastically ugly."

"The Bonaccords are a French family?" asked Montague, doing a poor job of keeping up.

"Yes, but one of his ancestors was the first Supreme Mugwump for the International Confederation of Wizards, so even _you_ should know him," said Maudlin carelessly.

Astoria cringed, feeling that way Maudlin had said this was borderline insulting, but Montague did not seem to notice.

"So, with the right amount of prodding, Astoria goes and takes the watch," Maudlin continued, already cracking himself up. "Two days later, my father catches me with it. Now, this watch was literally so uniquely ugly that it could _only_ belong to Mr. Bonaccord. Naturally, thinking fast, I blamed the whole incident on Astoria."

"This is a lovely story," said Astoria, taking the wine from Draco, who alone did not appear to be laughing.

"So, my father brings Astoria into his study and sternly says, 'Haven't I always told you to be courteous to guests in my house?' and Astoria says to him, 'But I was courteous! That's why I organized everything else in his drawer for him- you've never said anything about _robbing_ the guests.'"

Alec, who had met Aston many times and could fully appreciate the humor of this, almost spilled his drink laughing.

"How do you know these details anyway, if you blamed the whole thing on me?" demanded Astoria. "Weren't you hiding in the garden somewhere?"

"Oh," said Maudlin, waving his hand, "I was watching- just in case he tried to mail you to Africa or something- I _might_ have come clean."

This went so much against the image that Astoria had cultivated over the years of Maudlin as a child, that she was almost stunned speechless.

"What did your father _do_?" asked Luc, glancing at Astoria morbidly, as though he privately hoped the punishment had been severe.

"Oh, he just laughed and let her go back to tap dancing in the front hall," said Maudlin.

"You tap-danced?" asked Draco snidely. More and more, Astoria had found her eyes drawn toward Draco throughout the telling of this tale, watching as his face grew steadily stonier.

"For _years_ ," scoffed Maudlin, ignoring the fact that this question had been addressed to Astoria. "It was _shameful_ , really. She used to put on these _shows_ -"

"Ok," said Astoria quickly, avoiding Draco's eyes, "that's enough nostalgia for me. I maintain that the whole story about the watch is made up, anyway."

"It's not. I was in my first year at Beauxbatons," insisted Maudlin adamantly. "You would have been about eight. It was the same year I pushed you off the broomstick."

"Ah," sighed Astoria, "childhood memories."

A few minutes later, Montague got up and announced that he ought to be getting back to the castle. Astoria had a hunch that this was because he was becoming nervous about potentially having to walk across the hall drunk if he was named as champion, so she waved him off graciously. Luc too seemed to have reached his limited and departed soon after.

Draco did not seem sorry to see either Montague or Luc go and, as if to show his how pointed his dislike was, Draco promptly claimed Luc's seat on a rock with his feet.

"I _know_ ," sighed Maudlin carelessly, reading Draco's expression. "Luc really is terribly boring, but he's related to Vincent Duc de Trefle-Picques and so is my girlfriend, so there's really no way of getting rid of him."

"Oh yeah?" asked Draco almost insolently. "Where _is_ your girlfriend, anyway?"

"Back at the carriage, I think," said Maudlin, missing the tone of Draco's voice. "Probably planning the whole evening out with her friends. They always do that- it's _awful_ to listen to them dither. Why do women _do_ that, Astoria?"

Draco raised his eyebrows. "Why didn't you bring her along and introduce her, instead?"

Maudlin shrugged and this gesture seemed to confirm something as far as Draco was concerned, because Draco went on sarcastically and without waiting for an answer, "It doesn't matter. I'm sure I'll meet her _eventually_."

When the sun began to dip behind the tops of the trees, even Alec seemed to know that it was time to return to the Durmstrang ship to change.

Astoria set off around the edge of the lake, hoping Draco would linger behind with Crabbe but it was not to be.

"Mendel seems alright," said Draco, catching up with her. "If you don't mind how often he _talks_ about himself, at least."

"Seriously?" snapped Astoria, bristling at this hypocrisy. "That's rich."

"Yeah?" returned Malfoy snidely. "So is Maudlin, isn't he? I don't suppose you missed that."

This was a bit of a drastic turn around even for Draco. Astoria turned to look at him and it suddenly occurred to her that she had never seen Draco more drunk than she was before. There was a first time for everything, however and Draco had started drinking much earlier than Astoria had, a fact that Astoria was forced to attribute some of this sudden unreasonableness to.

"Well, it's too bad that you feel that way," said Astoria stiffly, "because I think he genuinely likes you."

"Not as much as he likes _you_ ," said Draco snidely. "I suppose he's the type that likes to please everyone and gives you whatever you want just to prove how manly he is? Oh-" added Draco snottily, "-in a big-brotherly way, of _course_."

"Don't be a jackass," muttered Astoria, speeding up.

"I'm just making an observation," continued Draco rudely, speeding up his pace as well. "He certainly talks about you a lot, doesn't he?"

Draco _was_ making an observation, but it seemed to Astoria that it was one Draco probably would not have made out-loud if he had been sober. Clearly, something about Maudlin was grinding Draco's gears, despite how pleasant Astoria thought Maudlin had gone out of his way to be, and she really had no ambition to find out what it was.

"So what if he talked about me?" Astoria snapped. "He doesn't have any real siblings. What's the big deal?"

"It's a bit creepy, is all," said Draco coldly. "Especially with him being so much older than you."

"I've known him since I was a baby," said Astoria tightly. "I really don't see what age has to do with it."

"I bet you just _fawned_ over him when you were little," Draco sneered, his lip curling involuntarily as he imagined Astoria in the role of Maudlin's simpering eight year old admirer. "Did you think he was _impressive_?"

"No, actually," said Astoria angrily. "I thought he was terribly mean."

They had reached the entrance hall and Astoria was quite keen to get to the marble staircase and be away from Draco's sudden and unexpected aggression.

"Funny how he likes you _now_ though, isn't it?" Malfoy called after her cruelly. "After all those years of picking on you?"

Astoria paused on the third step up and turned to look at him, feeling an angry blush spreading to her cheeks. "What's _that_ supposed to mean?"

"Nothing," said Draco with a sarcastic shrug. "It must be your _personality_ that's changed over the years- because what _else_ could have changed since you were eight?"

Astoria was not stupid enough to miss the inference. Draco was plainly suggesting that Maudlin was only nice to her now because she had sprouted breasts and given up tap-shoes.

"I'm just saying," finished Malfoy childishly, shrugging twitchily again before corralling Crabbe and pushing him down toward the dungeons.

0o0

Astoria did not have time for a nap before the feast but she did manage to have a shower. After she had washed the afternoon off of her skin and had a look into her jewelry box, she felt her mood begin to shift away from tenseness at last. By dinner time, Astoria was full of the warm glow of anticipation as she made her way down to the Great Hall.

This excitement seemed to be infectious and there was hardly a face in the hall that did not keep turning to stare at the Goblet of Fire. Fred and George had rallied considerably since their failure to trick the age-line that morning and, now that their chances of competing had finally been eliminated, they were much more open to the discussion of taking bets on the Tournament.

"Suppose we just went around and took bets, anyway?" Fred suggested. "We've never lost more than we've made before. Maybe we don't _need_ to have any money."

"That's risky," said Astoria, shaking her head. "It's like begging the world to mess with us."

"What about your friend, Mendel?" asked George. "He's loaded, isn't he? Maybe he would back us? At least for the first task, and after we could let him in on the profits as a thanks?"

This thought had, truthfully, already occurred to Astoria but something about the way Draco had spoken to her earlier- as though she was already in Maudlin's pocket- made this idea seem repugnant to her.

"No," said Astoria again, not quite meeting his eye. "Best to keep it to ourselves, I think."

Ludo Bagman and Barty Crouch had returned for the drawing of the champions and Astoria found herself frowning in the direction of the staff table.

Barty Crouch looked exhausted, his mind far away from his dinner, fixed on the idea of the journey home that awaited him. Bagman however, could not have looked more excited if he had been trying, and was beaming about the hall, winking at students who happened to make eye contact with him.

"Look at him up there," muttered George. "The slick git! How d'you think Crouch would feel if he knew that Bagman stole gambling gold from minors?"

"He'd probably have Bagman fired," said Astoria very quietly. "We won't get the money back that way, it'll just make Bagman more desperate. I suppose we _could_ threaten to tell Crouch, though..."

"Blackmail, you mean?" said Fred quickly. "That's what _I_ thought, only George thinks that'll just get us in more trouble."

Their plates magically cleared in front of them and Dumbledore stood up behind the staff table. A hush fell and Astoria felt a thrill of shared excitement.

"The time has come," announced Dumbledore. "The Goblet is ready to make its decision."

The blue flames in the Goblet behind him suddenly turned red and began to spit white sparks. A great tendril of flame licked the air and a slightly burnt piece of parchment fluttered down. Dumbledore snatched it out of the cross breeze and read the paper out loud. "The champion for Durmstrang is Viktor Krum."

The sound of applause was almost deafening. At the Slytherin table, Astoria saw Alec give Krum a very uncharacteristic cheers as he passed toward the chamber off the hall.

The next piece of paper that the Goblet spit out was on pale blue stationary.

"The champion for Beauxbatons," declared Dumbledore after he had caught the smoldering name card, "will be Fleur Delacour."

The beautiful blonde girl that Astoria had seen the night before stood up and began to walk down the length of the staff table. Walking did nothing to detract from her natural grace and rather seemed to enhance it instead. Fleur's silvery blonde hair bounced like exotic silk as she opened the door to the chamber beyond.

Astoria chanced a glimpse at Maudlin who, unlike some of his weeping classmates, was clapping enthusiastically and looking privately very relived.

Silence fell again. When the goblet turned red a third time, there was not a pair of eyes in the hall that were not glued to the last, tumbling sheet of parchment.

"Last, but certainly not least," called Dumbledore, allowing for a moment's pause in order to cultivate maximum suspense, "the champion for Hogwarts... will be Cedric Diggory!"

Astoria was momentarily deafened by the stamping and hooting applause that had erupted from the Hufflepuff table. Hufflepuff, which never seemed to see any glory, was finally going to have its day in the sun and they weren't going to let the moment pass silently.

"What do you think?" asked Fred at once, bending nearer so that Astoria could here him over all the yelling. "Krum for the win?"

Astoria shrugged. "It's hard to tell, isn't it? Fleur looks delicate but she's champion for a reason. Cedric's not stupid either. A little gullible, maybe," Astoria allowed, thinking of the time she had followed him to Muggle Studies, "but not _untalented_."

"Well, Fred and I will start to spread word that we _might_ take bets tomorrow," said George. "No promises, just to see what kind of response-"

George broke off in surprise as the flames filling the Goblet of Fire began to burn red once again.

"What's going on?" asked Fred. "Is it going to spit out a copy of rules?"

Dumbledore caught the fourth scrap of parchment and something about the carefully guarded look on his face told Astoria that he had not been expecting the flames to burn red a fourth time.

Dumbledore stared at the bit of paper in his hands for an almost uncomfortably long time. Finally, he cleared his throat and said, "Harry Potter."

Nobody in the hall spoke and it was as though a cold draft of air had frozen the smiles on each of the Hufflepuffs faces.

"I didn't put my name in," said Harry in a low, panic stricken voice somewhere further down the table. "You _know_ I didn't-"

Dumbledore called for Harry again and his voice, although calm, now had something of an edge to it.

Hermione managed to push Harry out of his seat. Astoria turned to watch as Harry made his way toward the door that the rest of the champions had just disappeared through. Harry pushed the door open with a clammy looking hand and his white face was suddenly no longer visible.

"How did he do _that_?" demanded Fred in a low, awestruck voice.

"I don't know," said Astoria, who had a very bad feeling about this. The look on Harry's face had not been one of excitement, or even one that was fearful of punishment. Harry had looked truly and honestly bewildered.

"Blimey," muttered George.

"Why would the Goblet give Dumbledore four names?" asked Astoria tensely. "There's only three schools in the tournament. Shouldn't it have known better?"

"No," said Fred. "I meant how did he get past the age line!"

Astoria blinked and was surprised to see that Fred looked borderline ecstatic.

"The nerve!" added George. "To think, he watched us take that aging potion and all along he had a better trick up his sleeve! Why didn't he share it with _us_?"

"I- what?" asked Astoria, aware that talk was breaking out all over the hall like the thrum of distant thunder.

"Come on!" said Fred, smacking his brother's back. "Let's nip down to the kitchens and see if we can find some party supplies- we've got ourselves a Gryffindor champion!"

Astoria watched them go, feeling no desire to tag after them or to glorify Harry's bizarre vote of confidence from the Goblet of Fire.

Instead, she went back to the common room. It was busy and loud for such a compact space, especially with everybody hanging about on couches or loitering in corners, waiting for Harry to return.

"I can't believe this," fretted Hermione. "Every year something has to go wrong!"

"Do _you_ know how he got past the age line, Hermione?" asked Fred, who had retuned with George and an armful of sweets and butterbeer.

"That's the thing," said Hermione worriedly, "I don't think that he did."

"Of course he did," said Ron blackly. Up until this point, Ron had been sitting on the end of the couch and staring into the fire moodily. " _You_ heard him- he said he'd do it at night, when no one was watching... I reckon he must have snuck back down while we were asleep and entered. Maybe he used the invisibility cloak. Could be _that's_ what tricked Dumbledore's line, couldn't it?"

Hermione did not look as though she thought this theory very likely and Astoria, for her part, was inclined to agree with Hermione.

When Harry did return, he was given a standing ovation of enthusiastic applause. Someone tied a Gryffindor banner around Harry's neck, so that it hung heavily down his back. Harry was forced into the center of the room, where he stood for a long while, looking bashful and confused.

At this point, Astoria had seen enough. She excused herself and began the climb up to the fourth year girls dorm.

When her head hit her pillow she fell almost at once into a restless sleep; aided by the wine she had drank that afternoon and disturbed by Harry Potter's face as it had looked in the middle of the Great Hall, frozen and doubtful.

0o0

Astoria allowed herself to properly sleep in on Sunday, feeling none of the fear of potentially missed opportunities that had roused her the day before.

A light rain was coming down outside, pattering at the windows and infecting Astoria with a desire to remain underneath her blankets, reading magazines. There was nothing happening anywhere in the rest of the school that seemed to merit Astoria's getting up or getting dressed and it was well past lunch time when hunger finally drove her down to the Great Hall.

Astoria grabbed a couple of oranges out of the fruit bowl on the Gryffindor table and a half of a stale BLT from one of the left-over lunch platters, before abandoning the nearly empty hall in favor of the library.

All of the torches in the hallways had been lit in order to combat the rainy darkness outside. By time Astoria had reached the third floor, she had finished her sandwich, swallowing the last bite as she passed a set of windows that looked out over the rain-pocked lake.

Tracey was sitting in a corner of the library, next to the shelves that housed old periodicals. Her Arithmancy homework was spread out before her on an oak table and her expression was one of industriousness.

"Hello," Tracey muttered distractedly when Astoria sat down across from her.

Astoria pulled the oranges out of her pocket and set to work peeling them, glancing over her shoulder now and then to check for Madam Pince, who would surely disapprove of such behavior around her covetously guarded library books.

"Working on the next assignment, are you?" asked Astoria, tossing Tracey a few slices of her orange.

"Yeah," said Tracey, eating the fruit absently. "It's tricky stuff. Have you finished yours yet?"

"Nope," said Astoria, spitting out a bit of orange pith.

"If you want, I'll work on it with you," offered Tracey.

Astoria fished a seed out of her mouth. "Nope."

Tracey blinked, cottoning on to Astoria's flat mood. "Late night partying last night, was it?" she asked. "I suppose Gryffindor is ecstatic about Harry?"

"I went to bed early," said Astoria. "Some of them stayed up, though. Doesn't seem like much of a thing to celebrate, if you ask me."

"Why not?" muttered Tracey, running her hand down a reference book's index. "Potter broke the rules and got away with it, even though he's underage. It should make the whole Tournament more interesting. _Not_ that I'll be admitting that in front of Malfoy and the rest."

"Right livid, was he?" asked Astoria dryly, pocketing her orange peel.

"Who?" asked Tracey, her eyes back on the book, not listening properly.

"Draco," said Astoria. "Had a fit and took off for the owlery, I presume?"

"Mhmm," said Tracey idly, before Astoria's words sank in. "No, actually. He and Montague were talking about making badges or something..."

"What, are they going to start a protest?" wondered Astoria, thinking that this reaction was perhaps even more stupid than the one she had feared.

"Dunno," said Tracey. "They're in the next room with that weird mate of yours. Alec whatshisname? Go ask _them_."

Astoria normally wouldn't have gone out of her way to seek out Malfoy or any of his cronies on a weekend, but Tracey was so busy and boring that, once Astoria had finished her second orange, she decided to cave in and go find them after all.

She spotted Draco and Alec's blonde heads from afar, sitting around a wide circular table in the room of atlases with Montague. An absent clap of thunder outside the long windows muffled the sound of Astoria approach and she was able to sneak up on them unnoticed.

"Don't poke them like that," Malfoy snapped, glaring at Goyle, who was holding an ambiguous scrap of bronze attached to a pin fastener.

"We could make the pins say both messages if we used this charm," said Alec, shoving a book toward Draco.

"How?" asked Draco.

"By poking them," said Alec, smirking at this rich irony.

"What are those?" asked Astoria.

Draco's first instinct seemed to be to hide the badges from sight because Astoria's voice caused him to jump uncomfortably.

"Oh," said Draco, recognizing her, "it's you."

Astoria ate her last wedge of orange and leaned over him, touching one of the blank badges. "What are these supposed to be? Tracey seems to think you'll be protesting the tournament."

Alec laughed.

"Well," said Draco smugly, "not the whole tournament per-say."

"You're _not_ protesting Harry Potter?" demanded Astoria scornfully. "Why do you do these things?"

"Why do _I_ do these things?" repeated Draco in annoyance. "I can't believe they're letting him play in the first place! Only Dumbledore would allow a fourteen year old champion- just because _Potter's_ his favorite..."

"Harry says he didn't enter," said Astoria, causing Draco and Alec to make twin noises of disbelief. "For all you know, Harry really didn't put in his name, and this is just some elaborate plot to have him murdered."

"Promise?" sneered Malfoy, taking the badge back from her irritably.

"The teachers won't allow anyone to wear those," said Astoria.

"They will if they're not profane," said Alec confidently. "Surely, even in England, students are still allowed to have an opinion?"

"You just _have_ to be on the ground floor of every scandal, don't you?" wondered Astoria, taking in Alec's amused face.

Alec raised a single eyebrow and leaned back in his seat.

"Are you taking bets on the tournament, Greengrass?" asked Montague, changing the topic.

"Could be," said Astoria, uncomfortable with Alec's suddenly keen interest. Surely Maudlin would have a few choice opinion about the fact that Astoria was basically running a gambling ring, and Astoria knew that she would prefer if Alec did not go back to Maudlin talking about it.

Draco snorted. "Why _wouldn't_ you? You always take bets on the quidditch tournament. What, are you scared the Ministry might catch on to your illegal side operation? I'm sure they've got better things to think about."

"Like the fact that they've got an underage Champion on their hands?" suggested Astoria wryly. "You should send Crouch a badge."

"Maybe I will," sneered Draco threateningly. "It was his rule that Potter broke."

" _Maybe_ broke," Astoria corrected.

"You actually believe that someone _else_ nominated Potter as champion?" asked Draco sharply. "This is _exactly_ the type of thing Potter lives for, Astoria. He loves attention even more than he loves his muggle-loving friends."

Draco's expression was angry, but something about his eyes suggested that he was privately desperate to hear her agree with him. Astoria shrugged and dodged the question entirely, equally as unwilling to lie as she was to instigate.

0o0

The next day at breakfast, Astoria was presented with an odd conundrum. For the first time ever, she found her loyalty at the Slytherin table to be divided, and she did not know where to sit.

Tracey and Theodore were occupying their usual space at the end of the table near the doors, but several seats down in the middle of the hub-bub, Maudlin and Luc had chosen to sit with Draco Malfoy and Alec instead of with the Ravenclaws.

Astoria hesitated and, in the end, chose Theodore because the fact that Draco was integrating himself so thoroughly (and quite contrarily to the insults he had leveled at Maudlin in private on Saturday) with people she had known for years made her very uncomfortable.

"Morning," said Theo, yawning broadly.

" _Astoria_!" hissed Tracey intently, wasting no time.

"What?" asked Astoria, nearly alarmed by the tone of her voice.

"Is _that_ Maudlin Mendel?" Tracey asked, pointing to Maudlin's wavy, dark-haired head.

"Yes," said Astoria, as perplexed as she was annoyed. "Why?"

"Maudlin Mendel, the boy who sent you an expensive broom that you gave away to the Weasleys, Maudlin? The same Maudlin you went to visit in France?"

"Yes," said Astoria again, still unsure exactly what Tracey was aiming for.

"He's _gorgeous_!" said Tracey emphatically. "What are you doing, sitting with _us_? Go sit with him!"

Before Astoria could answer, the mail arrived and there was brown envelope in an owl's beak with Astoria's name written on it in an unfamiliar hand.

"Hang on," said Astoria distractedly, ripping open the letter. Her eyes raced to the bottom to see who it was from and she was surprised to discover that the letter had been signed by Marcus Flint.

Astoria returned to the first paragraph curiously.

 _Astoria,_

 _Forgive me for getting straight to the point, but I've heard that you're talking bets on the Triwizard Tournament. (The Weasleys wrote to Oliver Wood and it came to me through a shared acquaintance). Take my advice and don't._

 _You know I respect a healthy bout of rule breaking, but consider this a warning. You probably want to keep your betting pool small anyway, but there are two groups of Goblins that are already intent on handling all of the gambling for the Tournament. Both of these Goblin clans detest each other and I've seen them resort to violence over Quidditch matches I've played in with the Wasps several times. Neither of them are going to like the fact that you're competing with them._

 _My advice would be to drop out entirely, but if you don't listen to me, I'd at least recommend a meeting with the goblins first. You'll want to make sure there is no bad blood before you try anything (trust me). Most of the Goblins have been held up in Hogsmeade since the Tournament opened, so you should be able to find them there. I've checked around and a reliable source tells me that Hodrod is holding court at the Three Broomsticks. I'd recommend going to him first- I've found him to be slightly more civil. Ragnuk and his folk have been staying at the Hog's Head. He's a complete nutter, but he might listen to what you have to say as long as you're careful not to insult him._

 _If you manage to get a foot in, I'll bet fifty galleons on Krum._

 _-Marcus_

Astoria swore under her breath and re-read the letter.

"Astoria!" said Tracey. "Are you listening to me?"

"When is our next Hogsmeade visit?" asked Astoria sharply, furious with Fred and George for their lack of subtlety.

"Next weekend," said Tracey. "Do you want to go together?"

"Can't," said Astoria, flipping the letter over to write Marcus back and thank him.

"Why not?" wondered Tracey, looking faintly offended.

"I've got plans to meet someone," said Astoria.

"Ooh, who?" asked Tracey.

The bell rang overhead. Astoria's eyes darted across the hall, searching for Fred and George, but it looked as though this crucial bit of information would have to wait until lunch.

Astoria started off for Care of Magical Creatures with Theodore and Tracey, her thoughts entirely elsewhere.

"Well, if I can't go with _you_ , would you be ever so angry if I went with your friend, Maudlin?" asked Tracey, grinning mischievously.

"He's got a girlfriend," cautioned Astoria with a laugh, trying hard to picture a scenario in which Tracey and Maudlin might end up alone together in the village and happily failing.

"You never mentioned that he was so pretty," said Tracey. "The way you've always talked about him, I thought he would be compete troll."

"Who is a complete troll?" asked Draco Malfoy loudly, as he Crabbe and Goyle caught up with them on the path.

"More like who _isn't_ ," said Tracey with a giggle.

"They're talking about Maudlin Mendel," said Theodore, surprising Astoria by offering up this information without waiting for any wheedling on Draco's part.

"You think he's a troll?" drawled Draco, highly amused.

"No!" said Tracey, doing exactly what Astoria imagined Theodore must have had hoped she would. "I think he's glorious! I can't believe you've been going to visit him all these years, Astoria! What is he like?"

" _Glorious_?" repeated Draco in annoyance. "I wouldn't go that far..."

"Really?" asked Theodore shrewdly. "I thought _you_ had gotten off to a pretty good start with him, Draco. You've been eating all your meals together."

Astoria threw a quelling look at Theodore, remembering the squabble she had gotten into with Draco on this same stretch of path only two days before.

"I like him just fine," sneered Draco, his eyes darting irresistibly to Astoria. "I still wouldn't call him _glorious_."

"Well, I _would_ ," said Tracey. "It's too bad he's taken. Is his girlfriend good looking, Astoria?"

Astoria shrugged, her thoughts tense and preoccupied by the idea of rivaling goblin clans. "Dunno, I've never properly met her. I think her father might be related to a duke though, so I imagine she's hard to replace."

Theodore snorted at this assessment but Tracey plowed on, undaunted.

"I don't know why you always talked about him as though he was a fat midget with a mood disorder. He seems perfectly lovely!"

"He might be good looking," Astoria allowed, noting the sour look on Draco's face as she said so, "but he's _not_ very nice."

"How so?" Tracey prodded. "You mean he's rude? Because that's a trait I'm prepared to overlook in anyone over six feet tall with a symmetrical face and an ancestral fortune."

"Not necessarily," said Astoria, trying to think of a way to describe just what _was_ wrong with Maudlin. "He's just- well, put it this way- unless he felt some sort of real loyalty, he'd betray anyone in a heartbeat and then spend the rest of his life pretending he never did anything wrong."

"So?" said Tracey flatly. "That's everybody, isn't it?"

"No," said Astoria "Most people have friends or mentors. Maudlin doesn't have friends the way a normal person does. The only mentor he wouldn't betray for some sort of power is his father- and that's because he's _scared_ of him."

"Come on," laughed Tracey. "He's got friends! What about Alec?"

"Alec is the _only_ exception," said Astoria firmly. "You're right though, he would never risk losing Alec."

"Or _you_ ," said Draco, unable to keep the note of bitterness out of his voice. "You're his old plaything, aren't you?"

Tracey laughed shrilly.

"Maudlin's nice enough to me," agreed Astoria tensely, wishing to put the subject to bed, "but Maudlin knows _me_ because of his _father_."

Draco seemed to contemplate this idea, mulling it over in silence until they reached Hagrid's cabin.

"On'y a few left now," said Hagrid, indicating the Skrewts. "Bin killin' each other off. Too much pent-up energy' fer their own good, see? So I thought we migh' try takin' em for a walk today—"

"I will _not_ ," said Draco in his coldest voice.

"Yeh'll do as yer told, Malfoy. Else I'll be takin' a leaf out o' Professor Moody's book," said Hagrid threateningly.

Draco went very red and fell silent, prompting Astoria to wonder just how many indignities Draco was going to suffer through before he could be counted upon to have a breakdown. Surely he must be getting close?

"Where exactly does he expect us to fix the leash?" muttered Draco contemptuously, kicking a clump of grass at the nearest Skrewt as it scuttled too close for his comfort. "Around the sting, the blasting end or the _sucker_?"

Astoria, overhearing this comment, laughed.

"What?" snapped Malfoy defensively, still red in the face from Hagrid's reference to the time he had recently spent as a ferret.

"Nothing," said Astoria in a low voice, contemplating the leashes that Hagrid was handing out.

"Fix tha' leash 'round tha' middle," called Hagrid, leaning over to demonstrate and then standing up again quickly, because the Skrewt he had reached for had gone off with a tremendous bang, burning the lawn behind it.

Astoria handed Theodore the leash. "Gentleman first?"

0o0

* * *

Those Skrewts crack me up so much. I feel like I'm going to keep needlessly writing about them, even though they do almost nothing to advance the plot.

In any case, I'll try to get the next chapter up on Friday. I have a feeling it will feature Draco's 'Potter Stinks' badges, a Rita Skeeter article (because that could be fun) and perhaps a bit of Goblin skullduggery.

Reviews are always a welcome treat!


	36. The Goblin Wars

Chapter Thirty Six

The Goblin Wars

* * *

0o0

Fred and George were in the entrance hall when Astoria's Care of Magical Creature's class returned to the castle. Astoria made a beeline for them immediately, pulling the letter she had received that morning out of her pocket.

"Hello!" George beamed at her, his face darkening slightly as he caught the look on Astoria's. "What?"

Astoria handed him the letter sternly.

"Why has Marcus Flint been writing to you?" asked George at once, reading the signature before the letter the same way Astoria had.

"Shh," Astoria hissed. Several feet away, Draco Malfoy had stopped on his way toward lunch in order to listen to them, his interest piqued by Marcus's name.

Astoria pulled Fred and George toward a suit of armor for greater privacy. "Just _read_ it."

"Blimey," muttered Fred, reaching the end of the note.

"We had no idea," added George.

"How do we know Flint isn't bluffing," said Fred. "He might be lying to you, just to make you drop out..."

"I don't think so," said Astoria at once, wishing to put an end to this theory before it took root. "That's not the sort of thing I've ever known him to do. Look, he even said he'd bet us fifty galleons." Astoria pointed toward the end of the note.

"Couldn't bother to remember either of _our_ names, though, could he?" muttered George resentfully. "The git- he just called us 'the Weasleys'. We knew him longer than you did!"

"What are we going to do, then?" asked Fred, handing then letter back to her. "Give up on the whole thing?"

"Well," said Astoria slowly, " _I_ vote that we meet with the goblins."

Fred and George were both uncharacteristically hesitant at this suggestion.

"I don't know," said George at last. "Goblins are tricky, Astoria. Our brother Bill works for the bank- the _stories_ he tells. They can be really nasty, Goblins can."

"But what harm can it do just to _meet_ with them?" Astoria pressed, slightly surprised by the twins fearfulness. "Worst case scenario, we can't work anything out and we tell the Goblins ourselves that we won't be any taking bets."

Fred let out a long, slow gust of air into his hands, rubbing his mouth nervously. "Alright, yeah. I guess that's true."

"But it's just a meeting!" insisted George cautiously. "Listen up, Astoria. You have to _promise_ that you won't do anything to provoke them! Our little feud with Bagman is bad enough. The _last_ thing we need is trouble from a clan of rogue Goblins."

0o0

Astoria spent the next week in a state of agitated suspense.

The idea of meeting with goblins was bad enough, but having to wait to do so was nearly torturous. Every scenario in which the meeting might go wrong was given time to mature and play itself out in her head. What if the Goblins threatened them? What if the Goblins hurt them or tried to hold them hostage in Hogsmeade?

Astoria spent hours going over the book on Gobbledegook that Theodore's father had given her years ago, wincing every time she mispronounced a word or read a particularly violent passage, written out lovingly by the hand of Urg the Unclean.

By Saturday morning, Astoria had lost half of her courage and most of her desire to even parlay with the goblins in the first place.

"Alright, we have a decision to make," said George, as they set off across the windswept grounds after breakfast. "Do we do as Flint suggested, and go to meet Hodrod at the Three Broomsticks or do we hunt down the 'nutter' Ragnuk?"

"Hodrod," said Astoria without having to give it a second thought, trying to swallow some of her nervousness as they reached the village. "Anyone that Flint thinks is a nutter is bound to be more than half-crazed."

The Three Broomsticks was characteristically packed for a Hogwarts weekend. Here and there, Astoria spied adults that she imagined were only in town because of the upcoming First Task.

"Look," said Fred sharply. "Its Bagman!"

It was indeed Ludo Bagman. To their collective sorrow, Ludo was sitting with a pack of Goblins, among whom, Astoria was certain, Hodrod must be one.

"What do we do?" hissed Fred, freezing in the doorway, alive to the awkwardness of the situation. "We can't talk to Hodrod with Bagman here!"

"No," Astoria agreed, studying Ludo and the goblins carefully. Ludo looked very tense. Something about the way he was sitting on his chair and the twitchy manner that his eyes kept leaping about the room made Astoria feel sure that he was there under duress. "Come on, we're leaving."

"What?" said Fred unhappily, following her back out into the autumn streets. "You want to give up?"

"No," said Astoria, turning them about and heading up the hill, the wheels in her brain turning very fast. "We're going to treat with Ragnuk instead."

"The _nutter_?" exclaimed George. "Why don't we just wait for Bagman to leave?"

"Think about it," said Astoria, panting as she took the steep slope up to the Hogs Head at a speedy clip. "What do we know? We know Ragnuk hates Hodrod and Hodrod is working with Bagman, right?"

Fred made a face that suggested he thought Astoria might be half a nutter herself.

"So, what if we went to Ragnuk and told him that we don't want to work with Hodrod, because he's partners with a person who we _know_ is a thief," Astoria continued quickly. "We can use what we know to butter Ragnuk up. Who knows, maybe we'll even manage to get our money back from Bagman this way!"

"That's insane," said Fred slowly, his expression clearing as he processed this logic. "I love it!"

The entrance to the Hogs Head was just as dingy and frightening as Astoria remembered it from the year before.

"Keep your heads down," Astoria whispered as she opened the door, thinking of how Aberforth had corralled Theo, Draco and herself into his office. "The barkeeper won't want us here. He'll kick us out for looking so young, if he sees us. _Don't_ try to order drinks."

Astoria blinked in the grim light inside the pub, trying to let her eyes adjust without having to stand still for overlong or draw any attention toward the doorway.

"Nice crowd," muttered Fred darkly, gesturing toward a man with a head that was so bandaged, no part of his face was visible except his eyes and his nose.

"Over there," said Astoria, pointing to a particularly dark corner where several goblins were sitting around an up-ended wine barrel and playing cards.

They crossed the room quickly, their footsteps muffled by the hay on the bare stones beneath their feet.

"Excuse me," said Astoria, drawing level with the make-shift barrel table. "We're looking for a man named Ragnuk."

The goblins stared back at her with dark, beady eyes. There was something unpleasant about the way their faces seemed to pinch around their brows, creating a look of resting hostility.

"Ragnuk you might find," said a particularly sharp-nosed goblin at last, "but he's no man."

The rest of the goblins tittered cruelly.

"I'm sorry," Astoria amended quickly, remembering what Flint had said about being respectful. "Can you tell me where to find Ragnuk the _goblin_?"

The goblins around the table exchanged dark, suspenseful looks.

"You're speaking to him," said the pointy-faced goblin that Astoria had already been addressing. "Now you know _my_ name but I still don't know yours."

"My name is Astoria Greengrass," said Astoria, "and this is Fred and George Weasley."

Fred and George both exchanged uncomfortable glances as she named them, but Astoria knew enough about Goblins to know that trying to remain anonymous was probably a moot point now that she had gained their attention.

"I see," said Ragnuk. "Why are you here, Astoria Greengrass, asking for me by name when I have never met nor heard of you."

Fred and George shifted uncomfortably but Astoria was determined not to loose the audience while they had it.

"May I sit?" Astoria asked, gesturing toward one of the vacant, rickety wooden chairs.

Ragnuk chuckled nastily under his breath but nodded in assent, perhaps amused by the ludicrous notion of a Hogwarts student seeking him out in a bar.

"It was brought to my attention that I might be offending you," said Astoria, sitting down on the very old chair.

"Is that so?" said Ragnuk evenly. His amused smile had all but vanished.

"Yes," said Astoria. "For the past few years, I've taken bets on the Quidditch Tournaments that take place at Hogwarts. I would _like_ to continue that legacy by opening up a betting pool on the the Triwizard Tournament."

Ragnuk's expression had hardened. The goblins on either side of the table began muttering to each other in Gobbledegook but their speech was much too fast and guttural for Astoria to catch even a third of what they were saying.

"I'm afraid I cannot allow that," said Ragnuk dangerously, provoking a shuttered laugh from one of the other goblins on his right. This laughing goblin leaned forward to mutter in Ragnuk's ear and Astoria caught nothing but the words 'girl' and 'fool' in his gravely stream of speech.

"Does the language of my people upset you?" asked Ragnuk, following Astoria's eyes toward the speaking goblin.

"No," said Astoria flatly, feeling a bit of the insulted anger she needed to continue forward with bravery. "Although I think it's a bit rude to speak a language in front of company who cannot understand it."

"Is that so?" asked Ragnuk, a cruel leer crossing his sharp features. Behind her, Astoria felt Fred Weasley stiffen. "Perhaps my companion simply wishes for privacy?"

"If he wants his conversation to be private, he might try excusing himself," Astoria went on coldly. "Goblins aren't the only creatures who can understand Gobbledegook. As it is, I know that your friend thinks I'm an idiot and I'm fairly certain it's mostly because I'm female."

This must have been close enough to what the goblin had said because there was a very long and tense silence, in which Ragnuk's expression did not change, and the goblin who had been muttering took off again at full speed, obviously offended.

"Astoria," said Fred tensely through gritted teeth, trying to push her off the chair she was sitting on. "Get _up_ -"

It was on Astoria's mind to comply when, to her great surprise, Ragnuk began to laugh. He raised his sharp little hand to silence the muttering goblins.

"You'd be surprised how many men much older and more important than _you_ would not have be able to understand as much," said Ragnuk. "Gold rules society. _Wizard gold_ , as they call it, but that is a misnomer. Who is it that guards the wealth of all wizard-kind, girl? Is it the men of business?"

"No," said Astoria carefully, forcibly reminded of one of Mr. Nott's rants. "The goblins do."

"You've told me your purpose," said Ragnuk, with a note of finality, brushing hay off of his velvet pants. "I'm afraid I cannot allow it, although I thank you for making your business known to me. You have spared yourself a good deal of... _unpleasantness_."

"I came to you on purpose, you know," said Astoria recklessly, feeling as though she had nothing to lose. "I could have gone to Hodrod, but I thought you and I might understand each other better."

At the mention of Hodrod's name, the goblins seated around the table collectively hissed and the effect was very menacing, indeed.

"Is that so?" demanded Ragnuk, his interest regained at the terrible price of his anger.

"Yes," said Astoria, raising her voice in order to be heard over the wrathful clamoring of the goblins, "because I know the kind of company Hodrod keeps. One of his friends robbed me personally."

The goblins around the table suddenly ceased hissing and the atmosphere was so still in the wake of so much sound that Astoria could hear Fred's ragged breathing.

"It's a dangerous thing to call a goblin a thief," said Ragnuk in clear, cold voice.

Sensing that this was the part of the conversation in which Astoria would either win over Ragnuk or be chased off the property when he turned his angry companions loose on her, Astoria proceeded carefully.

"It's a dangerous thing for a goblin to be friends with thieves," Astoria returned firmly. "Hodrod is working with a man who stole from me. I won't make any deals with him. I've come to you because I respect you, and I want to form an alliance."

Ragnuk gnashed his teeth together thoughtfully. Fred reached out a trembling hand and grasped the back of Astoria's chair firmly.

"How much does this _friend_ of Hodrod owe you?" asked Ragnuk thoughtfully.

Astoria turned to look at Fred, who cleared his throat looking startled, before answering. "Just over three hundred galleons."

"Ha!" laughed Ragnuk. "A pittance."

" _My_ pittance," said Astoria firmly, surprised by her own nerve. "It wouldn't matter if it was ten galleons or a thousand. The money belongs to _me,_ not Hodrod."

This seemed to be good goblin logic because Ragnuk was pensive again.

"Suppose I allowed you to collect bets," said Ragnuk slowly. "What would you give to _me_ by way of payment?"

"I don't know that I should have to _pay_ you anything," said Astoria, phrasing her words mindfully. "I am willing to strike a deal, however."

"Are you?" asked Ragnuk, properly showing his pointy teeth for the first time. "All debts owed to you by Hodrod will be mine, _that_ is my first condition. _You_ may not have the force to extract payment, but _I_ most certainly do."

Astoria thought this was a very good bargain but Fred coughed angrily.

"We can agree to that," said Astoria, shooting Fred an angry look.

"Good," said Ragnuk. Astoria hardly had time to marvel at the ease with which they had managed to strike this bargain when Ragnuk spoke again. "I can see why you might find it degrading to pay me for the right to collect bets at Hogwarts, when you have been doing so for years. To show you respect, I humbly request only that you bet against _me_."

Here it was; a goblin's trick. Ragnuk would not give them what they wanted unless he had access to all three of their necks.

"What do you mean?" asked Astoria shortly, sensing that the devil was about to present himself in the details of this deal.

"You will bet the same sum that you collect at Hogwarts back against me," said Ragnuk. "Every deal has its risk. That will be yours."

George shook his head. "No, Astoria."

Ragnuk glanced triflingly at George, who had not spoken once throughout the entire meeting and who did not seem to command Ragnuk's attention, much less his respect.

"You want me to turn around and bet everything I earn again to you, on one of the champions?" asked Astoria, wanting to be very clear.

"Everything you earn for _each task_ ," said Ragnuk nastily.

Astoria could foresee several problems with this arrangement almost immediately. The first and most prominent among them, being the fact that she and the twins had no collateral. If they did not win money on the first task, Astoria would not even be able to pay the _students_ , let alone the goblins.

"Do I get to choose which champion we bet on?" asked Astoria tensely.

"You will take what I offer you on good faith," said Ragnuk, his grin becoming deeper still. "I'll allow you to bet on the youngest champion, your famous Harry Potter."

Unwanted, Astoria's mind flashed to Draco and the contempt he would surely feel if he had heard this statement.

"If Harry Potter wins the tournament, I pay _you_ ," Ragnuk continued, his eyes as deep and dark as unfathomable pits. "If he loses, you will pay _me_."

"That's _mad_!" exploded George in exasperation.

"That's _business_ ," said Ragnuk firmly without even looking at him, his eyes trained on Astoria.

Astoria pondered this, her true feelings on Harry's odds as a champion put to the test for the first time. Did she truly think that Harry could win?

"Fred," said Astoria, inclining her head without breaking eye contact, "George, I think we should take the bet." Fred made a choking sound, so Astoria quickly went on, determined. "But only if Ragnuk will allow it so that Harry doesn't have to come in _first_ place."

Ragnuk's eyes narrowed.

"What are you talking about, Astoria?" asked George nervously.

"We'll bet on Harry, but only if he comes in first _or_ second place. Harry is the youngest champion, after all. He has a significant disadvantage. I know Ragnuk wouldn't want to offer us _unfair_ odds."

Ragnuk gnashed his teeth again and let out a long breath through his slit like nostrils. "I'll allow it."

"Good," said Astoria, standing up, dizzy with a mixture of relief and absolute awe at her own madness.

What if they lost the bet? Not paying the Goblin's would _not_ be an option. Could Astoria bring herself to ask Maudlin for money in such a case? Then, even if Astoria did manage to swallow her pride and beg, would he even give it to her? Was _this_ the moment that would lead to Astoria's eventually having to become Roland Yaxely's child bride?

Ragnuk extended his long-fingered hand. Astoria, knowing she should be running in the opposite direction, shook it.

0o0

They headed back down the steep drive in tense silence, waiting to be certain that they were out of earshot of Ragnuk before speaking. Despite the fact that nearly a hundred feet separated them from the clan of hostile goblins up the hill, none of them said a word until they were back in town.

"Bloody hell!" Fred exploded as they reached high street. "Did we just _sell_ Ludo Bagman to the goblins?"

None of them knew what to say to this and, very slowly, all three of them began to grin stupidly.

"We _did_!" said George, a look of pure awe making his face go slack as he clutched his wild, ginger hair with both hands. "Bagman wouldn't pay up, so we _sold_ him."

The idea of what they had just managed to achieve was literally so ridiculous that, for a moment, neither Astoria nor the twins could hold a straight face.

"That was a _terrible_ idea, though," said Fred at last, with the first twinge of regret. "If we don't win our bet, we'll have a ruddy goblin force after us. You don't just _not_ pay a goblin, either. If they don't get their gold, they'll come back looking for blood."

"We'll figure it out," said Astoria quickly and dismissively, before the twins could become worried. "Harry's faced worse that this before, hasn't he? He only needs to beat two of the champions."

"That's true," said George hopefully. "Harry's good at this sort of thing."

"We'll offer Harry help when we can," said Astoria, "but for now, let's not worry about money until _after_ the first task."

0o0

It was with a certain amount of smugness that Astoria awoke the following Sunday.

In her opinion, Astoria had triumphed in a way that few Fourth Years would have been capable of; she had managed to strike a business arrangement with a pack of adult goblins and she was determined to enjoy that success with pride. Astoria did not _want_ to think about the potentially disastrous results that her actions might result in and she found herself tucking her fears away as she dressed, allowing them to do no more than lurk beneath the surface of her consciousness.

Astoria left the common room around noon in search of Theodore and bumped headlong into Maudlin Mendel on the landing outside the portrait of the Fat Lady.

"What are you doing up here?" asked Astoria, startled at the sight of Maudlin in such a familiar place.

"Looking for you, obviously," said Maudlin. "What _else_ would I be doing up here?"

"Oh," said Astoria, edging away from the Fat Lady toward the stairs. "Well, come on. Let's not linger."

The idea of anyone Astoria knew bumping into her outside the Fat Lady with just Maudlin was faintly embarrassing, and she was particularly eager to be away from such close proximity to her common room.

"Alec's in the entrance hall," said Maudlin. "Come down to the Beuxbatons carriage with us. Madame Maxime is out with your groundskeeper."

Something about the way Maudlin said this spoke of a faint disapproval for headmasters dating groundskeepers, but he seemed to know enough to take the freedom that the scenario allowed without complaining.

Alec was lingering in the entrance hall with Draco Malfoy, leaning against a suit of armor and causally flicking open his gold zippo, lighting it rhythmically.

The sight of both boys struck Astoria as vaguely foreboding almost at once, and not necessarily because of Alec's apparent fascination with flame. Draco was not with Crabbe or Goyle, a rare occurrence at Hogwarts and Astoria was faintly uncomfortable with the extreme since they appeared to be waiting in.

"Found her, Maudlin?" asked Alec, not bothering to look away from the blazing wick of his lighter. "That certainly took long enough."

Draco continued to lean against the wall, watching Astoria and Maudlin approach silently.

"Her dormitory is literally in the most remote part of the castle imaginable," said Maudlin, amused now that his work was over. "It's as if they're hiding her entire house up there."

"How _did_ you find me?" asked Astoria uncomfortably, coming to the delayed realization that she had never given Maudlin the exact specifies of where the Fat Lady was located. "You haven't been asking my classmates where I sleep, have you?"

" _No_ ," said Maudlin, bristling with mild annoyance as he caught the tone of embarrassment in Astoria's voice. "I asked Draco."

"Oh," said Astoria, turning her eyes onto Draco. Draco raised his eyebrows almost challengingly but said nothing.

Astoria looked away, beginning to detect a contrived test of some kind. Determined to deflect this energy, Astoria allowed Maudlin to do most of the talking for the entire way down to the carriage, chiming in only when it seemed necessary that she should do so.

"This way," said Maudlin, leading them down a purple carpeted hallway. The Beauxbatons carriage had been magically enhanced so that it was much larger on the inside than looks suggested. Astoria turned her feet after Maudlin and Alec, eyeing the two doors they passed, each marked with a gold plaque, denoting these as the janitors closet and the showers, respectively.

The front hallway delivered them into a circular atrium, which had been painted an ostentatious gold. Maudlin chose the door directly across from them.

It was much darker in this new space, but Astoria could tell that it was just as thickly carpeted and golden as the front rooms had been. There were two beds, separated by collection of armchairs and a polished-looking coffee table. On top of the table stood a vase full of out-of-season lilacs.

"Luc's been asleep all afternoon," said Maudlin, seizing a large decorative pillow from a purple armchair and throwing it at a sleeping lump in one of the two beds. "Get up, Luc. It's past lunchtime."

The lump stirred and kicked the invading pillow to the ground. The carpet, Astoria noticed, was decorated with images of several plump, beatific cherubs.

"They do more for you at Beauxbatons," said Draco in an approving voice, taking in the sitting area.

"Beauxbatons has always been known for its taste," said Maudlin pompously. "It's less renowned for its _teachers_ , however. How Madame Maxime ever became headmistress is anybody's guess."

Draco laughed and threw himself into the armchair Maudlin had just removed the throw-pillow from.

Alec was hunting for something in a cabinet near Maudlin's vacated bed. He pushed about a few biscuit packets aside and stood up, clutching a bottle of sparkling water.

At the sound of the cap being opened, Luc began to stir.

"That's an alcoholic for you," sneered Maudlin, eyeing his roommate. "It's only water, Luc. Alec and I finished off Maxime's stolen wine last night without you."

Luc rolled out from under his blankets and found a robe, impervious to Maudlin's snideness. "Just as well. I had a long day in the village yesterday," he yawned. "I went to visit the pubs."

"I'm sure you did," said Maudlin, pushing a glass toward Alec so that he would not feel compelled to drink the water straight from the bottle like a heathen. Ignoring the glass, Alec sunk into the nearest chair.

"I tried out the Three Broomsticks first but it was desperately busy. When one of the locals told me to head up the hill, I took them at it and went for a pop-in at the Hogs Head. Dodgy place."

"I was kicked out of the Hogs Head once," drawled Draco smugly.

"Were you?" asked Maudlin, intrigued at once by the idea of a forbidden drinking place.

"Yeah," said Draco, putting his feet up on the table. "Astoria was there," he added, watching Maudlin closely. "It was her idea in the first place."

"That's funny," said Luc, frowning in Astoria's direction. "I could have sworn I saw you there yesterday, holding court with a pack of goblins."

"Don't be ridiculous," scoffed Maudlin. "What would Astoria be doing with goblins? It was obviously someone else."

Astoria felt Draco's eyes turn on her sharply, obviously knowing her better than that.

"Yeah," said Astoria, much more smugly than she meant to, unable to keep her feeling of triumph from leaking into her tone. "Me, dealing with goblins? That's ridiculous."

Draco's eyes narrowed in suspicion but he did not voice his thoughts out loud. Astoria plucked a lilac from the vase, eager to hide her face.

"Is it just students who aren't allowed?" asked Maudlin, satisfied that the mystery woman who had met with goblins had not been Astoria.

"Most customers hide their faces," offered Astoria. "It's not the kind of place _anyone_ wants to be seen in."

Astoria had not even seen Luc in the Hog's Head's because of the dim lighting, and she made a mental note to wear a hood herself, if the occasion to meet Ragnuk ever arose again.

"I could have _sworn_ it was you," said Luc, chewing the inside of his cheek, still staring at Astoria pensively.

"Well, it wasn't," said Astoria firmly, loosing her edge of smarminess completely. "It's awfully dark in there. You probably mistook me for hag."

Alec laughed heartily at this, but Luc did not seem convinced. "Whoever it was, they were with two redheaded boys and they looked young."

Draco's eyes flashed with annoyance, his suspicions entirely confirmed.

"Enough," sighed Maudlin, tired of the conversation already. "What do you think they've got planned for the First Task, Draco?"

"Something dreadful, I suppose," drawled Draco, shaking himself free of his annoyance and sitting up straighter in his chair. "My father doesn't know. I've asked him, but apparently they're keeping the details of the Tournament under very close watch. The ministry is afraid the champions will cheat, of course."

"I thought cheating was a Triwizard tradition," joked Maudlin.

"Not this year," sneered Draco.

"Aren't you glad you weren't called out as champion now, Maudlin?" remarked Alec. "What a bother it would be."

Maudlin shrugged. "I never really wanted to compete in the first place," he admitted. "A hundred ways to die for nothing more than a thousand galleons? Still, I had to try. It would have looked ridiculous if I hadn't shown _some_ interest."

"Why would it have looked ridiculous?" Astoria laughed. "Nobody would have blamed you for wanting to keep your head attached to your body."

"Nobody would have had any respect for me either," said Maudlin resentfully. "I wonder what the Goblet saw in Fleur- you do realize that it chose her over me, don't you?"

"Why do you care?" asked Astoria. "You've just admitted that you didn't want to be champion, anyway."

"I don't know," said Maudlin. "It's just sort of insulting to be passed over for a _girl_ , isn't it?"

"Not really," said Astoria coldly, feeling as though her entire gender had been leveled a blow.

"Well _you_ wouldn't think so, would you?" said Maudlin carelessly.

"Fleur's not _just_ a girl, is she?" said Astoria, knowing she was being needling, but finding herself unable to resist. "She's _also_ part Veela. You weren't just passed up for a female, you were passed up for a female that's also part _being_."

"Yes, _well_ ," sniffed Maudlin, insulted but unwilling to admit it, "I didn't really mean it when I put my name in, so I'm sure that's why I wasn't chosen."

"Must be," said Astoria flatly.

"Makes you wonder what sort of secrets Fleur has been hiding all of these years, doesn't it?" said Alec, fascinated by the idea of Fleur being secretly in possession of a strange violence.

"Ha!" laughed Maudlin scornfully. "She's nothing special, Alec. Any powers she might have are completely illusionary. She can't do anything that you or I couldn't."

"Nothing expect stun people speechless with a single look," remarked Astoria slyly.

"I'd love to see her try to win _that_ way," said Maudlin sarcastically, "but unless the First Task involves seducing a Bulgarian quidditch team- oh, wait..."

Draco and Alec both laughed, but Astoria felt as though her point had been made nonetheless.

0o0

That night in the common room, Astoria found Harry sitting alone by the fire.

Thinking of the bargain that she had struck the day before, Astoria felt herself pulled toward Harry by a mixture of guilt and fear.

"Where's Ron?" asked Astoria, sitting on the edge of the couch and studying Harry's profile, trying to imagine him competing against the unknown within a month's time and feeling absurdly corrupt for taking out a bet on his life.

"Dunno," said Harry darkly. "Off with Dean and Seamus somewhere."

It was most unlike Harry to not know where Ron was, but Astoria didn't pry.

"Listen," said Astoria, wanting to get some of what she had to say off of her chest before she chickened out completely, "I know this whole Tournament thing is rubbish, and you'e saying you didn't enter."

"I _didn't_ enter!" insisted Harry angrily. "Not that anyone will listen..."

"Well, if you say you didn't put your name in the Goblet, then I believe you," said Astoria, feeling an uncomfortable swoop in her stomach at what the alternative reason for Harry's being made school champion might be. "I just wanted to tell you, that if you need any help, Fred and George and I are behind you. I know you're supposed to do it all alone, but if you end up stumped, we've all agreed to help you. No matter what."

"Oh," said Harry, obviously surprised by the unsolicited offer. "Well, thanks. Honestly though, I don't even know where to begin looking for help, so you shouldn't worry yourself. The champions don't even know what the First Task is going to _be_."

"Yes, well," said Astoria, sinking down onto the couch next to Harry, pulling his wand out from underneath her before she accidentally broke it and buffing out the smudges on its surface before handing it to him, "just stay sharp. Let us know if you need anything."

Harry took his wand back and nodded. "Alright."

"Alright," said Astoria, feeling no less dirty for having made this offer than she had before. "Goodnight."

0o0

There was a great commotion at the Slytherin table during breakfast the next morning. If Draco's central involvement in it was any clue as to why, Astoria suspected that the badges he had been making were finally finished.

Determined not to give in to such foolishness, Astoria attempted to skirt past the cackling crowd toward Theodore, but a voice called out for her before she could reach him.

"Astoria!" hailed Maudlin, who was sitting amongst the crowd of laughing Slytherins. "Over here!"

Seeing no other choice, Astoria allowed herself to be lured right into the center of this unsavory mix.

"Like them, Greengrass?" asked Montague, brandishing a badge at her. Red letters glowed on the front of the bronze strip, which now read: _Support Cedric Diggory - The Real Hogwarts Champion._

Draco was watching her closely. "That's not all they do, either," he drawled. Draco fidgeted with the front of the badge until it glowed green.

"Potter stinks," Astoria read out loud, thoroughly unimpressed.

The Slytherins on either side of her roared with derisive laughter.

"Offended, Astoria?" asked Pansy Parkinson, shoving in past Montague to close the gap between herself and Draco. "Potter is _your_ champion, after all."

Draco sneered reflexively at this comment. Astoria, however, was having a radical thought.

Perhaps the badges weren't such a bad thing? Wouldn't they only make the public less likely to think of Harry as a capable champion who might win the First Task? This could only be a good thing, as far as the goblins were concerned. From a tactical standpoint, Astoria did not want the goblins doing anything _other_ than underestimating Harry.

"I want one," said Astoria.

"What?" scoffed Pansy, annoyed. "Come on, Astoria! Everyone knows you always stand up for Potter! She probably just wants it in order to re-charm it to say something else, Draco. Don't give her one."

Draco was fighting a battle between knowing in his heart that Astoria did not approve of the badges and private delight at her interest. He scoffed, but made a motion toward Montague. "Give her one."

Blaise Zabini laughed as Astoria took a badge and inspected it. "Actually," said Astoria thoughtfully, "I'll take a few more."

Astoria managed to make off with five badges, thinking that this was probably the most she could possibly push on the public, anyway. She went to find Fred and George as the bell rang overhead.

"Hey," said Astoria, thrusting the badges into George's hands. "Start passing these out."

George lifted a badge and read the front of it. His face became stony at once.

"Who _made_ these?" demanded Fred indignantly, catching sight of the inscription on the badge as well.

"Doesn't matter," said Astoria. "Start handing them out to people you think might be willing to wear them."

"Why would we do that?" asked George, looking very non-plussed. "Everyone will think Harry's a complete quack!"

Astoria raised her eyebrows suggestively.

"Oh," said George, catching on. " _Aw_ , come on, Astoria- I don't want to be responsible for giving these to people!"

"Me neither," said Astoria defensively. "What I _really_ don't want the goblins to start thinking Harry's got more going for him than meets the eye, though. Especially before he's even had a chance to compete in the first task. Start giving them out."

George stared at the badge in his hand, his brow wrinkled with disgust, but he nodded.

"Yeah, alright. There's probably a few Hufflepuffs who will take one," he muttered truthfully. "That lot is still pretty bitter about Harry taking the edge off of Cedric's thunder. I can't bring myself to try to convince any Gryffindors to wear them, though..."

"That's fine," agreed Astoria appreciatively. "Just get them onto some robes without a Slytherin badge on the front."

Astoria was running very late for potions by the time she finally skidded into the dungeon hallway. By the look of things, however, Astoria's lateness hardly mattered. Some sort of a fight seemed to have broken out and as Astoria drew closer, Hermione broke away and ran past her whimpering, heading back up toward the entrance hall.

Snape was standing by the door to his classroom, looking very pleased with himself. So, several feet away, was Draco.

"What's going on?" Astoria muttered to Theo, joining the back of the pack.

"Draco and Potter just had a duel in the hallway," said Theo somewhat scornfully.

"Ah," sighed Astoria.

"You're one to talk," muttered Theo as they entered the classroom. "What's with you and the badges? That's a new level of instigation, even from _you_."

"What's that supposed to mean?" asked Astoria, offended.

"Hey, Astoria!" called Draco cruelly from across the room. "You're not wearing your badge!"

On the other side of the dungeon, Astoria saw Harry's eyes flick toward her, surprised and a little hurt.

"Do I even want to know?" asked Theodore.

"No, probably not," said Astoria, her face glowing with shame at the look Harry had just given her.

Halfway through class, Harry was called away for a press meeting with the other champions and from all around the dungeon, angry green lettering flickered at him as he made his exit.

0o0

Two things were happening within the castle to affect Astoria's mood over the next few days. The first was a growing anticipation for the First Task and Astoria, with a little help from Fred and George, had gleefully begun taking down their first bets.

The second matter was far less definable, as it concerned her life in a more social way.

Draco and Maudlin, who had taken to each other in the beginning mostly out of curiosity for each others respective family names, were starting to become somewhat inseparable.

What had started out as a lunch together here and there, was now rapidly becoming a regular habit. So much so, in fact, that Astoria was becoming accustomed to associating the back of Maudlin's head with the lurking figures of Crabbe and Goyle.

Astoria could have lived with this friendship peacefully enough, if only there was some way of avoiding Maudlin. As it was, he almost never let Astoria pass him by without drawing her into his conversation and he rarely made it easy for her to leave. Toss Alec Hundin into the mix, and it was beginning to take a toll on Astoria's reputation.

There had always been a curious, dark glamour around Alec and Maudlin. One which Astoria had never truly been associated with, as she had always lived and gone to school in a different country.

Alec, of course, was infamous for being misbehaved and Maudlin was rather notorious for being exceedingly wealthy, good-looking and aloof. Now that Draco had joined them, he was adding something as well, by bringing the bulk of Slytherin opinion into the mix. It was starting to become rather public knowledge that, while Astoria was still generally thought of as a nice person, she was _quite_ mixed up with a dangerous crowd.

Nowhere was this opinion more marked than among the Hufflepuffs, who now thought of Astoria as something of a mix between a supporter of the champion that had robbed Cedric of his glory, and a mouthpiece for some of the most unpleasant students that Beauxbatons and Durmstrang had to offer.

They were not the only ones that had started watching Astoria with narrowed eyes either. Pansy Parkinson was becoming increasingly sharp with Astoria, never missing an opportunity to publicly mock her.

Draco, however, seemed to remain exempt from much of Pansy's unpleasantness. _Draco_ had the lure of Alec and Maudlin to blame, but as far as Pansy was concerned, it was Astoria's friends that had stolen Draco's time and limited attention from her, and it was Astoria that she chose to hold her grudge against.

Draco, for his part, was not helping matters either, as he seemed to be queerly unwilling to invite Pansy to spend any time with his new friends. The only chance Pansy had to associate with Maudlin and Alec was at mealtimes, whereas Astoria, without having to try and sometimes against her will, was always extended an invitation by Maudlin.

"I don't know _what_ Maudlin Mendel sees in her," Astoria heard Pansy complaining to Flora one day that week in the girls bathroom. "He seems sensible enough, doesn't he? I know Draco thinks highly of him- and _his_ good opinion is hard to come by. Astoria's just so ridiculous and _desperate_. Maybe Mendel feels sorry for her? _That_ would explain it."

This was the sort of thing that Astoria might have been able to brush off, if only she hadn't been confronted by yet another proof of her own unlike-ability in the hallway an hour later on her way to Arithmancy.

Draco, Blaise and Montague were all clustered in a corner, sans foreigners, and reading something from a magazine. Blaise was laughing so hard that he was actually clutching a stitch in his side.

"Here," said Montague, "Greengrass, come have a listen to this!"

"What is it?" asked Astoria. "I'm running late."

"No you're not," said Draco dismissing this claim at once. "Arithmancy doesn't start for another fifteen minutes. Listen to this," Draco cleared his throat and began to read out loud: _"I suppose I get my strength from my parents. I know they'd be very proud of me if they could see me now... Yes, sometimes at night I still cry about them, I'm not ashamed to admit it-"_

Draco was forced to stop reading mid-sentence because he was laughing so hard.

"What _is_ that?" demanded Astoria, almost offended by the saccharine sappiness of the text. "Are you lot reading a romance novel together?"

"It's Potter's interview with the Daily Prophet!" exclaimed Draco with an effusion of glee. "Can you _believe_ this?"

"Are we going to class or not?" asked Theodore, coming up behind Astoria.

"Nott, listen to this!" said Blaise, snatching the magazine out of Draco's hands. _"Harry has at last found love at Hogwarts,"_ read Blaise while Draco howled with anticipatory mirth. _"His friend, Colin Creevey_ —she quoted Creevey!— _says that Harry is rarely seen out of the company of one Hermione Granger, a stunningly pretty Muggle-born girl, who, like Harry, is_ _one of the top students in the school!"_ Blaise gave the magazine a flourish. "Merlin, am I reading this right?"

"Who wrote that?" Astoria demanded, shocked that such blatant misrepresentation had managed to make it into final print.

"Rita Skeeter, of course," drawled Draco.

"There's more," said Blaise, flattening out the magazine again and reading on, _"But readers may rest assured that Harry Potter is not without other support as well. "Harry has a real fan club here in Gryffindor," reports Creevey. "Especially since we found out that he was going to be a champion." Indeed, Creevey adds, "I've seen loads of people go up to him to wish him luck and just the other day_ —"

Blaise froze ominously mid-sentence. His eyes flicked toward Astoria, suddenly so overcome with glee that he could not find his voice.

"What?" Astoria snapped, feeling a faint blush rise to her cheeks for no reason.

Montague looked toward where Blaise's finger was holding his place halfway down the page and choked on a sudden, violent fit of hilarity.

"What does it say?" asked Draco impatiently, wanting to hear more of Harry's sickly sweet, supposed sentences.

" _Just the other day,"_ said Blaise, picking up where he left off, _"I saw his friend Astoria Greengrass offering him advice while she gave his wand a good polish."_ Blaise choked and could go no further.

"It _doesn't_ say that," scoffed Theodore, grabbing the magazine from Blaise's now strengthless fingers.

Draco, who was no longer laughing, leaned in to read along.

" _I saw his friend Astoria Greengrass offering him advice while she gave his wand_... bloody hell," muttered Theo, handing the magazine over to Astoria fearfully.

Astoria checked for herself, unsurprised to find the offending sentence glaring up at her in print. A ready made, black and white dirty joke featuring herself and Harry Potter.

"What's _that_ rubbish?" sneered Draco."Where would she have gotten that from?"

"Her imagination?" scoffed Theodore, carefully taking the magazine back from Astoria and closing it. "None of this is true. Skeeter just couldn't resist adding a little sexual innuendo to her fictitious article about a _minor_. Ignore it, Astoria."

"That's a _direct_ quote," snapped Draco sharply, frozen in place. "Why would Creevey say that?"

"I don't know," returned Astoria waspishly, "I probably just..." she trailed off as the actual moment that Colin had been speaking of came floating back to her.

" _What_?" spat Draco almost shrilly. "You _haven't_ been randomly _wand-polishing_ in your bloody common room?"

Blaise had lost his ability to breathe evenly and even as Astoria watched, he turned his eyes skyward and mouthed something that looked suspiciously like 'thank you' to the heavens.

" _No_ ," shot Astoria indignantly, blushing despite the stupidity causing for her embarrassment. "I was sitting near Harry on the couch about a week ago ago and I found his wand in the cushions. I picked it up and..."

"...you polished his _actual_ wand?" supplied Theodore, trying very hard not laugh himself now.

Blaise had turned purple. So had Draco, although not, perhaps, for the same reason.

"Why would you _do_ that?" Draco snapped.

"Why _wouldn't_ I?" Astoria returned hotly. "It's sort of an innocuous thing, really, isn't it?"

Theodore had one of his long hands placed over his mouth and he seemed to be fighting down the same urge to laugh that was currently crushing Blaise Zabini.

"Give me that," said Astoria, taking the article back and marching across the hall because she had just seen Fred and George. "Oy," called Astoria, "are you two going back to the common room?"

"Yeah," said Fred.

"Give this to Colin Creevey, if you see him," said Astoria, foisting the article into Fred hands. "Tell him thanks for me, and make sure the little idiot understands that I'm being sarcastic."

"Alright," said Fred, his eyes scanning the page. "Blimey, what _is_ this?"

"Trash," replied Astoria, trying to shake off the feeling of swooping shame.

"There's no way Harry said any of this," declared George defiantly. "Oh, look, there's your name..."

His eyes darted quickly toward Astoria and his lips suddenly pressed into a thin line, as though he would have dearly liked to snicker.

"What?" sneered Astoria. "Amused by the wording?'

"It certainly sounds o _ddly_ sexual," suppled Fred, turning the article about, perhaps testing to see if it might strike him differently from another angle.

Montague and Blaise, who had paused to listen to Astoria's conversation with Fred and George, burst out laughing again.

"Give it to Colin," insisted Astoria darkly, before returning to Theodore. "Let's go to class."

"It'll blow over," insisted Theo reasonably, hurrying after Astoria up the stairs. "No one will even notice your part. Not with all that talk about Potter crying over his dead parents surrounding it."

"What's up?" asked Tracey, who had been waiting for them near the landing that led to the Arithmancy classroom.

"Nothing," said Astoria dismissively, plowing past and taking a seat.

Tracey and Theo followed suit and several moments later, so did Draco, looking warm around the neck and more than a little sour around the mouth. Apparently Draco's passion for Rita's article had been somewhat cooled by Astoria's addition to it, because he did not bring up the article in front of Tracey either.

"Psst," whispered Ernie, who alone among the Hufflepuffs remained unchanged in his attitude lately towards Astoria lately. "Astoria!"

Draco made an irritable little motion with his shoulder as though he would have dearly loved to punch Ernie in the chest.

"Astoria!" called Ernie again, getting up and moving toward her end of the table unsubtly. "Listen, are you taking bets on the First Task? Someone said you were."

Astoria made a faint motion of assent, uncomfortably aware that anyone could be listening to their conversation.

"Brilliant," hissed Ernie. "I want in. Ten Galleons on Cedric."

When Ernie continued to loom over the desk, Astoria made another motion to make it perfectly clear that she had heard him.

0o0

* * *

I'll be honest, it may not be the best chapter ever, but I really like this one. It was just immensely enjoyable to write.

The only apology I'll make is for the long goblin bit at the beginning. That, ideally, probably should have been situated mid-chapter somewhere and was potentially a little confusing. If anybody rubbed their head and went, "Effing, huh?" while they were reading that section, feel free to ask any questions and I'll try to clear things up (and maybe make amendments to the chapter itself for clarity). I know the goblin-gambling piece is a weird and convoluted plot line, but the business transaction itself is necessary for future story developments. Astoria seems to pull off a whole lot pretty effortlessly, but let's face it, this is a scenario where she's cruising for a bruising. I probably won't write another eight pages of nothing but Goblins striking deals for a really long time, so the worst of it is over. I promise.

As always, reviews are a rewarding treat!


	37. Dragon Eggs

Chapter Thirty Seven

Dragon Eggs

* * *

0o0

The First Task was scheduled for the following Tuesday. Astoria spent a large part of her weekend adding up potential bets and then fixing the numbers again as new wagers poured in. The final count continued to grow at a staggering speed until Astoria, quite apart from feeling victorious, began to feel almost sick.

Between the bets from Hogwarts students and the various other arrangements that Fred and George had secured through mysterious mail sources, the sum total that Astoria and the twins had riding on the match had grown upward, shooting past Astoria's wildest expectations toward a sum of four thousand galleons. This meant that, in turn, Astoria was also betting this same outstanding amount of gold back against Ragnuk the goblin.

On the one hand, it was an impressive bit of business that they had achieved. On the other, as Astoria was becoming increasingly more aware, it also meant that if Harry did not finish in at least second place on Tuesday, Astoria was set to owe nearly nine thousand galleons to the world. This was a truth made even more ludicrous by the fact that Astoria did not _have_ nine thousand galleons or, indeed, a proper backup plan to deploy in the case of Harry's defeat.

Fred and George, upon reading over Astoria's ledger, expressed some fear of their own.

"You're kidding," said George hollowly, torn between excitement and terror.

"What do we do, if we lose?" asked Fred quietly.

"I don't know, become indentured servants?" suggested Astoria dully. "Or maybe _prostitutes_? I don't suppose you need to pass your N.E.W.T's to do either..."

"Hate to be the one to say it," muttered George under his breath, "but I don't think any of us are _worth_ that much."

0o0

On the night before the First Task, Alec and Maudlin made plans to meet up by the lake.

The evening was a crisp one. Astoria, bundled up in thick cloak, inhaled every breath on her way across the grounds with a particular awareness, unable to shake the macabre idea that it might be the last cool, fall night that she would experience before being murdered by goblins. After all, Astoria did not know what goblins did to people who did not pay them, but she suspected the fact that she and the twins were still legally children would not stop Ragnuk from cheerfully beating them to death.

Alec and Maudlin were on the end of the dock near the boathouse and, even from a distance, it appeared that they were hosting a larger crowd than they normally did.

The tall, athletically built figure of a female in Beauxbatons robes warned Astoria that Maudlin had brought his quiet girlfriend, Emilie, at long last. The familiar silhouettes of Montague and Blaise Zabini could be seen lurking from afar and Luc, an ever present and predictably unpleasant staple of all of Maudlin's gatherings, was standing near the shadow of the boathouse. At the end of the dock, Draco was sitting with Alec, apparently absorbed in conversation.

"Ready for the First Task tomorrow?" called Maudlin as Astoria approached. "You probably secretly wish I was competing _now_ , don't you?"

Emilie smiled indulgently at this. Astoria tried to smile back at her but felt the expression come out flat and false on her features.

"Of _course_ she does," remarked Draco snidely, covering for the fact that he had been eavesdropping by speaking directly to Maudlin, who was always easy to appease. "I'm sure she wishes she was _betting_ on you."

Astoria glared at Draco tensely. When Maudlin moved away to help Luc, Draco finally met her eyes. "What's the matter? Afraid Maudlin will find out about your little pet project?"

"Wish _you_ didn't know about my little pet project," said Astoria hotly.

"So," began Draco twitchily, "who _is_ your gold riding on, Greengrass? I really hope you decided to go with Diggory. It would be a shame to watch you bankrupt yourself on _Potter_."

Astoria knew what he was doing, because she had heard him phrase himself similarly before. Draco was trying to find out if she was backing Harry and he didn't really care about anything else. It was yet another bad mood inspired by Harry Potter's distant fame and Astoria was immediately put off by it.

"If you're so confidant, Draco, why don't you put your money where _your_ mouth is too?" suggested Astoria, remembering Rita Skeeter's article at the last minute and regretting her choice of words. "I don't see _you_ betting on a winner."

"You want me to bet?" sneered Malfoy dangerously, his eyebrows shooting upwards. "Fine. How about I bet five hundred galleons that Potter comes in _dead last_. What about that? Unless that's betting too _rich_ for you?"

In truth, it was. It was fine for Draco to throw that kind of money around; he certainly had it and Astoria was no goblin, ready to extract coins from him by lethal force. If Astoria took Draco's wager however, and Harry really did come in last place, she would not only owe Draco five hundred more galleons that she did not posses, she would also have to match that five hundred galleons toward the goblins as well if she entered it down in her ledger. This would mean a total of one thousand galleons out of Astoria's pocket on a single bet; the same amount of money as the total prize awarded to the final Triwizard champion.

"You know what?" said Astoria, studying Draco's resentful face and thinking of the thousands of galleons she already had at stake, " _fine_. I'm in."

"Yeah?" scoffed Draco unpleasantly. "You should really ask Maudlin to bet as well. If he ends up having to pay you, he'll probably bring the gold to your common room in person."

"Draco!" exploded Astoria in exasperation, no longer willing to take his passive aggressive jibes sitting down. "If it bothers you _so_ much that Maudlin knows where my dormitory is, you might try _not_ telling him where it is next time!"

"That's _not_ what I meant!" Draco sneered, going red enough for Astoria to see his cheeks blush even in the moonlight. "I was only _saying_ -"

"Whatever!" Astoria snapped, turning on her heel. Astoria was anxious enough that evening without having to be verbally abused. If Malfoy wanted to be unpleasant, the party was _his_. Perhaps _that_ would teach him not to be so goading...

Without so much as a second word, Astoria marched back to Gryffindor tower alone, feeling frustrated and a little nauseous.

0o0

Astoria did not sleep at all that night. Fears chased still crueler fears around in her head until Astoria began to feel dizzy and sick in the darkness.

What had Astoria been _thinking_ , making a deal with goblins? It wasn't as though she was even earning the money for herself. Every bronze knut went toward Fred and George's dream of owning a joke shop, and what good were jokes if they were all abducted and tortured first? Astoria thought about Ragnuk's long, cruel fingers and she flipped her pillow over to the cool side, beating the smooth surface with her fist.

 _What_ was Astoria going to do if they lost? Up until that evening, Astoria had not properly allowed herself to think deeply about this option, afraid that her fear would become encompassing. Would she have to run away in order to avoid retribution? How could she have let things come to this? What would Maudlin say, if Astoria went to him asking for enough gold to purchase a small yacht? Surely he would not find the matter to be at all funny. Perhaps Malfoy could be prevailed upon to help her pay off a debt, if Astoria swore off any friendship with Harry Potter for the rest of her life? Laughing numbly to herself at this prospect, Astoria flipped her pillow again and continued to beat the feathers into submission.

By the time the sun came up, Astoria doubted if even Harry Potter felt as miserable as she did.

Breakfast was a highly excitable affair for everyone but the four champions, Astoria, and the Weasley twins. Astoria did not have the heart to tell Fred and George that another five hundred galleons had been added to their list of wagers thanks to Draco's last minute bet, so she chose to sit at the Slytherin table instead, hoping her pale face and unwillingness to eat would draw less notice there.

The First Task was not set to start until the afternoon, which meant that Astoria had a whole morning of classes to face in her state of miserable apprehension.

History of Magic was agony. Not even the Legend of the Giants was enough to distract Astoria from her looming fate, and it was a testament to Professor Binns' droning voice that she very nearly worked herself into a panic spiral during first period.

When at last, the lunch bell finally rang, Astoria spotted Harry alone in the entrance hall, looking strangely disconnected.

"I'll have a box of tissues ready for you, Potter!" called Malfoy as he went swinging past with Blaise Zabini, Crabbe and Goyle, no doubt on his way to meet Maudlin and Alec for lunch.

Several feet behind Astoria, Pansy Parkinson tittered.

"It'll be fine, Harry," whispered Hermione urgently. "Just stay calm and-"

"Potter!" called Draco again insistently, lagging behind as his friends continued into the great hall, apparently unsatisfied with Harry's lack of response. "Hey Potter, do you think your dead mother will be proud when they're mopping up what's left of you later?"

Harry shot Draco a look of pure loathing and made to move around him.

"Leave him alone, Malfoy!" said Hermione sternly.

"Oh!" drawled Draco. "This must be some of the 'love you've finally found at Hogwarts', is it Potter?"

"That's _right_ , Malfoy," snarled Harry at last, snapping-to at this direct attack on Hermione. "Now, if you don't mind getting out of my way, I've got to go get a good cry in before the First Task in order to feel close to my mum. Maybe afterwards there will be enough time left for Astoria to polish off my wand while I contemplate the ghosts of my-"

Harry was cut short because Draco, counter to the sneering calm of just seconds before, had shoved Harry very hard in the chest.

Harry staggered backward in surprise and drew out his wand, clearly confused as to what had provoked a physical assault. Pansy stopped tittering and Astoria froze in place but other than this, no one else seemed to have noticed or reacted to the spontaneous bit of violence that seemed likely to break out in the middle of the hall.

"Potter!" called a sharp voice. Professor Mcgonagall had appeared, looking stern and unusually nervous. "Potter, you have to come down to the grounds now. It's time to get ready for the First Task."

In her state of discomfort, Professor Mcgonagall, who was normally so good at sniffing out trouble, had missed Harry and Draco's tense postures and drawn wands. People were turning to watch now, understanding that Professor Mcgonagall had come to collect Harry for the Tournament and the tension between both boys seemed to defuse under scrutiny.

Harry put his wand away and followed his Head of House out toward the grounds. Draco, blinking rapidly, shrugged off Pansy, who had rushed forward at once, and beat an angry path towards the great hall.

"It's all Potter's fault!" wailed Pansy to Flora. "He never should have been allowed to be champion!"

A niggling source of discomfort that had nothing to do with the potential fortune Astoria had at stake any minute now was gaining strength her chest and making Astoria's face burn hot.

Astoria had never heard Harry mention their shared bit of embarrassment in Rita Skeeter's article before, and to hear it come out of his mouth in such a hard way had given her an actual shock.

Astoria shook herself and went out onto the grounds to wait for Fred and George, relieved by the effect that the cold air seemed to have on her senses.

"Astoria!"

Astoria blinked and tore her eyes away from the frosted grass. Maudlin, Alec and Luc were striding up the hill toward her from the direction of the Beauxbatons carriage. Alec was particularly hard to miss, as he was dressed like something from a staged photograph of elitist country living in lilac and beige tweed. He threw up his arms in excitement at the sight of her.

Feeling all of the ill-convenience of this timing, Astoria's eyes darted back toward the entrance hall, hoping rather fruitlessly to spot Fred and George before she was abducted. Astoria would not be able to keep track of bets with Maudlin sitting nearby. It was essential that she found Fred and George before the Task started.

"Astoria, you missed our warm-up party!" said Alec. "Come on, they're staging the task down by the forest."

"I told my friend Theodore I would wait for him," Astoria lied, hoping to escape just long enough to at least pass her notebook off to one of the twins.

"Don't be ridiculous Astoria, your friend can come with _us_ if he has no one else to sit with. There's no reason to wander off," said Maudlin, adjusting his tie, onto which he had rather pompously affixed his school pin. "We have to wait for Draco, anyway."

Draco appeared moments later with Crabbe and Goyle lumbering after him. Astoria could tell straight away that the annoyance he had felt in the entrance hall before lunch had not entirely left him.

"This way," said Luc impatiently, pointing them in the direction of the forest.

"Astoria wanted to find her friend," Maudlin reminded him.

"Which one?" snapped Draco in a frustrated voice. "You're not bringing the Weasleys with you?"

" _Theo_ can find us," said Astoria pointedly, deciding not to search for Fred and George under Draco's nose. "Let's go."

They set off across the lawn until they reached a clump of golden-leaved trees, next to which a set of white tents had been constructed. Filch was ushering the crowd toward the right and once they had cleared this jutting bit of forestation, the ground opened up before them to reveal a large stadium that must have been constructed in secret while they had slept.

A vast crowd was mingling outside the gate where Hagrid was letting members of the audience into the stands in small groups, ushering them toward appropriately sized benches.

"What do you think?" remarked Alec, gesturing toward the bit of bare, rocky turf just visible inside the area.

"Gladiator battle?" Astoria mumbled back, moving forward as the line advanced. "It doesn't look like an obstacle course. They must have to face something in there..."

Astoria trailed off because, in the shadows between where the stadium had been erected and several medical tents had been pitched, Astoria had just spotted the small, alert figure of a goblin. Next to this goblin, stood Fred and George, who both were recognizable by their red hair even in the shadowy alcove.

Astoria tried to make eye contact but both twins were looking in the opposite direction and speaking in a hurried way that made her blood run cold.

Astoria heard Draco scoff beside her. A quick glance confirmed that he was looking in the same direction as she was and Astoria was certain that the lurking presence of the goblin was not lost on him.

Cringing, Astoria allowed herself to be jostled forward by the line. Hagrid pointed them toward the top tier so they climbed up a wooden staircase and pushed down a line of seats.

"Look at Karkoroff," drawled Alec, pointing past a Durmstrang flag toward his headmaster. "He's wearing a baby seal!"

Astoria began to scan the stadium, hoping to spot where Fred and George would eventually settle in, thinking that she might manage to slip over toward them.

Maudlin's quiet girlfriend Emilie took a seat in the row in front of them, partially obstructing Astoria's view. She was alone either, but accompanied by a tall, haughty looking french girl with a fox -like face and, to Astoria's annoyance, Pansy, Flora and Millicent Bulstrode.

"Oh good, you found us," said Maudlin, putting down his program.

"I don't know _why_ we weren't allowed to seat ourselves. Now we'll be stuck in front of you," sniffed the girl with the fox face. "You _might_ have waited for us by the Entrance Hall."

"They wouldn't have been able to seat us together, Cassandra," said Maudlin. "There are too many of us."

"Perhaps you might have invited fewer people?" suggested Cassandra. To Astoria's surprise, she felt Cassandra's eyes slide pointedly in her direction.

Maudlin did not seem to have noticed this, however, because he was busy pointing something out in his program to Draco.

" _Psst_!" hissed an urgent voice near Astoria's ankles. "Astoria!"

Astoria jumped and looked down. Fred Weasley was peering up at her between the banisters, his face drawn and anxious.

"Where's the notebook," hissed George, who was lingering behind his brother. "They, er-" George's eyes traveled down the row Astoria was sitting in, "-that is to say, our _friends_ , are _anxious_ to have a look at it."

Astoria produced the notebook from her winter cloak and handed it down to Fred, who was nearer.

"Who was that?" asked Alec. Fred and George both shot Astoria a look and retreated.

"Just some friends," said Astoria swiftly, turning her attention back toward the gathering crowd, wondering fearfully if Fred and George were secretly in trouble and afraid of saying so in front of so many people they did not know.

"Those were the Weasley twins," sneered Draco, who must have watched this exchange over whatever it was that Maudlin was showing him in the program. "I told you about them, remember? I suppose they just wanted to borrow your homework, Astoria?" he asked sarcastically, accidentally kicking the back of Emilie's seat as she shifted in his own irritably.

Astoria stared at the side of Draco's scowling face and wondered what his problem was.

"Good day, ladies and gentle-fellows," boomed Ludo Bagman, his voice magically magnified from the judges table below, "and welcome to the First Task!"

Everybody in Astoria's row fell silent.

"Today's task has been designed to test the daring of our young champions," said Ludo, "and to measure their courage in the face of the unknown! Moments ago, each champion was asked to select a miniature of a dragon, the real life versions of which they will be expected to face in order to collect a golden egg!"

Bagman went on to state how the manner of evading the dragon and the remaining integrity of the real eggs would factor into the judging but Astoria had stopped listening the moment he had said the word 'dragon'.

"Astoria, you've gone white!" said Maudlin indulgently, perhaps mistaking her goblin-related dread for girlish fear at the notion of live dragons.

Dimly aware that she could feel Draco's eyes burning into the side of her face, Astoria kept her own fixed on the arena. A redhead, bearing a striking resemblance to Ron Weasley, was leading a team of muscular men in the efforts of pulling a navy blue dragon into the stadium by an iron leash. The dragon snarled and raised its snub-face to peer at the audience hatefully, reminding Astoria bizarrely of Pansy Parkinson.

The crowd oohed and ahed. Astoria barely managed a dull golf clap before Cedric Diggory was shown out onto the field. Cedric and Harry were sometimes alike in their direct and honest way of tackling a problem, Astoria reasoned. Perhaps Cedric would be a decent indicator of how Harry was going to fare?

Astoria's hopes plummeted slightly when Cedric transfigured a rock into a small dog (an advanced bit of Transfiguration that Harry seemed unlikely to replicate) and were then dashed completely when the dragon lost interest in Cedric's Labrador and turned its wrathful flames upon Cedric himself.

A whistle blast split the air, telling the crowd that Cedric had managed to collect his egg but as half of Cedric's hair was on fire, it was hard to take much comfort in this fact.

Two medi-wizards showed Cedric off of the field. Astoria let out an instinctual groan in agony, fully appreciating the stupidity of the situation that she had constructed for herself at last.

The whistle blast seemed to have shaken Draco back to life because he had stopped looking at Astoria and begun watching the field again, his face an angry smudge of resentful lines.

Fleur Delacour came next.

"When are they going to play Potter?" wondered Maudlin, his voice lacking any trace of fear or anxiety. "Are they saving the youngest for last?"

"Probably," said Astoria bitterly, wishing Harry would just face his dragon and put her out of her misery.

In the vein of faintly veela-like magic, Fleur attempted to hypnotize her Common Welsh Green. This worked about as well as Cedric's Labrador had done. Much as it had during Cedric's attempt, Fleur's dragon seemed to lose thrall halfway through her effort. In the end, Fleur did manage to collect her egg but, even though she had not been burned, her dragon _had_ managed to set her skirt on fire.

As Maudlin had predicted, Harry was lined up to go last because Krum came next. Krum took a different tact, pacing his dragon out, holding his wand at a steady arm's length as he prepared for what looked like it would be a physical attack.

Out of the corner of her eye, Astoria noticed that Draco had shifted away from Maudlin and was now bending over the row of seats in front of him to talk to Pansy and Flora. Krum made a darting motion toward the dragon and Pansy shrieked with shrill laughter at the same time, prompted by something Draco had said. Astoria, whose nerves were stretched to the point of maximum endurance, began to grind her teeth.

Krum had shot some kind of spell directly at the dragon's eyes, causing it to roar with wrath and stomp about blindly. The dragon's screams were terrible as it crushed the earth around it, but Krum was braver and faster than Astoria might have been.

The whistle blew again, this time for a successful champion who had not been burned or set ablaze.

 _Harry only needs to come in second place_ , Astoria reminded herself, watching as Krum lost points for smashing some of the real eggs. _If Harry manages not to get burned, we'll win,_ thought Astoria desperately. So far, Krum was the only champion who had avoided dragon fire. _Please, don't let him get burned._

"That's a Hungarian Horntail," said Draco lazily, in a very carrying voice. He was indicating something on the field so that Pansy would look at it. "They're _viscous_ , even for dragons. Potter hasn't got a chance in hell against it."

Draco's eyes drifted toward Astoria, who was watching him instead of the field and, for brief second, something like savage triumph flickered across his features before he quickly turned back to Pansy.

Astoria looked away, angry with herself for becoming distracted. Then, with a lurch of dread, she saw what it was that Draco had been pointing at.

Another dragon had been led into the stadium. This one a dark iron gray, with black wings and fiery orange eyes. Everything from the tip of its sharply beaked head to its horned tale seemed to have been designed by nature for the purpose of killing.

"We have Horntails in Russia sometimes," said Alec curiously. "The way people talk about them, I've always imagined they must be like storybook monsters. Have you seen one before, Draco?"

Draco was still whispering to Pansy and Flora intently however, and did not answer.

"He doesn't _know_ its a Hungarian Horntail," sneered Astoria, taking out her nerves on Draco, who was beginning to bother her immensely.

"It's in the pamphlet, _Greengrass_ , if you'd bothered to read it," snapped Draco, who had supposedly not been listening.

When Harry entered the stadium a hush fell. Even from a great distance, he appeared much shorter than Krum had. The sight of his sparse form made Astoria feel a new, even greater fear. Astoria had been so wrapped up in her in own motives that she had almost forgotten that Harry, who was only fourteen, was going to have evade a dragon in the flesh.

Harry raised his wand into the air and said something, but Astoria could not make out what it was from where she was sitting in the stands.

The dragon strained against its metal leash, looking restless and cruel. Harry continued to stand almost foolishly still, as though he was waiting for something, clenching and unclenching his shaking hands.

The dragon snarled a great heave of preemptive fire. Astoria dug her fingers into her the flesh of arms where she had wrapped them to avoid fidgeting and waited.

"That's a plan, isn't it?" remarked Maudlin derisively, causing Malfoy to laugh. "Do you suppose he'll just stand there and stare at it until the whistle blows?"

"I can't say I _blame_ him," said Alec, who had clearly expected to see bloodshed, looking faintly disappointed. "Although I was hoping for a better show..."

Astoria was fighting a mad, jittery desire to laugh, emptied of every emotion but alarm.

All of a sudden, something was hurtling through the air toward Harry, moving so fast that Astoria did not know what it was until Harry had swung one leg over it and pushed off from the ground.

The crowd exploded and this time Astoria really did laugh, not from hollow nervousness but from relief. Harry had summoned his broomstick, and while he might not have been the most talented spell caster Astoria had ever met, Harry _was_ one of the best fliers.

"He can fly, can he?" asked Maudlin, wishing to sound nonchalant and coming up just short of it.

"Yes," said Astoria, eyes blazing. "Yes, he surely can."

Draco had slumped back into his seat again to watch, his eyes trained on the sky.

Several feet above them, Harry dove. The dragon, thinking that Harry was about to bombard it from above, let out a snort of steam which Harry masterfully avoided, and unfolded its leathery wings.

" _Never_ ," drawled Alec, his face alive with excitement. "He's provoking the dragon into the air..."

Indeed, this did seem to be Harry's plan and after several taunting feints, the Horntail finally shoved itself off the ground, stirring up a cloud of dust that hit the lower front row of the audience with its wings as it took flight.

"Great Scott, he can fly!" cried Bagman. "Are you watching this, Mr. Krum?"

The moment the dragon was in the air, Harry dove again. Before the Horntail, which was much larger, even had time to reconsider, Harry had already scooped up the golden egg as though it were an oversized snitch. He was speeding off, past the radius of the dragon's vengeful stream of fire and out of harms way.

Astoria leapt to her feet with the rest of the audience, almost beside herself with glee. Harry had been the fastest to collect his egg and by far the most impressive to watch. His only real competition had been Krum, who had completed his task with an admittedly more impressive utility.

Alec had risen to his feet with Astoria but it was a moment before Maudlin, somewhat grudgingly but good-naturedly enough, stood as well.

Draco did not rise at all, but remained solidly in his seat, his face drawn inward with almost wordless disappointment and bitterness.

"He'll place first," said Alec, laughing at the stupidity of the idea that the youngest champion would take such an early lead. Unexpected victories had a way of stimulating Alec, who was very fond of chaos and the way it had of holding boredom at bay.

"It looked like the dragon burned his broom," said Maudlin, with slightly less passion. "He'll come in _behind_ Krum."

Moments later, they were both proven to be somewhat right when the judges awarded Harry just enough points to tie with Krum in first place.

It was the closest Astoria had come to weeping since the time she had bawled in front of Draco at the World Cup. Relief was spreading through her limbs, stuttering through the pulse behind her eyes, coloring the world with hope.

Astoria had not lost an entire fortune. In fact, she had probably very nearly _won_ one. What had seemed like such an incredible sum in the face of failure was no less outstanding now that the tables had turned in her favor.

Neither she, Fred nor George would have their fingers snapped off by vengeful goblins. Not, at least, until the second task. For today, they were safe...

"Back to the carriage," said Maudlin, looking about as the crowd began to disperse. "We'll have a party in the boy's dorm- although I suspect the girl's side will be in _mourning_."

Draco, looking more sour than Astoria had seem him in ages, finally stood up.

"Are you coming, Astoria?" asked Maudlin over his shoulder, already beginning to push his way out of the row.

"In a second," said Astoria, looking about for Fred and George. "I have to do something first. I'll catch up."

Draco scowled and sped up, pushing Crabbe and Goyle along with him until he reached Pansy, Flora, Emilie, and her friend Cassandra. Astoria had a sneaking, unpleasant suspicion that he was reiterating Maudlin's plan to them as well.

It was going to take more than the promise of Pansy to ruin Astoria's mood, however. Fred and George were waiting for her near the entrance to the stadium and the looks on both of their faces were enough to make Astoria leap forward and embrace them.

"Did you get the notebook back?" Astoria asked, wiping at her face with a hand that was still jittery from nerves.

"No," said Fred in a quiet voice, pushing her further away the jostling crowd.

"What's wrong?" asked Astoria, still so primed for tragedy that she could sense bad news from a mile away.

"Ragnuk says he wants to meet us in Hogsmeade next weekend," said George. "To go over details."

"We're students," said Astoria, beginning to see that winning a bet was not entirely enough to slake a goblin of his love of craftiness. "They must know that we're not supposed to do that."

"Yeah, well," said Fred carefully, "we're not really allowed to be taking bets either, so I'm thinking Ragnuk is sparring us no handicaps."

"I'm going to guess he didn't pay you?" asked Astoria flatly.

"He made it sound as though he _would_ ," said Fred tentatively.

"Well, I suppose we'll just have to meet with him," sighed Astoria, still thankful that it was she and the twins who were owed money, and not the other way around. "For now, lets all just be pleased that Ragnuk didn't make a promise to break our kneecaps, right?"

Fred and George chuckled, eager to agree with this positive outlook and they began their walk back around the forest.

"Party in the Gryffindor common room, at any rate," said George. "Blimey, Harry didn't even come in second- he tied for first! Bet Ragnuk's _really_ sore about that."

"Do you want to help us carry food from the kitchens, Astoria?" asked Fred when they had reached the castle's front doors. "We can always use the extra hand."

"I told Maudlin I'd stop over first," said Astoria, glancing back down the sloping lawn toward the Beauxbatons carriage.

"Alright," said Fred. "We'll be up late, I'm sure. Remember," he called after her, "we won our bet! We won't have to sell ourselves into slavery!"

Astoria laughed and waved before turning and beginning the process of backtracking down past the lake, wondering fearfully if they were celebrating their victory too soon.

"Astoria!" exclaimed Luc as she entered the carriage, thrusting a crystal tumbler and a hat at her, "hold these! I'm showing Maudlin how to fence!"

What was most incredible about this statement, was the fact that it was in no way a euphemism. Luc was indeed clutching a silver fencing foil and Maudlin, laughing like a fool, was attempting to thwart Luc's attack with nothing put a purple throw-pillow.

Astoria took the hat and the glass and put them on a sideboard, feeling somehow that, despite the fact that she had discussed nothing but crime with Fred and George for days, _these_ were the least sane members of her acquaintance.

Draco, Alec and several of the girls were sitting on the velvet upholstered couches that matched Maudlin's pillow. Giving Luc and his weapon a wide berth, Astoria went to join them.

"He thinks that he knows how to duel because his family can be traced to the French Revolution," commented Alec dryly. "He's _always_ does this. Maudlin will win with his pillow."

Emilie chuckled and smiled indulgently at Maudlin, who certainly did not appear as though he was in any real danger.

"It's not just french aristocrats who _think_ they can fence," said Pansy Parkinson, who was sitting between Draco and Alec and peering at Astoria slyly. "Didn't _you_ fence, Astoria?"

"A little," said Astoria in a clipped tone, hoping to avoid a night of bickering with Pansy by largely ignoring her. "I was never very good at it."

Astoria surveyed the living room and began to wonder almost immediately why she had not just gone to the kitchens with Fred and George. Everyone sitting on the cluster of couches seemed to be faintly bored and teetering on the edge of cattiness as a result. What was more, with the notable exceptions of Alec and Maudlin, not a single face looked particularly happy see her.

"It gets _cold_ so early here," complained the girl with the fox face named Cassandra. "At Beauxbatons, we barely need our cloaks during the day in November."

"I wish it was that warm _here_ ," moaned Pansy, leaning around Draco in order to speak with Cassandra. "We spend half the season in layers!"

"I keep forgetting," said Cassandra wanly, a sarcastic smile toying with her thin lips. "I freeze during the day, but if I wore any more clothing, I would be the size of a _house_."

"Have you _never_ been to England before?" asked Astoria, aiming for a tone of politeness but finding her voice running towards annoyance instead.

Cassandra's eyelashes fluttered punishingly. "Of _course_ I've been to England before. Who _hasn't_?" she sneered. "Half of my family lives here."

"Cassandra's last name is _Rowle_ , Astoria," said Pansy witheringly. "That's an _English_ family, isn't it? She's Draco's second cousin, even."

"Is that so?" said Astoria, trying not to smirk. She certainly knew who the Rowles were and, now that it had been pointed out, Astoria thought she could see something of a similarity between Draco and Cassandra. Both had faintly angular features, both were pale, haughty and currently unwelcoming in the extreme.

"You're Astoria, then?" said Cassandra, taking in Astoria's own features appraisingly. "It's a wonder we have never met before. Maudlin has told me so _much_ about you."

"I'm not sure that he's _ever_ mentioned you," said Astoria passively, put off at once by Cassandra's challenging tone.

"Funny, whenever Maudlin mentions _you_ , he describes you as a fat nine year old," said Cassandra pointedly, her brown eyes never leaving Astoria's decidedly pubescent face. "He's seems to have done us both an injustice, hasn't he?"

Emilie, who was dating Maudlin and seemed to feel that some of this hostility had been for her benefit, blushed uncomfortably.

Astoria cleared her throat awkwardly. When Emilie had still not stopped blushing, Astoria rallied herself to be reassuring.

"Maudlin and I have known each other since we were little," said Astoria, directing her words toward Emilie. "I'm sure he'll always think of me as a nine year old. When did you two meet?"

Emilie blinked at Astoria morosely.

"They met in first year," said Cassandra flatly before Emilie could speak. "We start Beauxbatons at _ten_."

It had been a long time since anybody had taken such a violent dislike to Astoria right off the bat as Cassandra Rowle seemed to be doing. For a moment, Astoria found herself slightly thrown, her eyes flickering towards Draco of their own accord. Draco could claim some family relation to Cassandra, and Astoria wondered if he was witnessing the same madness she was.

"Maudlin must not talk about Emilie either," said Draco irritably when Astoria caught his gaze, shifting in his seat so that his arm dropped behind Pansy's shoulders. "Isn't _that_ funny."

Emilie's blush deepened further still and Astoria felt her body go very still. A strange coldness began to spread through her chest as Pansy eyed Draco's hand on the back of the couch, looking at his willing fingers as though they were a succulent and unexpected prize. Astoria turned in her seat, unwilling to witness Pansy's look of triumph and was surprised to find that she was looking at the wall.

"Well, I've known Maudlin since first year as well," said Alec in a pointedly casual voice, "and I know for a fact that he goes out of his way to _never_ mention me."

"Why don't I mention you?" asked Maudlin, retuning to the living room, his face still red from the exertion of trying to dodge Luc's fencing foil.

"I expect you think my name is too unsavory for polite company," said Alec, his cheerful tone only futilely scraping at the surface of the ice in the room.

"You bring it on yourself," said Maudlin, oblivious to the strange tension he had walked in on. "Sixteen, expelled and proud of yourself."

There were only two available seats left, one next to Astoria and the other next to Emilie. Astoria had only had time to begin fervently willing Maudlin to go to his girlfriend, when he sunk onto the couch next to Astoria instead because it was closer.

"You sound like my father," said Alec, smirking wickedly.

"You've always had a terrible lack of respect for your father, Alec," said Cassandra Rowle primly, crossing her legs and playing with a small necklace at her throat.

"And you've always had an absurd amount of reverence for _yours_ , Cassandra," said Alec, looking amused. "I wonder if it might be freudian."

"A daughter should revere her father," said Cassandra, sounding very much like a victorian version of Daphne. "A father is a daughter's protector until she marries."

Maudlin seemed to approve of this sentiment in a distant way but Alec snorted scathingly.

At that moment there was a good deal of noise near the doorway as Flora, Blaise Zabini and Montague arrived.

"Flora!" squealed Pansy, leaping from her seat. "Have you met Cassandra Rowle?"

Draco swiftly edged his way out of his seat and poured himself more wine before Blaise could seize the bottle, his face set in a hateful grimace.

Astoria waited until the girls and Draco had all gotten up from their seats to greet the newcomers before speaking. "What's _wrong_ with everybody tonight?" she sniped.

"What do you mean?" asked Maudlin, looking very surprised.

"Cassandra's launched a protective campaign against Astoria, of course," drawled Alec with a knowing leer.

"Oh," said Maudlin, a look of comprehension flickering across his features. "Well, pay her no mind. Just ignore her, Astoria. She and Emilie have been friends since birth, she's always been like that. Her manners are really impeccable once you get to know her."

"Her manners are impeccable until she catches the scent of blood, you mean?" said Alec flippantly, his smirk deepening. "I don't know what you did to Draco though, Astoria. I've been standing in his morose storm-cloud all evening and every time I look at him, he's glaring at you."

Astoria shrugged, surprised that this moodiness should have been obvious to anyone other than herself. "He's mad that Harry managed to survive the First Task," said Astoria informatively. "He'll come around."

Alec's eyes floated over the sea of newly arrived Slytherins to find Draco, raising a eyebrow softly as did so, perhaps to indicate that he did not entirely believe this excuse.

Astoria had never been so happy to see Flora, Blaise or Montague in her life and their additional presence seemed to augment the group just enough to keep some of its former tenseness at bay.

Talk soon turned away from Maudlin to the First Task, the conversation that they should have been having in the first place.

"Potter and the broomstick!" groaned Blaise, a look of something almost like private amusement flickering in his eyes.

"They never should have allowed that!" sniffed Pansy. "No one _else_ had brooms."

"He did summon the broom by magic," Luc pointed out reasonably, not knowing how wildly popular Harry was with this audience. "I suppose it wasn't against the rules."

"The whole tournament is just a show, anyway," said Alec, throwing in his ten cents with a shrug. "May as well give the audience something to watch."

To Astoria's adamant lack of surprise, the entire conversation did nothing to take the edge off of Draco's foul mood.

"I'm sure he didn't think of it himself," Draco sneered. "It's too clever for Potter. Dumbledore probably told him to do it."

"And that _would_ be against the rules," added Pansy unnecessarily, smirking at Luc as though Draco had somehow trumped him. "Because _cheating_ isn't allowed."

"I expect I'll be seeing you in a few days, Greengrass," said Blaise, coming up to stand behind Astoria.

"Why's that?" asked Astoria warily.

"You owe me money, of course," said Blaise in a smirking undertone.

Astoria paused. She had taken a great many bets before the First Task but she did not remember Blaise's. "You bet that _Harry_ would win?" asked Astoria dubiously.

A few feet away, Draco had paused to watch them, perhaps wondering why Astoria and Blaise would be conversing alone together.

"I bet on _Krum_ ," said Blaise, his eyes swimming tauntingly. "No one in their right mind would have been on Harry over Krum, although I suppose _you_ did."

Astoria colored, feeling as though she had somehow given herself away.

"What about you, Draco?" drawled Blaise, aware that Draco was spying on them. "I suppose _you_ put money on Krum?"

Astoria may not have immediately remembered Blaise's wager but she did remember Malfoy's. He had bet that Harry would come in last and, for the first time all day, it occurred to her that Draco owed her five hundred galleons.

"He didn't, actually," said Astoria swiftly, wanting to push the conversation as far away from the topic of Draco owing money because of Harry's triumph as she could. "Draco never bets."

This was an outright cover-up, but Astoria was desperate to keep whatever black hatred Draco seemed to be brewing at bay.

"Yes, I did," Draco snapped, surprising Astoria. "I bet Potter would lose, Zabini, and I'd do it again."

"Well, the Second Task is in February," Astoria bit back cruelly, unsure why she had attempted to conceal Draco's bet in the first place and irrationally embarrassed by his thankless response.

"You can give the gold to your freckle-faced friends too, for all I care," continued Draco, his tone growing even more unpleasant and what was worse, _loud_. "It's nothing to me. It's probably more gold than either of _them_ see again in a life time, though."

"Actually, it's not," said Astoria, almost furiously. "But by all means, keep betting high. It'll certainly give us a laugh."

Even Astoria was surprised by the venom in her voice and she knew at once that her anger had almost nothing to do with what they were talking about. It was surely directed at Draco's wildly unfair resentfulness in general, but Astoria had no way of putting that truth into words and, even in his detached and bitter state, Draco flinched.

"Draco!" Pansy squealed. "Come play cards!"

Draco shrugged irritably, as though trying to twitch Astoria's comment off, and went back to the couches.

"How much did he bet?" chuckled Blaise, who missed nothing and had certainly caught on to the weird tension in their conversation.

Astoria ignored him and went to join the card game herself, thinking in vain that by being more pleasant and social, she might somehow turn the evening around. Between Cassandra's stabbing comments and Pansy's determination to sit practically in Draco's lap however, this did not seem likely.

They were playing poker and the exact rules of the game seemed to escape Pansy, because she kept calling on Draco for assistance.

"Can I play this?" asked Pansy, presenting her hand to Draco confidentially for the sixth time.

"What? _No_ -" said Draco, hardly able to conceal his impatience as he took in the cards she had selected. "They have to be in a _suit_."

" _Why_?" asked Pansy, rolling her eyes and leaning into his shoulder.

For a moment, Draco looked faintly annoyed but then he caught Astoria staring and promptly began to fix Pansy's card hand, allowing her to lean even further into him as he did so.

"Play that," said Draco pompously, his eyes flicking back to Astoria again as Pansy played her cards, giggling delightedly when she won the hand.

Astoria looked away, feeling bizarrely certain that the more she looked, the more likely Draco was to try to instigate her.

Luc made a sound of annoyance as Pansy pulled the stack of sickles they had been betting towards her. "That's not fair. Stop helping her, Draco!"

Draco shrugged stubbornly and tossed his own hand onto the table. Astoria was left marveling at just much money Draco was prepared to lose that week for no reason other than personal vindictiveness. He was certainly _not_ on an upward swing, as far as betting went. Unsure whether this caused her to feel more rage or pity, Astoria was finally able to focus on her own cards.

When the card game mercifully broke up, Astoria stood up and waited only until the sun began to set before excusing herself, certain that she had had enough of the monied Beauxbatons-Slytherin alliance for one evening.

The air outside was brisk and there was a hint of snow on the wind. A violently full moon was beginning to come up between the trees of the forbidden forest, causing the frost on the ground to glow like cream in the clean light. Astoria could see her breath as she tightened her cloak around her collar, eager to keep the biting chill out.

"Leaving already?" sneered Draco. Astoria jumped, noticing him at last, leaning against the side of the carriage. She had not seen him slip out and she could not see what purpose he could have for being outside other than lingering moodily by himself in the cold.

"Yeah," said Astoria flatly, trying to quell the strange ferocity that she felt just looking at his face before she said something she would regret. "I've had about enough of Pansy pretending she can't play cards and Cassandra Rowle scowling at me. The party's yours. Have fun _dragging_ Pansy back up the hill later." Astoria turned to walk away.

"Would that bother you?" asked Draco cruelly, pushing away from the side of the carriage.

"Not really," Astoria sneered back, knowing she should leave but finding it almost impossible to ignore Draco.

"It wouldn't, would it?" spat Draco bitterly, after a strange pause. "Nothing ever bothers _you_. You're a regular chip off your aunt's shoulder."

Astoria had fought with Draco many times, but she could not remember ever seeing his face look so hateful.

"You're so _stupid_ , you know that?" Draco sneered, making to follow her around the carriage.

"How do you figure?" Astoria bit back shakily, thinking of the way Draco had let Pansy hang on him all night and realizing, at last, that this might have been somewhat for her benefit.

"Potter's not even your friend!" Draco hissed. "You're a _fool_ if you think he is. He made fun of you to my face this morning and how do you pay him back? By going to the First Task and making yourself sick over him? You're _pathetic_!"

This was not entirely what Astoria had been expecting and for a moment she had no idea how to respond.

"I take it back," said Draco nasally. "You're _nothing_ like your aunt. She wouldn't fall for such a weak game, but by all means, hurry up and get going! Go _waste_ yourself on Potter. I'm sure he's in your common room right now having the time of his life."

Dimly, Astoria began to understand that her grasp on what it was that they were fighting about was very poor. Sensing that, to outside eyes, she and Draco would probably appear very strange and dramatic, Astoria dithered in the shadows of the carriage.

"I don't even know what you're talking about Draco," Astoria insisted, repressing the urge to scream with exasperation.

"Yes, you do!" Draco snarled. "You spent the whole task looking like you did after the dementors made you faint in third year! I'm not _stupid_!"

"You obviously are!" Astoria yelled back. "Did you ever stop to think I might have more interest in the task than Harry's broomstick routine?" Astoria knew that this was not something she should discuss with anybody and that alluding to her goblin-interests in front of Draco was particularly stupid, but she couldn't help speaking. "Get _over_ yourself, Draco! No one is as obsessed with Harry Potter as you are!"

The moon was continuing to rise and it shone behind Draco's head, suddenly less white and more orange, wreathed by a halo of ice. It was the kind of moon that spoke of rituals and bewitchments; a moon that marked the changing of the seasons.

All of a sudden, Astoria realizing she was shivering and it had little to do with the cold. The strange dread that had been growing inside of her all night finally began to take hold of her insides.

"What are you doing betting on _Potter_ in the first place?" sneered Draco unrelentingly. "Do I even want to know what Weasley was doing with a _goblin_ earlier?"

"No, because it's none of your business!" Astoria yelled.

"Fine," spat Draco coldly, sounding as if he meant it. In the steadily growing moonlight, Astoria caught a better glimpse of his face and was surprised to find that she barely recognized it. For a brief moment, Astoria teetered on the edge desperation, feeling that whatever it was the she was afraid of, it was Malfoy who was capable of bringing it about, and she was very certain that she didn't want him to.

"You should go to bed, Draco," said Astoria at last, aware that this sounded more patronizing than she had perhaps meant it to. "You look cold..."

"Yeah?" Malfoy sneered. "Why don't you make me? Oh, _that's_ _right_ , you could if you wanted to. You'll have to thank _Moody_ for that next time you see him."

Astoria did not want to thank Moody for anything. What she wanted was for Draco to stop being furious with her because, hidden in the cold pitch of his voice, Astoria detected a creeping tone of desertion that she had never heard there before.

It suddenly and chillingly occurred to Astoria that she often had the upper hand when she was fighting with Draco because _she_ was far more likely to be able to stop caring and walk away. Now, for the first time, Astoria looked at Draco and was irrationally terrified that he was going to storm away from _her_ back to his friends, his housemates and Pansy.

Daphne had done it last autumn, after all, and Astoria's father had been practicing his own abandonment for years. Still, it had somehow, almost incredibly, never occurred to her that Draco might do the same. She had been thoroughly taking his continued presence for granted for ages, a trait that Astoria rarely took for granted in anyone.

Astoria reacted to this numbing realization instinctually and immediately. She reached out toward Draco stupidly, feeling an inexplainable desire to soothe or coerce him before her fears could become reality.

"Don't!" Draco hissed, trying to snatch himself away from her, his own sense of humiliation bubbling over in a rare display of desperation.

Astoria pushed herself up onto her toes and, in the end, stumbled forward into him.

Draco's eyes squeezed shut. He went very still, grimacing as though she had hit him and his mouth twitched resentfully. No longer entirely sure what she was doing (but very certain that her instinct seemed to be to court madness) Astoria found herself pulling on him. Draco's fingers curled. Astoria tugged on him again, expecting to find him just as solidly resistive but his legs seemed to have gone soft and they both tumbled backward against the carriage behind her. Draco made a small, weak sound and the fight seemed to go out of him.

Struck dumb by the bizarreness of this turn of events, Astoria did not move, trying very hard not to admit to herself that there was something about Draco's proximity that she found secretly stirring. She was reminded slightly of the way that he had held her after the riot at the Quidditch World Cup, only this was even stranger because there had been no preamble. No reason for Astoria to be going out of her way to touch him.

After a supremely awkward moment, Draco turned his face just enough to press his nose into her hair. Astoria's own fingers twitched in response, trying to get a better hold of the fabric beneath them before he could escape. Draco's hand caught her wrist, perhaps confused by what she was trying to achieve with so much tugging. The pressure behind his grasp did not seem to be one of annoyance however but of faint possessiveness. He was was not trying to control her movements, he was trying to pull her closer.

She felt his other hand reach out for the wall behind her and Astoria was suddenly, almost painfully, aware of the way his nose was brushing the side of her face. She let Draco close the gap between them, feeling so uncertain of her own intent that her brain seemed to have responded by telling her body to play dead.

The only thing her brain seemed to know for certain was that, if she did not move, Draco was going to try to kiss her. Astoria could not have said how she knew this, but she did know it, just as clearly as if someone had written out his thought bubble in the air with a wand. She could sense it in the stiff, almost contemplative angle of his face and torso and the tense stitch of his breathing. With the strangest mixture of real anticipation and actual dread that Astoria had ever experienced, she inclined her face toward him just _slightly_.

At that moment, someone else moved on the other side of the carriage near the doorway. Astoria heard the sound first and she did a very good job of quickly remembering to free herself before Blaise Zabini turned the corner, privately relived to have been spared the consequences of whatever else might have happened otherwise.

Astoria knew by the look on Blaise's face that Draco had not moved away quite fast enough, however, because Blaise brightened with delighted suspicion at the sight of them.

"What are _you_ two doing out here?" Blaise asked, his eyes flickering at their unexpected bit of intrigue.

" _I'm_ leaving," said Astoria coldly, hating Blaise for his smugness.

"Fuck _off_ , Blaise," said Draco hollowly, his exhaustion even more apparent now that he had been sapped of his rage.

Astoria eyed Draco nervously, suddenly afraid that leaving him behind in the cold would be somehow insulting.

Blaise chuckled. Astoria glanced back at him and was slightly surprised to find that it was Astoria he was staring at, and not Draco at all.

"What?" Astoria snapped.

Blaise shrugged, but something about his keen expression seemed to promise future unpleasantness.

Astoria scowled at him and pushed out across the lawn, feeling guilty for leaving Draco but exceedingly powerless to help him in front of Blaise.

If Draco knew what was good for him, thought Astoria angrily as she marched up the marble steps, he would stop drinking with Maudlin and Alec so often and start trying to get a handle on whatever irrational jealousy it was that he felt towards Harry. Surely _that_ would be a better use of his time. Or better yet, he might try focusing on something productive for a change. Something that didn't involve making slam badges or passing around rubbish news cuttings.

Lying in bed, with the bright moonlight streaming through a gap in her bed hangings, Astoria was almost able to convince herself that these were truly the reasons for the wakefulness in her limbs.

0o0

* * *

Oh boy, can we have a discussion about updates guys? The slow down in posting lately is caused mostly by the fact that I no longer have great heaps of paragraphs pre-written (I had a lot of chunks to work with when I first uploaded this) and because each chapter tends to come in at twenty or more pages.

In order to post this current chapter for instance, I had to write about twenty pages (so I can stay at least one chapter ahead, in case I need to change any wiggly details at the last minute) and edit a separate twenty-four pages to the point of reasonable clarity. Now, I'm certainly not complaining and if I had nothing else to do but write (AKA my Heaven) I might be able to pull the deed off in a day or so, but right now it's taking me about a half a week.

Which begs the question, which would _you_ prefer: a three or four day wait between large posts, or smaller chapters every day or so? I'm perfectly happy to do either, so if you have an opinion about this, feel free to weigh in because I am riddled with doubt!

As always, reviews are a rewarding treat!


	38. The Sisters of the Eastern Star

Chapter Thirty Eight

The Sisters of the Eastern Star

* * *

0o0

December arrived, bringing with it a swirl of wet sleet and cutting winds. On Monday morning, Astoria dithered at breakfast, positively dreading Care of Magical Creatures class. Not only was the weather terribly inclement but Hagrid had not yet abandoned his ambitious project with the skrewts.

"I'm not sure if they hibernate or not," said Hagrid when Astoria had at last dragged herself, be-scarfed and thickly cloaked, across the grounds to the pumpkin patch. "We'll just try and settle 'em down in these boxes and see if it'll take."

Hagrid gestured toward several crates on the lawn that he had equipped with pillows and blankets. Draco, who had been noticeably subdued since Saturday, gave an audible scoff.

This scoff turned out to be well merited, as the skrewts did _not_ hibernate and had absolutely no interest in being nailed into boxes.

"Don' panic, now, don' panic!" hollered Hagrid as the skrewts began to riot. A bit of smoldering wood shoot past Astoria's head when one of the skrewts blasted off in an attempt to escape the box into which it had just been imprisoned by Parvati Patil.

Theodore tugged on Astoria's arm and pulled her toward Hagrid's cabin, where most of the class was actively fleeing in search of cover.

"Ridiculous!" Draco sneered as Astoria and Theodore stumbled into the cabin. " _How_ that man hasn't been _sacked_ -"

Astoria stared past Draco out of Hagrid's window, watching the scene of destruction unfold outside, wondering if maybe she ought to have stayed to help.

"Between him and Moody, _nobody_ is safe," sniffed Pansy, who seemed particularly ardent in her desire to agree with Malfoy about everything since the weekend.

Astoria glanced at Draco, curious to see if he would renew his recent habit of responding to this sort of commentary warmly, but something outside the window seemed to have distracted him. Astoria edged closer, sincerely hoping that Harry Potter was not on fire.

"Isn't that Rita Skeeter?" asked Draco keenly, his eyes fixed on a blonde woman, who appeared to have crossed the grounds in order to talk to Hagrid. "Goyle, isn't that her?"

"That's her," said Theodore, who could see over all of their heads. "She was at the First Task."

"Dumbledore banned her from the grounds, you know," murmured Draco. "What's she doing _here_ , talking to _Hagrid_?"

"Dumbledore banned her?" asked Theodore, curious despite himself.

"Yeah," Draco drawled. "After the article she wrote about Potter. Can't have anyone bad mouthing the boy-who-lived, can he? Now she's only allowed to watch the tasks."

"Dumbledore _can't_ stop her from writing about Potter, though," said Pansy disingenuously.

"What is she going to write about him, if she can't even interview him?" Astoria snapped, wishing Pansy would go sit with Flora.

"She can interview _Hagrid_ ," said Draco, raising his eyebrows and motioning out the window smoothly. His gaze sparkled malevolently. "How much do you want to bet that great oaf wouldn't even realize he was giving away secrets while he was doing it?"

Astoria shifted uncomfortably because she hadn't thought of this. Now that Draco said it however, it seemed like exactly the sort of thing Rita Skeeter, with her false news articles and unctuous personality, _would_ do.

Pansy laughed triumphantly at Draco's cleverness but Draco continued to stare out the window thoughtfully and his eyes did not leave Rita Skeeter until her fluttering magenta cloak had disappeared down the path.

0o0

The next day was full of dreadful surprises repackaged as gifts for Astoria, and when she reached the great hall for breakfast, she found it surprisingly busy for a Tuesday morning. Giving Pansy, who was simpering showily between Emilie and Cassandra Rowle, a wide berth, Astoria made a beeline for Tracey and Theodore.

Thinking that Pansy's loud and enthusiastic mood could mean nothing good, Astoria set about ignoring her as thoroughly as possible, but this was not to be had.

"Just _look_ at her," drawled Tracey lazily, watching as Pansy reached across the table and retrieved the oatmeal for Cassandra. "It's amazing that someone who loves sucking-up _so_ much could still be so obvious about it, after all these years."

Astoria snorted, not wishing to discuss Pansy at all, if she could help it. Astoria had still not quite come to terms with whatever discomfort she had felt outside the Beauxbatons cabin that weekend, and something about Pansy's laughter seemed capable of reigniting that same sense of dreadful ill-ease.

" _I'm_ Cassandra Rowle," declared Tracey in a high-pitched voice that was as fanciful as it was mocking. "I think that I'm so _dreadfully_ important."

"She's related to Draco," offered Astoria, by way of rueful explanation. "What more can you expect?"

" _Is_ she?" remarked Tracey curiously.

"Mhmm," said Astoria. "I'm sure that's why Pansy's so keen on proving herself."

"Oh _please,"_ Tracey snorted, surprising Astoria slightly. "No, Pansy's playing waitress because she wants to get in to Cassandra's little club. This is 'ladies who lunch' drama."

"What are you talking about?" asked Astoria, trying to recollect if she had heard any talk of this mentioned on Saturday. "What club?"

"That sorority! What's it called?" Tracey snapped her fingers and looked toward Theodore for help. Theodore continued to read his paper intently, evidently wishing to refrain from discussing ladies' clubs over his eggs. "The 'Wicked Sisters of the East', or something?"

"The Sisters of the Eastern Star?" Astoria guessed, smirking at Tracey's wording.

"You've _heard_ of them?" asked Tracey, looking genuinely surprised.

"Yeah," said Astoria. "It's not just a French thing, there's a chapter here too. As far as societies go, they're pretty ancient."

The Sisters of the Eastern star was an exclusive sorority that pandered mainly toward the daughters of old pureblood families and focused heavily on good social graces and finding decent pure-blooded matches for its members. Belladonna had been a Sister in her youth, but as far as Astoria was concerned, it was the place where the more enthusiastic students of Tippy Tipman's childhood etiquette classes went when they died.

Theodore made a snide sound behind his paper.

"That's the only thing Pansy would talk about all weekend, at least," said Tracey wryly. "Make no mistake, she's going in for the kill. _What_ is so funny, Theo?"

"Nothing," said Theodore, chortling merrily. "Only she'll be right at home, if they take her."

" _You've_ heard of them as well?" asked Tracey, sounding almost a little annoyed. "How is that even _possible_?"

"It's an old family thing," said Astoria quickly, not wanting for Tracey to feel foolish. "Lots of people are members."

"What's an old family thing?" drawled Malfoy at once, reaching over Astoria to extract an apple from the fruit bowl.

"What, are those like your trigger words?" demanded Theodore sneeringly, frowning at Draco. "Anytime someone talks about old families, you just _appear_?"

"The Sisters of the Eastern Star," Astoria supplied, wondering why Draco was not continuing down the table toward Maudlin.

"Oh," said Draco, sounding almost bored. "I suppose you'll be joining?"

"Careful not to even _think_ about the Sacred Twenty-Eight while you're showering," continued Theodore snappishly, "or else you might _summon_ Draco."

"Who's joining?" asked Astoria in earnest, smacking Theodore on the arm to silence him and looking about to see if perhaps Flora was at hand. It was a long second before Astoria realized that Draco must have meant herself.

Theodore started to chuckle behind his paper again, this time even more enthusiastically.

"Oh stop it, Theodore!" said Tracey. As a second generation pure-blood, Tracey was occasionally more in awe of elitist and ancient things than she should be and it appeared as though this was no exception. "You _should_ , Astoria! There's probably all kinds of great connections that come with it, plus it would drive Pansy mad."

Astoria smiled indulgently at this mention of Pansy's discomfort but shook her head adamantly. "No. All they do is plan parties and gossip. You'd have to be mad to join on purpose."

"They wouldn't have _you_ anyway," said Theodore skeptically, folding up his paper at last with an oddly natty little flourish, refusing to look at her.

"What are you talking about, Nott?" sneered Draco pompously. "Her mother was a Lestrange, of course they'd have her. It's all about lineage."

"Lineage and good-breeding," Theodore countered.

"Are you insinuating that I'm ill-bred?" asked Astoria merrily, shooing Theodore's _Daily Prophet_ away from the marmalade and laughing.

"I'm saying that you're kind of keen on crime and not caring what anyone thinks of you," said Theodore firmly, picking up his fork almost twitchily. "Even if you _did_ get in, you'd be miserable at the meetings and the rest of the girls would probably hate you."

"Theo!" cried Tracey.

"Don't bother Davis," said Draco snidely, "he's just afraid of losing Astoria to anyone with social tact who can be seen in public during the daytime."

Theodore glared at Draco hatefully, an uncharacteristic red blush working its way up out of his collar and towards his ears.

"I don't want to join anyway," Astoria reiterated, wishing to end the whole discussion before it turned nasty. "They say a pledge before they take their tea. It's creepy."

"They have a pledge?" asked Tracey eagerly. "What is it?"

"Sincerity, Simplicity, Sympathy and Serenity!" Astoria recited in a high voice, breaking off with a cackle.

"Bloody hell," groused Theodore under his breath, shaking his head as though no sentence had ever offended him more.

"Was your aunt a member?" asked Tracey, obviously intrigued despite Astoria's scorn.

"The woman has been married four times," said Astoria darkly. "Of course she was. She practically lives _on_ the Eastern Star."

"Why do they call it that?" wondered Tracey, her brow wrinkling.

"Something to do with Venus's representation of womanhood or something?" said Astoria, brushing the matter off with a wave of her hand.

"So, is it easy to join?" asked Tracey, her eyes wandering toward Cassandra and Pansy a little jealously.

"Not for _you_ , it wouldn't be," said Draco snidely. "They only take legacies."

"What does that mean?" asked Tracey, pointedly ignoring the insult that his tone implied.

"Someone in your family has to have been a member in order for you to join," said Astoria quickly, before Draco could expound more rudely. "Otherwise, you need to have legacy members nominate you."

"Which _never_ happens," said Draco snidely.

"It happens sometimes," said Astoria lightly, not quite wanting to crush Tracey's spirit or cause her to feel left out. "I'm surprised they're taking _anyone_ , honestly. I suppose it's because of the tournament?"

"Cassandra thinks there's going to be an event of some kind," said Draco disinterestedly, inspecting the bread bin.

"Ooh," said Tracey enthusiastically, "that would explain why dress robes were on our school lists! Hey, _Pansy_!"

Pansy and Cassandra had gotten up from the table. Tracey enthusiastically beckoned toward them, eager to hear out any theory that might mature into a chance for her to wear a dress in public.

"What?" asked Pansy flatly, stopping at the end of the table. "Morning, Draco!"

Draco continued to pick at the bread and ignored Pansy, an act that struck Astoria as being nearly as queer as his enthusiastic interest for her had been two days previously.

"I'll see you on Saturday, Pansy," said Cassandra, preparing to return to the Ravenclaw table. "Don't forget to fill out your form before the meeting. Oh," Cassandra paused, glancing at Astoria witheringly. "I received _your_ intent papers this morning, but you should bring a formal application letter. Lord knows you'll need it."

For the second time that morning, Astoria glanced up and down the table, trying to understand who Cassandra was speaking to.

"Sorry?" said Astoria.

"Not as sorry as I am, I suppose," remarked Cassandra witheringly.

" _Why_ have you got intent papers?" asked Astoria, questioning her statement stupidly.

"Because I'm chapter president, _obviously_ ," said Cassandra coldly. "The meeting is in the portrait room. _Don't_ be late."

Astoria blinked, thoroughly taken aback. Out of the corner of her eye, Astoria could see Theodore staring at her accusingly.

"I never _sent_ intent papers," Astoria insisted, trying to ignore Theodore's mounting annoyance.

"I _know_ that," said Cassandra very slowly, speaking as though she found Astoria to be especially dim. "Your _aunt_ sent them by morning post."

" _Oh_ ," said Astoria slowly, a dreadful understanding beginning to blossom in her chest. Astoria watched Cassandra cross the hall, feeling as though she had been grabbed from behind. " _Very_ bad."

As though to capitalize on Astoria's moment of disarmament in the way that only Belladonna could, a large barn owl clutching a letter on Astoria's aunt's trademark red parchment came to a skittering landing in the nearby oatmeal, sending a shower of dried oats all over everybody.

"Very, _very_ bad," Astoria amended sardonically, taking the letter from the bird's talons.

"No, it's not!" said Tracey brightly. "You'll be able to tell me all about the dreadful secrets they confess during their meeting on Saturday!"

" _Did_ she say Saturday?" Astoria echoed, thinking wildly of the meeting she was supposed to be having with Ragnuk and the twins that weekend instead. "Well, I can't make it! I'm busy on Saturday!"

"Why?" asked Draco nosily, his eyes flashing accusingly. "There isn't a Hogsmeade visit and you _don't_ have any homework."

"How could you _possibly_ know if she has homework, Malfoy?" demanded Theodore irritably. "Are you reading her itinerary now, too?"

"Because it's a week until break, _Nott_ ," Draco replied indignantly, blushing a little himself and narrowing his eyes. "None of the teachers are handing out _weekend projects_." There was a tense pause, in which Draco and Theodore continued to stare at each other. "What do you mean, ' _am I reading her itinerary_ '?" Draco snapped.

The bell rang. Astoria brought a hand to her forehead, feeling a little overwhelmed. She opened Belladonna's letter amidst the rustling of standing students.

Three copper pins slid out of the envelope, bounced off of the table, and landed near her feet. Astoria ducked under the table to collect them, wondering why on earth her aunt would have sent unprotected jewelry.

"What are those hideous things?" asked Tracey, peering at the bits of metal in Astoria's hands.

Astoria, recognizing what she was holding, hastily shoved the brooches into her bag. "Etiquette pins," Astoria muttered. "You're supposed to wear pins from subjects you've studied to club meetings."

"Oh," said Tracey, who had never known the misery of one of Tippy Tipmans rigid classes on femininity, and did not seem to understand the sense of dread that even the sight of these tiny bits of metal had the power to cause Astoria. "You mean you get a badge for dancing and tea pouring and things?"

"Yeah," Astoria lamented, paling as yet another terrible thought occurred to her. "Only _I_ took _archery_ and _fencing_ , so if the Eastern Star lot decide to take me, I'll have a to wear a lapel covered with tiny bronze weapons!"

Draco and Theodore were still snapping at each other. Astoria pushed out of her seat and strode around them in the direction of her first period Transfiguration class. To her surprise, Tracey followed.

"Don't you have Ancient Runes?" asked Astoria irritably, wanting to walk by herself, as she was eager to read Belladonna's letter in private. Perhaps Belladonna had sent the pins and the form in as mere suggestions? Astoria doubted this however, and she wanted to know exactly what level of eagerness she was dealing with on her aunt's part.

"Mhmm," said Tracey, falling into step with Astoria anyway, contrary to the fact that Astoria was walking in the opposite direction of the Room of Runes. "So, what _do_ you have happening on Saturday?"

"Nothing," said Astoria a little too quickly, not wanting to discuss the goblins or her illicit intent to sneak into Hogsmeade. "I'll be meeting with Cassandra _now_ , I expect."

"Listen, do you think you'll actually get in? To this Eastern Star thing, I mean?"

"Dunno," said Astoria miserably. "Probably. A lot of the women in my family were members..."

"Well," said Tracey slowly, her tone taking on a determinedly offhand note, "if you _do_ , will you see if they need extra hands? Volunteers for events, maybe?"

"What are you talking about Tracey?" snapped Astoria harshly, distracted. "It doesn't work like that. Why on earth would you want to volunteer time with a bunch of silly girls, anyway?"

Despite her bravado, Tracey recoiled and Astoria felt bad almost at once.

It was one thing to despise the idea of a fussy sorority in Astoria's position, as she was capable of complaining about them with dignity. Astoria could recognize that it was another matter entirely for Tracey, who the Sisters of the Eastern Star would never look twice at.

"I mean, sure," Astoria tried awkwardly, knowing the damage had already been done. "I can ask..."

"My class is this way," said Tracey, peeling off for a secret passageway, walking a little too speedily to inspire confidence.

Astoria continued onward, taking a seat at the very back of the Transfiguration classroom so that she could brood unnoticed.

If Belladonna was determined, there was little Astoria could do. Short of actual subterfuge, Astoria doubted whether she could to put an end to the matter now. It really wasn't Astoria's _fault_ that Tracey was interested in a shallow club that would never admit her, Astoria mused guiltily. If she could have traded places with Tracey, she certainly _would_ have, no questions asked... Still, the flinching look on Tracey's face continued to dog Astoria all throughout the lesson.

When at last, the bell finally rang, Astoria's books had long been packed. She had barely managed to throw the strap of her bag over her shoulder however, when Professor Mcgonagall rapped her wand on her desk and called for order again.

Astoria sat back down, faintly puzzled as to what Professor Mcgonagall would have held off mentioning until the very end of class, as this was not her usual style of handing out notices.

"I have something to say to you all," said Mcgonagall, pushing her glasses up high on the bridge of her nose before shooting Harry and Ron a furious look in the front row. "The Yule Ball is approaching- a traditional part of the Triwizard Tournament and an opportunity for us to socialize with our foreign guests."

Lavender Brown and Parvati Patil seemed to have become overcome by giggles. Lavender had one hand pressed over her mouth and was tapping Parvati's knee beneath the table, as though urging Parvati to listen _for_ her while she smothered herself.

"Dress robes will be worn," Mcgonagall went on primly, ignoring the sudden outbreak of whispering. "The ball will start at eight o'clock on Christmas Day and close at midnight in the Great Hall."

Astoria sank back against her seat, knowing that she _should_ be as giddy at the prospect of a school dance as Lavender and Parvati were, but finding herself queerly devoid of excitement anyway.

It was not as though Astoria was necessarily _opposed_ to the idea of a dance, but it struck her as particularly bad timing for one. Between the goblin menace that had yet to be resolved, the Sisters of the Eastern Star, (who must surely be organizing some aspect of the ball, if they were taking members) and something about the challenging way that Draco had stared Astoria in the eye with Pansy on his lap that weekend, everything combined to make Astoria feel more tense than anticipatory. Already she could only see it as a scenario in which, by trying to please many, she would manage to appease no one.

The churlish winter weather outside turned into an icy rain throughout the morning, coming down in cruel looking sheets outside the hallway windows. Astoria's afternoon Charms class had been canceled, because Professor Flitwick had been called upon to help Filch clean and enchant the suits of armor in the hallways, thereby readying them for Christmas decorations worthy of visiting guests. After lunch, Astoria found herself lingering by the fourth floor widows, trying to decide what to do with herself. She weighed her regular haunts mentally, judging each by the likelihood of being able to find solitude, wanting nothing more than to hide by herself for a few hours.

The library struck her as likely to be very cold and the common room cramped. Wishing to put off having to inform the twins (who had not been at lunch) about her inability to go into Hogsmeade with them that weekend and not eager to endure Tracey's enthusiasm about the idea of a school dance, Astoria turned her feet towards the nook near the Divination tower. The only person she ever saw there was Theodore, and this suited her needs nicely.

Unfortunately, the most obvious path from the fourth floor to the Divination Tower cut directly around the North Tower and the Owlery. Astoria was only halfway up a set of very steep and narrowly twisting steps when she recognized a set of familiar voices ahead of her. With no time to retreat and nowhere else to duck into, she was forced to meet the source of the noise head on.

"Of course, she's single more often than not- probably because she refuses to put out," came Maudlin's voice, just seconds before he came around the sharp bend ahead. "Terrible position she puts men in. She's in it for the ring, of course- Astoria!"

Astoria pressed herself back against the stone wall to avoid being stepped on by Maudlin, Alec or Draco, who were too wide between the three of them to walk side by side.

"Maudlin," said Astoria, trying not to let her extreme displeasure at running into him while she was in such a mood for silence appear obvious. "What are _you_ doing up here?"

"The owlery," said Maudlin, jerking his head in the direction from which they had just come.

"Who won't put out?" asked Astoria, trying to shake off her distraction.

"Cassandra, of course," said Maudlin breezily. "Her boyfriend is still in France and she's refusing to let anyone else take her to the Yule Ball, lest her virtue come into question later."

"Why do _you_ care who she goes with?" remarked Astoria, finding this passingly odd.

"Well, she's stolen _my_ date for a start, hasn't she?" explained Maudlin, expressing a touch of self-pity that Astoria could have lived without. "Where are you going?"

A particularly ardent, rain soaked gust of wind rattled the thin panes of glass in one of the ancient arrow slits behind him.

"To study," said Astoria, careful not to offer up a destination.

"Well, you won't get anything done- not with only a week of classes left," said Maudlin dismissively. "We may as well come with you. It's positively heinous outside and I can't stand another minute inside that carriage..."

"Oh, well..." Astoria began, searching for some means of preventing this, but Maudlin had already pivoted in the narrow stone hallway, determined to follow her.

"What?" demanded Maudlin, catching sight of the look on her face at last. "Afraid we'll bore you?"

"She's afraid of bringing you to meet her friend Theodore," said Draco flatly, leaning against the wall behind him and eyeing Astoria carefully. "She's headed off to _his_ hideout."

"Why would she be afraid to introduce me?" demanded Maudlin, his confusion evident. "That's ridiculous."

" _Theodore_ is ridiculous," said Draco flatly, clearly having not entirely recovered from the spat he had had with Theodore at breakfast. "You wouldn't like him anyway, I bet..."

"I'm not afraid to introduce anyone," said Astoria sternly. "Besides, shouldn't Theodore have class? _I'm_ only off because Flitwick's been drafted for janitor duty."

"Herbology was canceled," said Draco, jerking his head toward the mounting and unseasonably wet storm outside.

"They draft your professors for janitor duty?" remarked Alec, looking highly amused by this notion. "How democratic."

"There's a study area on the third floor," offered Draco, not even bothering to address the oddity of a high trained member of the Hogwarts staff being expected to help out with the cleaning. "We should go _there_ instead."

Maudlin seemed more inclined to go with Draco's choice, and Astoria, fearing that by doing otherwise she would somehow be insinuating that she did not wish Maudlin and Theodore to meet, felt compelled to follow. As they headed back down the stairs, Astoria could not help but perceive that Draco appeared to be rather smug about the fact that she had turned to walk with them, perhaps counting it as a tally against Theodore in his head.

The room that Draco had been speaking of was a small lounge on the third floor, situated across from the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom, not far from the statue of the Humpbacked Witch that concealed a secret passageway into Honeydukes. The furniture in this space was admittedly sparse but the view from the windows was spectacular, allowing enough light so that, even with the brewing storm outside, a person might be able to work without torches.

"Of course, Luc tried asking Cassandra," Maudlin continued, throwing himself into a wooden chair at the end of a long table, "only she wouldn't have him. Something about his reputation with women."

" _Does_ Luc have a reputation with women?" Astoria wondered, sitting in the window seat and eyeing the cold, semi-frozen brown world below.

"Only with the very _worst_ kind of them," Maudlin admitted, waving this thought away with his hand. "How Cassandra _knows_ that though, is beyond me. I can't think who would have been stupid enough to bring it up in front of her..."

"Emilie, maybe?" Astoria suggested, watching the bare branches of the trees in the Forbidden Forest sway.

"Lord no," Maudlin scoffed. "I can't think who would tell _her,_ either."

Draco scoffed and Astoria's eyes found his reflection in the window glass, sitting next to Maudlin at the table and staring off into space contemplatively.

"In any case, I suppose that means _you'll_ be my date, Astoria," said Maudlin, standing up to open a cabinet on the far side of the room nosily. "Unless you want to blow the whole thing off and go to Dunkirk instead. I'd be more than willing to, at this point."

Draco's gaze lost its distant quality at once and turned onto Maudlin sharply.

Astoria, for her part, hardly knew where to start. "What's in Dunkirk?"

"Carnival," Maudlin shrugged. "We might manage to catch some of it before the end of break. I think it starts in January this year. What do you say, Alec? Draco? Might be more fun."

Draco shrugged, his eyes narrowed tensely on the back of Maudlin's head.

"I _would_ ," Alec admitted, "but Karkoroff thinks I haven't been doing my part to show school spirit."

"That because you _haven't_ ," Maudlin reminded Alec pointedly, handling a bronze paper weight in the shape of a quill that had been collecting dust on one of the shelves. "Fine, we'll stay for the ball."

"Wouldn't that bother Emilie?" asked Astoria flatly, feeling a little offended that Maudlin would be so quick to assume that Astoria would drop anything else to go with him, when he had not even asked her properly. "You going with another girl, that is?"

"Why would it?" remarked Maudlin carelessly. " _She's_ going with Cassandra and she can't expect me to go alone. I'd look like a _prat_. You do have something in purple, Astoria? You _must_."

It was a long standing tradition for a female to wear her escort's house colors to a formal event, but the insinuation that Astoria would be ready at a moment's notice only served to make her feel even more like a second choice.

"Well, I'm glad you think I rate highly enough to spare you the embarrassment of _standing_ alone," Astoria remarked snottily.

Maudlin looked up from a set of mugs he had just discovered and frowned. " _What_?"

"I don't know why you just assume that I'll go with you," said Astoria pointedly. "Perhaps I have other plans?"

"How can someone else have asked you already?" demanded Maudlin obliviously. "The ball was only announced an _hour_ ago."

"That's my point," said Astoria tightly. "No one has _asked_ me." Astoria put a particularly snide emphasis on the work 'ask' and looked away.

"Oh," said Maudlin, catching on at last. "Don't be difficult, Astoria."

"I'm _not_ ," Astoria sniped.

" _Fine_ ," said Maudlin, his voice dripping with rushed formality. "Astoria, will you be my date on Christmas?"

Astoria shrugged, knowing that this offer had some merit. It was probably the least likely to result in somehow offending anyone, but Astoria was unwilling to quickly admit to that fact.

Fred and George were probably already expecting her to go with one of her foreign friends and even Theodore seemed unlikely to become overly judgmental. The fact that Maudlin already had a real girlfriend even worked to her benefit, as it might keep Draco from becoming overly nosy about the whole affair.

It was the best of both worlds. Astoria wouldn't have to worry about finding a suitable date and would therefore be able to spend her break in a state of trivial excitement with Tracey. All in all, the faintly business-like nature of Maudlin's arrangement worked to prevent any unforeseeable drama in the weeks leading up to the holidays and this was something that Astoria heartily approved of.

"Seriously?" drawled Maudlin, watching her shrug. "You're going to be like this?"

"Fine," Astoria relented, "but only if you ask Emilie first."

"Good," said Maudlin, looking very pleased with the tidy way his plan had panned out. "Cassandra thinks they're going to do something with the gardens to make them less cold. I suppose we can probably all slip off together once the ball opens, anyway. It doesn't really _matter_ who takes whom, come to think of it."

"I'm not taking anyone," yawned Alec. "The hassle of it all... I'll just take my pick of the better looking wall-flowers once I get there."

Astoria grinned at this, amused.

"You can probably get Parkinson to go with you, can't you Draco?" asked Maudlin, closing the cabinet he had been riffling through.

Astoria quickly turned back toward the window, not wanting the displeasure that she felt at Pansy's inclusion into their group's scheme to be visible.

"I suppose," said Draco. Astoria watched Draco's reflection in the window glass. He balanced a foot on his knee, where it began to bounce irritably. "I _could_ ask her tonight, but maybe I'll just take a leaf out of your book and demand to know if she has robes in my colors. It might save me a half of a conversation."

Astoria's gaze flicked back toward the table.

"Sorry?" asked Maudlin, clearly unprepared for an insult. His eyelashes fluttered with dull surprise as he tried to perceive if this had been a barb directed at him.

Draco leaned back in his chair and raised a lazy eyebrow by way of response, his expression unreadable.

"Well, here's hoping she's better at dressing herself than she is at poker," remarked Alec wryly, allowing the moment to slip by into obscurity, unquestioned.

0o0

Astoria spotted Fred and George in the entrance hall on her way in to dinner and promptly broke away from her companions to meet them, bracing herself to break the bad news about Saturday.

"Astoria!" Fred hissed urgently the moment he spotted her, grabbing her arm at once.

"What?" trilled Astoria, startled by the sharpness of his movements.

Fred made to pull her toward the staircase, staring over Astoria's shoulder at Maudlin, Alec and Draco, who were queuing up for dinner.

"Come with us," whispered George in her ear darkly, attempting to encourage her to move from behind.

Astoria followed Fred mutely up the steps and down the first floor corridor, panic blossoming in her chest. When they reached a bare, deserted stretch of hallway, Fred stopped and dropped her arm in order to rummage about in his robes.

"What's going on?" asked Astoria tensely, her mind running wild with possibilities. "Is everything alright."

"Not really," said Fred heavily, finally finding whatever it was that he had been looking for in his pocket. He pulled out a note and flattened it against his knee. "Have a look at _this_."

He thrust the note, which had clearly spent some time wadded up into a ball, at Astoria. Flattening it still further, Astoria peered at the text and realized with a chill that it was written in gobbledegook.

"Oh no," Astoria muttered, moving toward the nearest torch in order to see better, straining to understand the symbols in front of her. "Oh no, what is this?"

"We spent the better part of the afternoon translating it," said George apprehensively. "We used a couple of different dictionaries, too. Just in case we were reading it wrong."

"What does it say?" Astoria demanded, the letter made even more unintelligible by her suddenly shaking hands. "I only recognize a few words..."

"What it basically breaks down to is that we are all going to die this year," George qualified bitterly.

Astoria stared at him blankly.

"It _doesn't_ say that," Fred hissed. "Well, I mean, it _kind_ of does- it's definitely a death threat..."

Astoria's gaze switched to Fred, where it quivered in equal displeasure. " _Why_ would Ragnuk be sending you death threats? We haven't broke any rules on our end!"

"Yeah, well, that's the pinch," said George. "It's not _from_ Ragnuk."

"What do you mean? It's in gobbledegook," said Astoria sternly, positive that she was right about this.

"Yeah, because it's from _Hodrod_ ," explained Fred. "Ragnuk's rival, remember? The one Bagman owes his money to."

"What's he doing threatening _you_ , then?"Astoria demanded, her voice becoming shrill as she fought to keep up, hoping desperately to spot some kind of mistake in the twin's logic.

"Apparently Flint was right about having to talk to the goblins before taking bets," Fred continued. "Only he didn't mention that we would need to tell _all_ of them.

"Hodrod's gotten wind that we're in the game," said George quietly. "He knows that we're working with Ragnuk and he's _not_ pleased."

"What does he say exactly?" asked Astoria, staring at the spiky lettering on the note and imagining the cruel hand that had penned it.

"He says we shouldn't have gone to Ragnuk, and he's demanding that we compensate him," said George. "He wants us to either take the same bet out against him or pay up directly."

"We _can't_ do that," Astoria insisted miserably. "We don't have enough gold to be dealing with _one_ goblin clan and Ragnuk _hasn't_ paid us yet. That would be suicide!"

"Well, we have to do something!" cried George exasperatedly. "You didn't read the note, Astoria! Hodrod means _business_ \- nasty business. He as good as threatened to murder us in our _beds_."

"Look," said Fred, rummaging about in his pocket again. "He sent the note wrapped up in _this_ -"

Fred pulled out something on gold chain and held it up for inspection. A battered locket hung heavily in the center, glinting in the dull torch light. Fred turned the trinket about so Astoria could see it properly.

Astoria clapped a hand over her mouth and let out a silent wail of horror.

"How _creepy_ is this?" demanded Fred, brandishing the locket at Astoria. "It's in the shape of a _heart-_ as in the organ he'll pull out of our chests if we don't comply."

"We tried to get it open, but it wouldn't budge," added George, staring at the piece of jewelry hatefully.

Astoria shook her head back and forth mutely, feeling her heart slide down past her ribs as a silent scream exploded in her chest. "That's because it needs a _key_ ," said Astoria at last, fighting to get a hold of herself and failing miserably.

"Hold on, how do you know that?" demanded Fred tensely. "Is this _yours_?"

"No," said Astoria hollowly, taking her hand away from her mouth, choking on a dry sob as she did so. "It's my _sister's_."

0o0

By the next day, the rain had finally turned into a thick white snow. It had been coming down cheerfully all throughout the night and by the mid-afternoon, it sat a foot deep and counting on the suddenly Christmasy grounds.

From where Astoria was perched next to the sinks in the bathroom on the fifth floor however, it might as well have been August. Several members of the Gobstones team had just been in to shower after their meeting, and the air was thick with steam. Tracey, thinking quickly, had rammed her winter cloak in the crack between the old wooden door and the ceramic floor. The effect was pleasantly humid.

"What do you think?" Tracey asked, standing back from the partially fogged-over mirror to inspect the winged eyeliner she had just applied.

"Very sharp," remarked Astoria, thinking this was both metaphorically and literally very apt.

" _Killer_ sharp," agreed Tracey excitedly, wetting her finger with water from the tap to smudge the makeup she had penciled in near her tear ducts. "I might wear it to the ball this way. I think it makes my face look older."

Astoria pulled back slightly to have a more impartial look, rubbing her shoulders sleepily. Astoria had rested very poorly the night before, tossing and turning in order to outrun her own guilt and terror. Astoria's gaze flicked away from Tracey to rest her _own_ reflected image. Astoria was surprised to see how beaten down she looked. The best secret to appearing older was clearly a mix of regret and fatigue, but Astoria did not say so. "Can I have a go with that when you're done?" Astoria asked, prodding the bags under her eyes.

"Yeah," said Tracey, capping the pencil and handing it to her. "Ugh, this holiday is going to be the very stinking best ever! Who are you going to take to the ball? _I'm_ going to convince Blaise to have me."

Astoria laughed, rubbing kohl into the crease above her lashes, noticing as she did so that the pop of color did nothing to make her eyes appear less red or glassy. "Why don't you just _ask_ him?"

"Because he's tricksy," said Tracey, wiping some of the fog from the mirror. "Blaise likes a game. I'm afraid that if I make it too easy, he'll say no."

Astoria cast Tracey a vague look of skepticism without turning her head, trying to coax volume into her otherwise flat eyelashes.

"What about you?" asked Tracey slyly. "I suppose MacLaggen is already tailing you down the halls..."

"I'm going with Maudlin," said Astoria, giving up on trying to make her face appear less washed out, as it seemed to be a losing battle. "He asked me yesterday."

Tracey's face split into a wicked smirk. "Doesn't he have a _girlfriend_?"

"Yeah," Astoria admitted, moving to sit on the sink again, enjoying the cool surface beneath her thighs as she propped her feet up on the wall, "but _she's_ going with that cow, Cassandra, so Maudlin and I are going as friends."

"Ah," said Tracey, the hint of mischief resolutely clinging to her features. "A _friend_ date. How _exciting_."

Astoria sniffed and pushed Tracey's makeup bag at her. "It's nothing scandalous. He told me he would ask Emilie first to make sure it was alright."

"Well, how did he ask you?" Tracey pressed. "Did it _seem_ like he was secretly keen on having you no matter what?"

Astoria snorted. "No. He basically informed me that I was going with him so that he wouldn't have to look like a dateless loser."

"Oh," said Tracey, sounding faintly disappointed. "Still, he's a rich seventh year with gorgeous skin, isn't he? You could do worse."

"Undoubtedly," Astoria agreed, smoothing down her skirt. "It should make the whole holiday a breeze." It was all Astoria could do to say this sentence without choking, her thoughts whizzing back to the sight of her sister's necklace glittering in the torch light.

"It's too bad he wasn't more romantic about it, though," Tracey lamented, zipping up her makeup case and lobbing it into her school bag. "That would have made a better story."

"I think you're missing the whole point of a 'friend date', Trace," said Astoria, hopping down off the sink. "He really _was_ rude, though. Even Malfoy made a comment about it."

" _Wait_ ," Tracey pulled her bag onto her shoulder and paused, the wicked gleam returning to her eyes, "he asked you in front of Malfoy?"

"Yes," Astoria shrugged. "Why shouldn't he. They go everywhere together these days, don't they?"

Tracey leaned back against the door, positively leering when a thump on the other side of the wooden surface jostled her and the cloak she had used to clog the crack near the floor.

"What's going on?" snapped an annoyed voice on the other side of the door. "Pansy, I think this one is locked..."

"What are you _talking_ about?" rang a second, disparaging voice. "They don't _have_ locks, Flora. Out of the way..."

Rolling her eyes, Tracey kicked her cloak forward so that the door would swing open.

"What's this?" sneered Pansy, staring down at Tracey's wadded up outerwear. "Smoking in the girls room, are we?"

Tracey pulled a face and snatched up her cloak before Pansy could step on it. "I'll see you in Potions, Astoria."

Astoria nodded and made to follow Tracey out into the hallway, when she spotted the eyeliner pencil they had been using sitting in the sink. Either she or Tracey must have dropped it by accident.

Flora entered one of the bathroom stalls and the door fell shut behind her with a bang. "Pansy!" Flora called, her voice echoing off of the stall, "there's no toilet paper!"

Astoria snatched the eyeliner up, attempting to repress an unkind smirk and almost ran headlong into Pansy, who had made no move to find her friend tissues.

"So," said Pansy silkily, "excited about the ball, Astoria?"

Astoria pressed her thumb against the capped eyeliner in her hand tensely. "Sure."

"If we both end up as Eastern Star pledges, we'll be spending an awful lot of time together," Pansy continued, actively blocking Astoria's way to the door.

"I _guess_ ," Astoria agreed, privately feeling that Pansy looked very smug and not wishing to find out why.

"Pans!" yelled Flora, clearly beginning to feel the distress of her situation more keenly. "Did you hear me?"

"I think it's good," said Pansy. "It'll give us a chance to catch up with each other. We've fallen apart so _much_ since we were little, you know?"

Astoria blinked, not entirely sure how to respond to this. She and Pansy had never been close as children and, as far as Astoria knew, the desire for things to remain that way was not a one sided emotion.

"Yeah," Astoria shrugged, struggling to remain as neutral and monosyllabic as possible, in order to prevent herself from saying something rude.

"Once we're accepted, we can help each other plan for the ball!" Pansy continued, moving just a fraction to the left in order to prevent Astoria from edging around her. " _I'm_ going with Draco. When _you_ find a date, I'll be willing to help you plan your dress colors, though. I already know what colors _I'll_ be wearing, of course, but I'm sure I'll enjoy your advice just the same."

Pansy's gaze was ablaze with shuttered savageness, making it hard for Astoria to look away.

"Is that so?" asked Astoria stiffly, ceasing all efforts to shift toward the door, instinctually standing up to her full height in order to meet whatever challenge Pansy seemed to be extending head on.

"It'll have to be that way, won't it?" Pansy went on. "You can't bring any of _your_ friends into the club. You don't hang around with legacy children."

Astoria raised her eyebrows, chafing at this subtle attack on what could only be Tracey's lineage.

"I suppose you're right," Astoria conceded innocently, fighting an irrational urge to give Pansy a sharp shove. "In that case, Draco's colors are black and silver, aren't they? I'm going to go on the record right now and suggest black. Everyone knows it's more _slimming_."

"I'll keep that in mind," said Pansy snidely. Her expression flickered but did not change. When she spoke again, her voice had a clear, 'silly me' quality. "Although in the end, I'm sure I'll just let Draco decide."

"Good idea," said Astoria coldly.

"He asked me to go with him the same day the ball was announced, you know," Pansy continued. "He _knows_ what he likes."

"I'm _so_ glad Draco decided to asked you," Astoria countered, surprising even herself when she replicated Pansy's tone. "Maudlin was the one who suggested the idea during free period yesterday, and I thought it was just the _best_."

"What about you?" asked Pansy, her congenial smile becoming arctic. "Maudlin must be taking Emilie, but I suppose poor Theodore might still be single."

"Maudlin's taking _me_ ," said Astoria cooly. "That's what started the whole conversation. Maudlin wanted to make sure Draco wouldn't have to go _alone_."

Astoria was not entirely sure what had prompted her to use this exact phrasing, but she knew immediately that her words had had the exact effect that she had been hoping for.

"Maudlin's taking _you_?" sneered Pansy doubtfully, the gears of her mind clearly working overtime. "That's funny, Emilie _never_ mentioned that."

"I'm sure she'll mention it on Saturday," said Astoria pointedly.

"Of course," Pansy agreed slowly, her eyes flickering strangely.

"PANSY!" bellowed Flora. "Can you _hear_ me?"

" _What_?" snapped Pansy, storming off toward Flora's stall. "Can't you pee by yourself, Carrow?"

Astoria slipped back out into the hallway, feeling strangely shaky and tense; the resulting effects of a burst of adrenaline that she did not quite remember experiencing.

That conversation had been rude, even for Pansy. What could she possibly mean by claiming to want to re-connect with her, when clearly, Pansy wished Astoria nothing but ill will?

 _'It'll have to be that way, won't it? You can't bring any of your friends into the club...'_

Astoria slowed her rapid, irritable pace to trot as she mulled over Pansy's words, feeling the beginnings of a wider plan starting to form in her mind.

 _Tracey_ might not be a legacy, but Astoria _was_. Her aunt, mother and grandmother before them had all been members of the foolish sorority in question. Young pledges _were_ generally harvested from old families, but there was no rule that said newcomers could not be nominated. Even Malfoy had said so that morning. Surely Belladonna would pitch Tracey's name into the pile, if Astoria herself refused to join unless her aunt complied?

Astoria came to an actual stop at the top of the marble staircase, giving this idea a proper pondering. Tracey _was_ a pureblood, even if her family wasn't an old one _and_ she was in Slytherin. These were two winning traits, by Eastern Star standards. Belladonna might not have enough clout to make it happen by herself, but surely she knew _someone_ else who would be willing to help her.

It would drive Pansy up the wall and Tracey, who secretly wanted to join the ranks of the Sisters of the Eastern Star anyway, would think it was the best Christmas gift Astoria had ever given her. Tracey would be so happy to be included, she wouldn't even care how selfish Astoria's motives had been.

Astoria pivoted and turned about in the direction of the owlery. Even if everything else in her life was spiraling out of control and a pack of goblins wanted her family dead, Astoria could surely still manage to twist such a small social detail in her favor, couldn't she?

0o0

* * *

 _Ladies_ , please! I feel like if Draco had been a fly on the wall for that one, he probably would have exploded with triumphant smarminess.

I don't know why I love catty girl fights so much. I can't imagine it says anything good about my personality.

So, a few matters to address:

1\. It looks like the chapters will probably be staying relatively long. At this point, that will put chapter posting on a twice weekly schedule, unless I happen to have a really productive week. My best guess is that I'll have something new up every three days.

2\. I know Theodore and Tracey have been given the back-burner lately. I'll be working to remedy that in the chapters coming up. I felt compelled to take a minute to properly introduce the Durmstrang and Beauxbatons students and unfortunately, they were the ones who suffered for it.

3\. Two more chapters until the Yule Ball. No real sense yet on whether that will be a two-parter (I do love an event) but I'll be keeping you posted.

As always, reviews make my day and are a genuine pleasure to read!


	39. Control the Fear

Chapter Thirty Nine

Control the Fear

* * *

0o0

The Christmas decorations went up over the course of Tuesday afternoon and continued to appear into the evening. Personally, Astoria could not help noticing that they were some of the most glorious Hogwarts had ever produced.

The marble staircase, which had sported a traditional garland trim for as long as Astoria could remember, had been given an upgrade. All up and down the banisters, golden owls now perched in decorative nests, hooting loudly whenever Astoria had occasion to walk past them. The usual twelve Christmas trees that lined the Great Hall had been spared no expense, either. Some (Astoria's favorites) had been frosted with icicles, so that they glittered like diamonds in the torch light, while still other trees contained clusters of live fairies or strings of candied fruit.

Professor Flitwick, perhaps feeling a need to make up for the class time that he had lost, had literally outdone himself on the suits of armor. All two hundred and eighty four of them had been polished to a shiny silver gleam and Flitwick had taken the time to enchant each of the knight's helmets to sing a different seasonal carol in three separate languages.

Snow continued to fall thickly outside, obscuring Astoria's view of the grounds from her dormitory window and lulling the student body into a premature sense of festiveness. While Professor Snape, dour as always, had gone out of his way to schedule a test for Thursday morning before break could officially commence, he was something of an exception. Indeed, many of the teachers, either falling prey to the same holiday glow infecting their pupils or else unwilling to fight what could only be a losing battle, were becoming increasingly tolerant of blatant relaxation during school hours.

Professor Vector, embracing the school-wide sense of distraction, allowed them to play games in his class on Wednesday afternoon.

"Eight hundred barrels of mulled mead?" gaped Astoria, repeating a rumor that Tracey had apparently heard concerning the ball. "Dumbledore would have to be mad!"

"Well, that's what Susan Bones says," said Tracey, who was sitting on the edge of the desk and watching Astoria's game of chess.

"Bones is a dunce," Malfoy scoffed, coaxing his bishop forward. "It can't be true. Dumbledore is hosting a ball, _not_ a kegger."

Theodore snorted and pointed toward Astoria's row of chessmen. "If you move your knight, you can take his rook, Astoria."

Draco glanced at the board disparagingly, checking to see if Theodore was correct. His eyes returned to Astoria's smugly, safe in the knowledge that if Astoria did as Theodore had suggested, he would have open access to her king.

" _Stop_ trying to help them, Theodore," sighed Tracey, hopping down form the desk. "You're rubbish at chess. You've lost three times already."

"Only because _you_ cheat," muttered Theodore, giving up on trying to play the part of advisor anyway.

"I didn't _cheat_ ," said Tracey primly. "I lured you into making moves under the pretense of safety and then sprung a trap. That's how you're _supposed_ to play."

"You kept asking me to get up and throw away candy wrappers for you!" Theodore complained. "That's not an official strategy! You probably tampered with the board when I wasn't looking!"

Tracey, who actually _was_ frighteningly skillful when it came to almost all board games, shot Theodore a very stern look.

"Dumbledore _did_ hire the Weird Sisters, at least," Tracey went on, her scowl melting at last. "That much seems to be fact."

"Blaise thinks so too," Draco agreed, watching idly as Astoria edged one of her pawns forward.

"Does he?" asked Tracey, her eyes flickering at this mention of Blaise's name. "I saw him this morning, but he didn't mention it..."

" _Why_ would he mention it?" asked Draco snidely, his eyes still on the board. "Surely Zabini's got better things to do in the morning than to keep _you_ updated on school news."

Tracey shrugged thoughtfully, shamelessly not blushing. "I've been thinking about giving him one of my family christmas cards."

Draco looked away from the game, his face suddenly shining with cruel disdain. " _What_?"

"Why not?" asked Tracey. "Mum made a thousand of them, except she's only got about three friends so there are plenty of extras."

"Because it's _pathetic_ , for a start," Draco drawled, his eyes glittering with mirth. "What do you expect Blaise to _do_ with it? It's not as if he's going to tack it up to his dorm wall."

"I'll have one, Trace," said Astoria pointedly. "I'll even tack it up, if you like."

"Alright," said Tracey brightly, stooping to rummage about in her bag before producing an ivory colored card with a Davis family photo fitted into the front. "We took the photograph this summer. My brother looks like an absolute ass-weasel, of course. Have a look at my dress, though- isn't that good? It's a Temperley."

"Oh, yeah," said Astoria, sparing Tracey's smiling photo-double a second look. "That's nice. The strapless bit flatters your arms."

" _Good_ ," admitted Tracey, looking very relieved. "I already gave Blaise his card at breakfast."

Theodore shook his head silently, clearly unable to fathom the desire to hand out photos of himself to the opposite sex, even if he _was_ less inclined to laugh about it than Malfoy was.

"W _hat is it_?" Tracey demanded, catching on to Theodore's repressed smirk and Malfoy's unkind snickering.

"Nothing," said Theodore, before Malfoy could say something twice as patronizing. "It's just that blokes don't really do this sort of thing..."

" _Really_?" demanded Tracey skeptically. "They don't? _You've_ only been pining away in silence after Padma Patil since, what- second year? You're really going to sit here and judge _me_?"

Theodore shut up at once. Malfoy, however, positively howled with laughter at this unexpected bit of information.

"Oh _please,_ " sneered Tracey, turning on Draco, "don't even get me _started_ on _you._ "

"Or what?" countered Draco, his smirk flickering only slightly. "You'll put on me on your mailing list?"

"Come on, Astoria. Back me up," said Tracey. " _You'd_ give a boy your Christmas card, wouldn't you?"

Astoria bit her lip, trying very hard not to laugh herself now. Nothing, short of perhaps an imperious curse, would ever compel Astoria to start handing out photos of her face to potential dates, but Astoria could not think of how to say this politely.

"No, she _wouldn't_ ," sneered Draco confidently. "It's not like she needs to advertise, Davis."

"Because you know her so _well_?" sang Tracey tauntingly.

Malfoy scowled but something about the look on Tracey's face told Astoria that her attack was unfinished. Sure enough, Tracey pulled away from them and laughed wickedly. "What about Mike the gardener, then? I bet you would have given _him_ a card, Astoria."

"Mike the _who_?" spat Draco at once, his haughty smirk vanishing like the sun behind a cloud. " _What_ is she talking about?"

"I have literally _no_ idea," said Astoria truthfully.

"Astoria used to keep all kinds of journals when she was little," Tracey clarified brightly. "She's still got them all on a shelf in her bedroom at home."

" _So_?" sneered Draco defensively.

"So, that's how I know for a fact that Astoria had a _huge_ crush on the Mendel's gardener when she was eight," Tracey went on.

"Oh my _god_ ," gasped Astoria in disgust, the memory of what Tracey was speaking of coming back to her with the same clarity as a flashback during a seizure. "You read my _kid_ diaries, Tracey?"

"Yeah," Tracey shrugged, "and when the gardener quit working for the Mendels, Astoria wrote this little entry in fancy cursive with nothing but the date and the words: 'He's gone. My heart will never be whole again'."

"What?" Astoria sneered, very taken aback. "No, I _didn't_. Stop it, Tracey."

"Well, you did," said Tracey cheerfully. "Then, you actually signed your name underneath, like you were trying to make the statement legally binding."

Theodore made a sound very similar to that of hot air being forced out of a kettle and ducked his head.

"My handwriting was probably atrocious," said Astoria, with as much dignity as she could muster. "How can you _possibly_ remember my eight year old diary entry so well?"

"Because I thought it was _so_ funny that I almost ripped out the page out and kept it," answered Tracey, point blank. "I only left it because I was afraid you would notice it was gone and blame that _sad_ house-elf of yours..."

"You fancied the _gardener_?" Draco demanded, his face curiously more frustrated than disgusted.

"I was _eight_ ," Astoria snapped. "There's a reason I don't keep diaries anymore, clearly."

"You've got over your love of melodrama?" guessed Tracey, her eyes shining brightly.

"I've got nosier _friends_ ," Astoria clarified, her tone stony. "Besides, I might have been on to something, anyway. I only liked the gardner because he helped pull me out of a well that Maudlin had _pushed_ me into it. Where are we all now, you might ask? Well, the gardener is probably still off saving damsels and _I'm_ going to a ball with my former abuser."

Theodore made a sound under his breath and scooped up one of the pieces Astoria had taken from Draco earlier in their game, fiddling with it in his hands while shooting moody looks at Tracey out of the corner of his eye.

"Can I play now?" asked Tracey, gesturing toward the chess board impatiently. "Draco hasn't gone since I asked Astoria if she would put her face on a Christmas card."

" _No_ ," said Astoria peevishly, mentally running an inventory of what else she might have written in a journal before reaching puberty, realizing that potentially none of it was private anymore.

"Why not?" whined Tracey.

"Because no one _wants_ to play with you," snapped Draco nastily, toppling his king and sitting back in his seat stubbornly.

0o0

This was not entirely true however, as the letter Astoria received in the common room that evening proved.

Belladonna, perhaps knowing it was easiest to avoid a fight, had readily agreed to sponsor Tracey's Eastern Star membership. She was equally as quick to triumphantly point out that a pledge could not be accepted with just one sponsor, however. This meant that at least two legacy women would have to write Tracey a letter of recommendation in order for her application to be considered admissible.

Astoria was therefore obligated to contact another adult member of the club for help and support. As Belladonna had so eloquently put it in her letter: _Our own resources_ , _unfortunately, are spread thin. If only Seraphina Zabini were your aunt, you might have better luck, darling. That woman certainly has at least two personalities that I have met, and several more besides..._

Rolling her eyes and pushing closer to common room fire, Astoria turned her attention to a second sheet of parchment. This document listed the most prominent Eastern Star financial donors and Astoria was thankful that Belladonna had been kind enough to send a copy along with her letter. The Sisters meeting was scheduled for Saturday, rain or shine, and Astoria was running out of time.

Privately, Astoria had been hoping that the list might include a matriarch of the Abbott or Macmillian families; someone with a touch of soul, whose motive behind club leadership might be based on the idea of actually shaping young woman, rather than the idea of maintaining a proud, pure-blooded order. In this hope, Astoria was soon greatly disappointed.

The entire collection of members was disheartening, not because Astoria did _not_ recognize any names, but rather because she _did_.

 _Druella Rosier, Irma Crabbe, Belvina Burke, Violetta Bulstrode._ Astoria crossed each name off with her quill, deeming them all to be poor choices in her search for assistance.

Halfway toward the bottom of the sheet of parchment, it started to become clear that most of the people listed owed Astoria no allegiance. In the cases of Priscilla Parkinson and Tippy Tippman _,_ some of were even the type of people who were likely to go out of their way in an attempt _sabotage_ Astoria's cause on purpose.

Very few names gave Astoria reason to pause. Eloise Midgen's mother, who was responsible for any press related to the Sisters of the Eastern star, was one of them. For a moment, this option seemed promising and Astoria hesitated in dashing her name off with the quill. After a brief reflection however, Astoria was forced to concede that she did not _know_ Eloise Midgen, nor she did imagine that her mother was particularly important within the club. The quill axe fell. _Slash_.

 _Narcissa Malfoy._ Astoria chewed the side of her mouth pensively, debating this. In the end, she decided that Narcissa Narcissa would probably find Astoria's behavior in soliciting her to be very forward, perhaps even to the point of rudeness. Involving Draco in the scheme might manage to turn the tide in Astoria's favor, but it would surely also result in Draco's spending the rest of the year lording his hand in Tracey's acceptance over Tracey's head every single day. A pity, as Narcissa surely wielded enough respect to force Tracey's cause without issue. Another slash.

Becoming desperate, Astoria sped up and spent the the next fifteen minutes ruthlessly abusing the parchment. Upon discovering that Cassandra Rowle's aunt was the club's acting treasurer, (a fact that certainly helped to explain _Cassandra's_ position as chapter president) Astoria double dashed Mrs. Rowle's name with such forceful bitterness that she actually punctured the paper. Seraphina Zabini's name followed shortly after, prompting Astoria's second double dash and a reactionary cackle of desperation.

Curiously angry with herself and her aunt for managing to sever ties with so many people in their short lifetimes, Astoria tossed the list onto the coffee table in disgust, where she continued to stare at it broodingly, feeling all of the shame that came with the realization that she had almost no native allies.

Astoria's eyes persisted and in the flickering firelight, she caught upon a name that she had missed during her first perusal. Turning the paper sideways to have a second look, Astoria felt a flicker of delayed excitement deploy in her stomach: _Ursula Flint._

Snatching the list back up, Astoria stared hard at this name, trying to remember if Ursula and Belladonna had ever feuded. Surely Ursula must be a relative of Marcus Flint's? Marcus, who had always been fond of Astoria, had never yet refused her a favor. There could be something _to_ this.

Astoria groped about for a second sheaf of parchment with one hand, her eyes still locked upon Ursula's name and address. Astoria would simply write a letter to Ursula. No, she would send the letter to Marcus first, with a second note, explaining her reasoning. Perhaps, if Marcus gave Astoria's letter to his grandmother _himself_ , Ursula Flint might be more willing to oblige a second generation pureblood pledge?

Astoria hastily began to write, feeling very much as though she was crawling into bed with queer company as she composed several fluid and sycophantic paragraphs to a woman she had never met, detailing Tracey's many merits while skirting around Tracey's family history (or lack thereof) as delicately as possible.

After many hours of messaging the truth and meticulously obsessing over her exact wording, Astoria was satisfied. Percy Weasley himself could not have sucked up with such unique elegance. Astoria had painted Tracey as the model pure-blooded witch, ready to move her family name into a circle of higher dignity, if only those who currently occupied that space would allow it.

What was even more extraordinary, Astoria realized as she tucked the letter inside an envelope from her rarely used stationary set, was the fact that she had not even once been forced to tell an outright lie. Astoria's words, while guilty of omitting some of Tracey's less _upstanding_ qualities, were all quite true. Tracey might be mischievous, but she was more than up to the task of making herself important in the world; a fact that Astoria had rarely ever considered before and which painted her friend in a slightly different light than the one that she was accustomed to.

Astoria dashed out a second note to Marcus with far less preamble, explaining her plan and then asking for his assistance. Before signing it off, Astoria reread what she had written and tacked on a post script, sweetening the deal by adding that she would give Marcus better betting odds on the next task if he helped her now.

The clock on the mantle piece read that it was nearly midnight by the time Belladonna's owl disappeared into the night bearing Astoria's messages.

Astoria cracked her back, feeling organized and in control of _something_ for the first time since seeing her sister's locket swinging from Fred's hand in the hallway torch light.

If Tippy Tippman had ever managed to teach Astoria anything, it was the fact that, if there was one thing all cruelly discerning women with social power loved, it was helping a supplicating upstart on the path to propriety.

0o0

Astoria awoke early the next morning, full of a strange anticipatory energy. Although she knew that she could not reasonably expect word from either of the Flints until Friday, Astoria found herself rushing to get ready for breakfast anyway, wanting to be in the hall long before the morning mail arrived.

The castle was oddly busy for such a twee hour in the morning on a Thursday, a product of Yule Ball madness and so many visiting students. Halfway down a corridor on the fifth floor and unaccustomed to such early traffic, Astoria tripped headlong over somebody's feet. Staggering, Astoria managed to catch her balance but her bag tipped sideways and she was not fast enough to stop a stack of homework from cascading out onto the stone floor.

"Astoria!" cried Cedric Diggory apologetically, jumping up from a bench that he appeared to have been sitting on in a state of half-slumber. "I'm sorry!"

"Don't be," Astoria sighed, eyeing her sprawling homework. "I wasn't looking where I was going."

"Here, let me help," said Cedric, bending down to scoop up a fistful of paperclips for her. "It's my fault. I let myself close my eyes for _just_ a minute..."

"Thanks," said Astoria, chucking the paperclips back into her bag and frowning slightly at the oddity of Cedric's words. "What are you doing sleeping in the hallway, anyway?"

"Oh," said Cedric, blushing bashfully. "I dunno."

Astoria looked about the corridor curiously, finding this notion to be more than passingly odd. Several feet away from the bench that Cedric had been dozing on, Astoria spotted the circular staircase that lead to Ravenclaw tower and knew her answer probably involved this fact.

"Alright," said Cedric in a confessional tone, following her gaze, "I _know_ how it looks. I'm not trying to be creepy on purpose though, I swear."

"What _are_ you doing, then?" asked Astoria slyly, re-stacking her essays and peering at Cedric almost nosily.

"Honestly?" asked Cedric, looking more than just a little embarrassed now. "I'm trying to ask Cho to the ball, but there doesn't seem to be any way of catching her on her own."

"Oh," said Astoria thoughtfully, grinning. "Well, why does she have to be alone? Can't you just ask for a word between classes or something?"

"I guess," Cedric admitted, running a hand through his gloriously golden hair. "Plucking up the courage is the hard part. I'm starting to think she isn't even interested- she's been avoiding my eye in the halls. I tell you, you ladies don't know how lucky you have it. I'd give anything to have nothing more to worry about than my dress robes..."

Cedric smiled crookedly and, for a long second, Astoria was temporarily captivated by the shiny, hesitant perfection of his features.

"I don't know," said Astoria, sympathizing with this feeling a great deal more than he knew. "I sort of know what you mean. It's a stressful time of year for a ball."

" _It is_ ," agreed Cedric thankfully, very relived to have found someone to share his insecurities with, after so many hours of sleeping outside Cho's common room alone. "Cho's got loads of friends... she _never_ goes anywhere without them. You don't think she's doing it on purpose, do you? To let me down easy?"

Astoria blinked. The idea of Cedric Diggory, with his dazzling face and status as school champion being turned down for a date by _any_ girl seemed highly unlikely to her. Surely the scenario of coming down for breakfast and discovering Cedric Diggory sleeping on a bench just for you was any girl's dream scenario? Cho would have to be half daft to refuse him.

"She'll say yes," said Astoria confidently, throwing the last stray quill into her bag and standing up.

"I dunno," Cedric blew air out of his nose and winced bashfully. "She's probably going with someone else now. I've taken too long."

"She'll regret it, if she is," said Astoria, laughing out loud at the thought.

"Who are you going with, anyway?" asked Cedric, looking as though a lightbulb had just gone off over his head. "I mean, _you_ wouldn't just go with me, would you? I'm supposed to start the ball and all... I really _need_ a date."

Astoria tried very hard not to feel unduly flattered by this, forcing herself to remember that Cedric had just spent the night on a bench in pursuit of another girl and his invitation was likely just as much an expression of his own cowardice as it was an easy means of scoring a dance partner.

"Only if you want," said Cedric quickly, backtracking slightly and putting his hands in his pockets.

"I've already told someone else that I'll go with them, actually," said Astoria, doing her very best not to positively explode with bizarre glee at the idea of what telling Tracey she was going to the ball with Cedric _might_ have been like.

"Don't worry about it," said Cedric in a rush, looking a little ashamed of himself. "I'm just- I dunno. I'm sorry. You were only trying to get to breakfast."

"Cedric," said Astoria reassuringly, pulling her bag up higher on her shoulder, "ask Cho. She's going to say yes."

"Right," said Cedric bracingly, trying to look confident and falling a couple of inches short. "Thanks."

0o0

" _You're_ looking unduly smug this morning," commented Theodore wryly when Astoria settled down beside him several minutes later. "What are you so pleased about?"

"Nothing," said Astoria quickly, knowing she was being shallow and ridiculous, but somewhat unable to entirely care. "Has the mail come?"

"Not yet," said Theodore, his suspicion increasing. "It's only seven thirty. _Why_?"

"No reason," said Astoria. "Pass the porridge, will you?"

Theodore extended Astoria the porridge one-handed, squinting at her face. "What? What is it? What have you _done_?"

Ignoring Theodore's outburst, Astoria took the porridge from him calmly and began ladling. "If I tell you, you have to swear that you won't laugh."

"Cross my crooked heart," said Theodore.

"I'm trying to get Tracey into the Sisters of the Eastern Star with me," said Astoria, purposefully leaving out her rather self-promoting gossip about Cedric.

Theo blanched and Astoria continued on ladling stubbornly, determined not to be put off her plan by any outside skepticism.

"I'm less tempted to laugh than I am to cry," said Theodore at last. "I don't really see the point. It'll never _work_. You haven't told her yet, have you?"

"No," said Astoria primly, "and I won't until I know for sure. I don't want to get her hopes up, either."

"I should think not," scoffed Theo. "It's lost cause."

"No, it's not," returned Astoria. "Tracey only needs _two_ letters of recommendation. My aunt has already written one, and I've asked someone else on the board for the second."

"You have?" remarked Theodore dubiously. " _Who_?"

"Ursula Flint," said Astoria calmly, reaching for a bowl of raspberries.

" _What_?" gasped Theodore, dropping his fork. "Astoria, have you ever _met_ Ursula Flint?"

"No," said Astoria nervously, looking up from the fruit. "Why?"

"She's got to be the the saltiest woman alive," explained Theodore explosively.

Astoria put her fork down as well, letting it fall with a clatter. "Seriously?"

"Yes!" added Theodore emotively. "What on earth compelled you to ask _her_?"

"She's Marcus's grandmother, isn't she?" Astoria tried weakly.

"I'm sorry," said Theodore slowly, "have you met _Marcus_? Of _course_ his gran is a malcontented old crab!"

"Point taken," Astoria muttered. "So, what are you telling me? That I've waisted my time? I only have till Saturday- how am I going to get someone else _now_?"

The mail arrived overhead. Astoria did not even bother looking, overcome by a sudden rush of gloom. She had been so _sure_ that writing to Ursula Flint was a good idea. Now that _that_ plan was scratched, Astoria was back to square one and she was losing time by the minute.

"There _might_ be some old aunts on my mother's side," said Theodore, rubbing his face pensively. "I mean, I haven't talked to them in years- not since my mother was alive, but-"

The wave of warmth that Astoria felt for Theodore, who would have been willing to contact long-estranged relatives for Tracey's sake, was cut short when a brown owl clutching two envelopes swooped in between them, upsetting the berries and showering them both with a flurry of snow.

"Is that-?" began Theodore doubtfully, staring at the letters.

It was. Astoria already recognized Marcus Flint's untidy scrawl on one envelope. In the return address of the other, written in a tight script that seemed to _evoke_ a certain type of crotchetiness just by the stroke of the lettering, Astoria was able to read Ursula Flint's name.

"That was prompt," Astoria muttered nervously, freeing both letters from the owl's talons, noticing as she did so that Ursula's envelope was almost disconcertingly thick.

"How prompt?" demanded Theodore. "When did you ask her?"

"About midnight last night," Astoria admitted, intentionally refusing to meet Theodore's eye, knowing that his look would be one of horror.

"I'm surprised she even wrote you back at _all_ ," snipped Theodore. "Who sends someone's _grandmother_ a letter in the middle of the night asking for favors?"

Astoria ignored him and opened Ursula's envelope first, thinking that if the news was bad, she wanted to know about it as quickly as possible so that she could recommence her search for help elsewhere.

It took a moment for Astoria to wedge the booklet of pages Ursula had written out of the top of the envelope.

"Oh, look," commented Theodore, his face a veritable canvass for eight shades of smarminess, "she's written you a novel. I bet half of that is a reprimand for soliciting her at an indecent hour, you know."

Astoria stopped counting the pages when she reached the back of the packet, staring at the last sheet of parchment in her hand with a sense of dull wonder.

"What?" asked Theodore, looking startled.

Behind Ursula's personal composition, which had been written out on fifteen pages front _and_ back, was Tracey's recommendation letter.

"She wrote it," whispered Astoria, dropping the rest of the parchment. " _Look_ , it's a letter supporting Tracey!" Astoria thrust the page at Theodore, who took it from her in disbelief.

" _Read_ the rest of that," commanded Theodore, pointing toward Ursula's bulky letter, a caress of warning seeping into his tone. "The woman wants something from you."

"You're always so determined for things to go wrong, aren't you?" Astoria muttered, doing as he said anyway and beginning at the top.

After several minutes of reading, it became clear that Theodore was at least somewhat right, however. Ursula Flint _did_ seem to have an interest in Astoria that went beyond the fact that Astoria was friends with her grandson. By the time she had reached the last page however, Astoria had still not quite managed to figure out what exactly that interest _was_.

Indeed, Astoria's best insight into Ursula Flint's mind could only be gleaned through tiny clues, betrayed by their intensity in the script; the way Ursula had made a point of reminding Astoria several times that she had been friends with Astoria's grandmother, for instance. The way that Ursula had twice come close to actually accusing Belladonna of intentionally preventing Astoria from being in contact with her grandmother's old friends on purpose. There was a whiff of something faintly smug about several of the paragraphs extolling traditional virtues as well, as though Ursula thought rather highly of herself for sharing them, as she believed that Belladonna surely had not.

Almost as an afterthought, Ursula had suggested a lunch between herself, Astoria and Tracey in the spring, in order to get to know them. This was an invitation that Astoria knew she would be forced to accept and she was left with the feeling that, while she had been correct in thinking that Ursula Flint would enjoy the task of coaching a young girl in the ways of society, she was not convinced that it was _Tracey_ who Ursula was truly interested in.

It was on Astoria's mind to show Theodore the letter, wishing to know what he thought of it but at that moment, Alec and Maudlin came in for breakfast, forcing her to stow the letter away instead.

"Really, though," said Maudlin in a dark undertone, continuing a conversation of some kind with Alec, "if he gets appointed, the whole summer will be given over to _campaigning_ for political allies..."

"If who gets appointed?" asked Astoria, verbally prodding Maudlin so that he would not carry on talking as though she could not hear him.

"Father," said Maudlin, his entire face taking on a look of great self-importance. He stopped half-way down the table from where he usually sat and sank into a seat distractedly. "Haven't you seen the news this morning?"

"No," said Astoria. "Has he been given an award of something? Hardly anything from Monaco is likely to make the Daily Prophet here, you know. We have too many advice columns."

"More like a job," said Maudlin pompously. "The Monacan Minister of Magic is dead."

"Aston killed the Monacan Minister?" remarked Astoria dryly. "How _ever_ did he do it?"

Alec laughed but Maudlin made a face. "Of course he didn't _kill_ the Minister, Astoria. Don't be _ridiculous_. He's the frontrunner for the new appointment."

"Oh," said Astoria, who had already surmised as much. "I suppose that's probably more dignified."

"You two can laugh," said Maudlin snidely, casting an irritated look at Alec, who had taken up chuckling again, "but if it does happen, _everything_ will change."

"What happened to the last minister, anyway?" asked Astoria, privately hoping to quell Maudlin's dramatic flair before it began to annoy her.

"He was _murdered_ ," said Maudlin matter-of-factly, without betraying even the faintest trace of sympathy.

" _What_?" gaped Astoria skeptically.

"He went missing in the woods outside a pub in Armenia," Maudlin went on. "Officials think he probably had too much to drink and got into a fight with one of the locals. Apparently he's been known to do that, from time to time. Can you _imagine_?"

"Why was he in Armenia?" asked Theodore, who up until now had been sitting in a sulky silence, almost completely unnoticed.

"What do you mean?" asked Maudlin, eyeing Theodore triflingly, perhaps a little surprised to have been interrupted by someone he had never spoken to before.

"Armenia. It's nowhere near Monaco," stated Theodore flatly. "What was the Minister of Magic _doing_ there?"

"Tying one on, apparently," said Maudlin dismissively.

Theodore frowned, clearly not quite willing to accept this explanation as fact, but again he fell silent.

"In any case, everything is in complete upheaval," Maudlin continued, as though there was nothing abnormal about his father's sudden nomination to be the leader of a small country, and it was perfectly acceptable to be complaining about it. "Astoria, I'm sorry, but it looks like I'll have to take Emilie to the ball on Christmas."

"Wait," said Astoria stupidly, "what?"

"Emilie. To the ball on Christmas," Maudlin repeated lazily. " _Her_ father is a member of parliament, and I'm sure my father will be counting on him for support. I can't do anything to jeopardize that."

"Are you kidding?" Astoria sneered slowly, feeling bizarrely betrayed by this twist in the plot. "Because you'll really be jeopardizing _world politics_ with your choice of a Christmas date?"

"I know," sighed Maudlin, "but Cassandra's broken up with her boyfriend, anyway. She'll probably want to find a real date now and I doubt she'll be pleased with the fact that I'm taking you."

"You never _told_ them?" demanded Astoria resentfully, thinking worrisomely back on what she had said to Pansy in the bathroom earlier in the week. "What about me? Now _I've_ got nobody to go with."

"Go with Alec," said Maudlin unconcernedly.

"I'm not just going to go with one of your friends because you've _assigned_ him to the task!" spat Astoria, her annoyance with Maudlin's lack of consideration beginning to turn into real outrage. "He's not my babysitter!"

"Of course he isn't," said Maudlin appeasingly. "You don't mind taking her, do you Alec?"

Alec raised an eyebrow to indicate that he did not mind, but Astoria was having none of it.

"I can't believe that you're _doing_ this!" Astoria snapped. "You're so impossibly rude! You _do_ realize that I've been turning down other dates?"

"Like who?" asked Maudlin, nonplussed. "Your friend Theodore whats-his-face and a couple of fourth years?"

Astoria's mouth literally fell open, her entire body fixed into a state of stunned wrath.

" _That_ is my friend Theodore whats-his-face," said Astoria, pointing at Theo, who looked as though he wanted very much to hide. "Don't talk about him like he isn't sitting there!"

Maudlin rolled his eyes without sparring Theodore a second look.

"The bloody Hogwarts _champion_ asked me to go with him this morning and I told him 'no' because I _thought_ that I already had plans!" Astoria spat. "Now you're standing me up?"

"Diggory asked you?" demanded Maudlin, frowning reflexively and completely missing her point. "Since when are _you_ friends with Diggory?"

Alec began to chuckle again, pointedly serving himself coffee before sitting back in his seat, perfectly at ease.

"Does it _matter_?" Astoria snapped. "I've already turned him down!"

"You needn't sound so _bitter_ about it," Maudlin remarked, looking slightly offended. "Why would you _want_ to go with him, anway? He's a useless pretty boy."

"He's also school champion!" Astoria countered, feeling a great desire to be as insulting as possible. "Last time I checked, _you_ aren't."

" _Merlin_ ," muttered Theodore under his breath, standing up as the bell rang.

"Well, I don't know what _that_ has to do with anything," said Maudlin, bristling now as well.

"Just that it might have been nice to go with someone that the Goblet of Fire actually _chose_ ," said Astoria nastily.

A flash of something deep routed and self-conscious flickered across Maudlin's features but he reclaimed himself quickly. "I don't know _why_ you're worried. It's not as though I won't dance with you once or twice if you can't find anyone else."

Astoria seized and orange and threw it at him.

" _Nice_ ," said Maudlin snappishly, rubbing his chest were the orange had struck him, despite the fact that Astoria had put virtually no force behind the toss. " _Very_ mature. Maybe Krum will still have you, if you can refrain from _assaulting_ him. He's a champion, isn't he?"

"Draco might still be single," mentioned Alec casually, entirely unaffected by the gathering storm of aggression brewing in front of him. "I'm sure he'd take you, Astoria."

" _Why_ would _Draco_ want to take her?" snapped Maudlin. " _He's_ going with Parkinson."

Alec shrugged rather offhandedly and continued to sip his coffee.

Astoria seized her school bag, tucking Ursula Flint's letter down into it securely, and stormed off to Potions.

"Can you _believe_ this?" Astoria growled, catching up with Theodore when she reached the dungeons.

"Kind of," said Theodore, sounding very uninterested. "You're always taking people that you're not fond of as dates to these sort of things. I don't know why you're so surprised when it doesn't work out."

"So I was _asking_ to be stood up?" Astoria sneered. "Is that what you're saying?"

Theodore sighed and raised both of his hands to gesture his surrender.

"What's going on?" panted Tracey, joining them from the direction of the Slytherin common room.

"Maudlin cancelled on me for Christmas," said Astoria flatly. "He think's his father is more likely to become Minster of Magic that way."

"No!" gasped Tracey.

"At least _you're_ still going, right?" mused Astoria thankfully, trying to rally her sense of former excitement. "Worst case scenario, we can just be each others dates?"

"Oh," said Tracey, "no we can't, actually. I asked Blaise to go with me this morning."

" _Fantastic_ ," Astoria muttered darkly, trying not to be irrationally angry about this news, as it so clearly gave Tracey a sense of great pleasure. "Well, it's going to be a wonderful holiday for you."

"It is, isn't it?" squealed Tracey as the classroom doors opened behind her, hardly able to contain herself. "I've got the best looking date in the whole school!"

"Yeah," said Astoria, putting her bag down next to their desk before rifling about in it, "and you're about to be part of the best committee as well."

Astoria pulled out Ursula and Belladonna's letters of recommendation and passed them over to her.

"What are these?" asked Tracey, freezing in place as her eyes took in the paragraphs of praise in front of her.

"Two letters of recommendation from senior legacy members of the the Sisters of the Eastern Star," said Astoria firmly. "All you need to do is write your own application letter and send them off tonight."

For a long, stunned moment, Astoria was not entirely certain that Tracey wasn't going to cry.

"What's going on?" demanded Draco Malfoy nosily, dropping his things onto the table in front of them. "Did Davis win the lottery?"

"Merry Christmas," said Astoria in a quiet voice, moving to block Malfoy's view so that Tracey could tuck the letters away, feeling as though she had personally done the right thing for the first time in ages.

"I don't have to _do_ anything else?" Tracey wondered numbly. "Like, make a resume or-?"

"It doesn't work like that," said Astoria warmly. "You just have to mail it all in."

"I got you a hat," said Tracey stupidly.

"Sorry?" said Astoria, confused.

"A hat," Tracey clarified mournfully. "That's what I got _you_ for christmas... and now I can't even go to the dance with you."

"Why are you trying to get Tracey to take you to the ball in a hat?" demanded Malfoy keenly, causing Theodore to snort with amusement at the visual that this question inspired. "Aren't _you_ going with Mendel? He seemed awfully _determined_ to have you..."

"I _was_ going with Maudlin," said Astoria shortly, taking her seat. "Now I'm not."

"You chucked him?" asked Malfoy, just a little too sharply. " _Why_? Who else did you get?"

"No one," said Astoria, refusing to meet Malfoy's eye. "Maudlin chucked _me_ and now I'm not speaking to him."

"Seriously?" Malfoy drawled, trying to sound disinterested but looking, in truth, several steps beyond smug. "I suppose he decided to go with his _actual_ girlfriend?" Draco mused, watching her closely. "That's for the best, probably..."

"Mhmm," said Astoria tightly, not wanting her anger to come bubbling back up to the surface.

"Does that _bother_ you?" Malfoy snapped, finally sensing her aggression and losing something of his smarmy edge because of it. "Him going with his _girlfriend_?"

" _No_ ," said Astoria shortly, preparing for their test on poison antidotes by taking out her quill and two bottles of ink.

"You _did_ throw fruit at him," Theodore insisted under his breath.

Astoria turned to glare but Snape had swept into the dungeons, killing any ambition of continued small talk. Draco hesitated, looking annoyed and preoccupied before finally turning back around in his seat.

0o0

On Friday evening, break officially began and there was hardly a glum face to be found anywhere inside the castle. Dinner had been prepared lavishly with seasonal spices, featuring several savory winter stews. The golden owls that perched on the railings of the staircases had been let loose to flutter about the hall. Hagrid, feeling especially celebratory, opened a batch of mead at the teacher's table. The result was that, by the end of the meal, half of the professors were freely singing folk tunes.

Untouched by any of this cheer, Astoria, Fred and George took to a corner of the common room by the fire after dinner and did not move for the rest of the night.

"I don't know what we're going to do," said Astoria firmly, pushing a bowl of Christmas baubles out of her way so that she could rest her forehead on the coffee table.

Their meeting with Ragnuk was still scheduled for the next day and they were no closer to reaching a decision about how to deal with Hodrod than they had been when he had first sent his letter. Astoria, who was technically supposed to be in two places at once on Saturday, was feeling the foolishness of their organization the most sharply.

"We could make a run for it?" suggested Fred miserably.

No!" Astoria snapped lividly, frustrated beyond measure by the idea of having to run away and ruin all of their lives because a pack of goblins said so.

"I'm only saying..." muttered Fred

"I'm _so_ sick of being pushed around!" said Astoria, surprising even herself. "It's like we're these dumb puppets, you two and I. Everyone else gets to play puppeteer, why can't we?"

"I dunno," said George, halfheartedly.

"It's true!" Astoria insisted, thinking of her acceptance into the ranks of the Sisters of the Eastern Star against her will and the remarkable ease with which Maudlin had managed to cast her off that morning. "We're always just _reacting_ to things. You two are some of the smartest students in the school- and I'm no pushover. Why can't we _handle_ this?"

"Ok," said George slowly. "So you're saying we should go to Hodrod and ask him to let us off the hook?"

"No," said Astoria slowly, gazing into the fire pensively. "I'm saying we need to _handle_ the situation. No begging, no apologizing. Hodrod's nothing but a crook. I say, let's treat him like one..."

"Oh yeah?" asked George somewhat sardonically. "And how would that work?"

It was a long moment before Astoria spoke again, channeling all of her anger into something closer to cool, logical, reasoning.

"On Saturday, you two will go into the village," said Astoria at last, mulling over her half-formed plan, trying to tuck in the loose corners before speaking.

"What about you?" Fred interrupted. "You're _not_ coming?"

" _I'm_ going to go to Cassandra's stupid sorority meeting," said Astoria, plowing on before she could be waylaid. "You two are going to meet Hodrod at the three broomsticks and convey a message from me."

"A message _from_ you?" repeated Fred.

"Yeah," said Astoria. "Listen, hear me out on this. These goblin packs are like the mob, right? Each clan has a boss. Maybe we should make it look like we are operating on the same level. If you two go and I don't, it shows them that we're listening, but we _aren't_ afraid."

"And that's supposed to be you, is it?" asked George, sounding a little offended. "You're the boss?"

"Well, yeah," said Astoria, trying not to become sheepish. "They seem to think it's me already, don't they? They didn't send _Ginny's_ necklace with that note."

Neither Fred nor George seemed to have a retort of any kind for this, so Astoria went on.

"You two can go find Hodrod and tell him we got his message," said Astoria. "Then you'll tell him that he's not allowed to decide whether or not we can do business."

Fred blanched.

"Make a point of reminding him that, since we _know_ Goblins aren't cheats or thieves, you're sure that he'll be more than willing to accept our stance on the matter," Astoria added. "That line worked on Ragnuk, remember?"

"Have you gone _insane_?" Fred interrupted, beginning to look genuinely concerned for her health.

"No!" said Astoria fiercely. "Well, maybe. I don't know. Look- it's just," Astoria fought for the right words to explain her reasoning. "We've got to start _controlling_ the _fear_. Think about it- who has power in the world?"

"People with money," said George at once. "Which _we_ don't have."

"Ok, fine. _Most_ of the time, that's true," Astoria conceded tensely, "but not always. Do you think You-Know-Who was powerful because he had money?"

"No!" exclaimed Fred. "You-Know-Who was powerful because he liked _murdering_ people, Astoria!"

"But he never would have become so powerful, if people hadn't believed he was really dangerous a long time before he _actually_ was," insisted Astoria.

"When was You-Know-Who ever _not_ dangerous?" asked George, laughing.

"You know what I mean!" said Astoria, exasperatedly. "Look, the goblins don't _know_ what we're worth, do they? They have no idea if we have money or not. We could potentially have financial backers. They have _no_ way of knowing who our connections are- for all they know, we could be in league with powerful people."

"But we _aren't_ ," said George dully.

" _They_ don't know that," pressed Astoria, staring both boys down. "That makes it our job to convince these goblins that anything is possible. _Control the fear_."

"You think that will work?" asked Fred dubiously.

"I think that if you two go down to the village with a message and look unafraid, Hodrod is going to wonder _why_ you aren't scared _,"_ said Astoria."Hodrod probably won't resort to violence if _he's_ too busy being afraid that hurting us might cost _him_ in the long run."

Fred took a moment to process this, biting his thumb ruefully. "Ok," he said at last, "I see what you're getting at, but there are a lot of holes in this plan."

"I know," Astoria conceded.

"Namely, Hodrod will still want something," said George, his tone of absolute certainty giving his voice a strangely calm quality. "It'll be like Ragnuk. He'll want a deal."

"I was about to get to that," said Astoria carefully. "I've got an idea about what we could maybe offer him."

"What's that?" asked George warily.

"Don't get mad," Astoria cautioned, "but I was thinking we could take the money we made off of the students- the _actual_ gold we have on hand- and we could offer to buy off some of Bagman's debt."

George's jaw dropped.

"What?" exploded Fred.

"He probably owes less than we do," said Astoria quickly, "and it would be a one time deal, so we wouldn't have to keep thinking about it. Not to mention-"

"Bagman would owe _us_ , again," said Fred, understanding flickering in his eyes now as well.

"Right," said Astoria. "He's the Head of Magical Games and Sports. Who do you think _we_ would get reported to, if someone decided to sell us out? We would be buying safety from Hodrod _and_ from the Ministry."

"That's almost a master-stroke," said Fred, coming around at last. "Hodrod gets some gold off of us and _we_ get Bagman. Bagman'll never pay us back, of course, but it's not a bad deal."

"That's basically the same thing as bribing a government official, though, isn't it?" asked George uncomfortably, fidgeting with a loose thread on the arm of his chair.

"Well, yeah," said Fred, "only Bagman will _never_ tell on us. He's in so deep with the Goblins that he'll probably dedicate a stadium to us, just for rescuing him."

Astoria knew at heart that she would not rest easy until the twins had returned on Saturday night with good news. Until then however, the presence of a plan of any kind seemed likely to keep her from spending the whole night awake, staring at her drapery and she was content to cling to whatever she could.

"It's a deal then?" asked Astoria.

"Yeah," said Fred, "It's a deal, but if I die before I can take Angelina to the dance, I'm coming back to haunt someone."

"You've asked Angelina?" exclaimed Astoria excitedly, momentarily forgetting about the goblins.

"Yup," said Fred, grinning ruefully. "She asked Cedric first, but he told her he was taking someone else. This is my opportunity to woo her."

"Yeah," said Astoria, her smile becoming tense at the mention of Cedric's name, diverting the path of her thoughts back to Maudlin's treachery. "What about you, George? Are _you_ still single?"

"I'm taking Katie," said George, shrugging. "Didn't want to go alone, you know?"

"Right," said Astoria, nodding her head somewhat pathetically,"wouldn't want that."

0o0

* * *

Serious essence of a 'building chapter' to this one but all the wiggly details were necessary for later. At least it's long? A great big chunk of my family came to visit me this weekend, so I've been busy as a bee. I know it was a particularly long wait for a post.

Next chapter will have the meeting for the Sisters of the Eastern Star and probably a good dose of Draco, as he's been playing on the sidelines for a minute or two now. I expect the Yule Ball will follow after that!

As always, reviews are a wonderful treat!


	40. Welcoming Committee

Chapter Forty

Welcoming Committee

* * *

0o0

On Saturday morning, the snowstorm finally gave out. A thick, white downy blanket clung to everything, from the window frames to the sides of the tower turrets. The entire world had gone still; soft and muffled by a dense, cottony layer of ice.

Astoria awoke to find the sun streaming in through her window again, twice as bright as it should be due to the stretching and white reflective surface against which it was beating.

Astoria met Tracey in the entrance hall, finding her near the bottom of the staircase, clutching several bacon sandwiches on a napkin.

"Lo'," said Tracey, swallowing thickly before offering Astoria the napkin. "Sandwich?"

Astoria shook her head, too eaten up with nerves over Fred and George's journey into the village and the prospect of her own dismal meeting to be much in the mood for food.

"Cassandra's letter said the meeting is being held in the portrait room," said Tracey, biting into the last sandwich and balling up her napkin. "Have you ever even _heard_ of the portrait room? How is it that a foreigner is scheduling events in places I didn't even know existed?"

"It's off the entrance hall," said Astoria dully. "I suppose she must have organized it in the most unused room in the castle on purpose, hoping people like us wouldn't be able to find it."

Tracey snorted and brushed crumbs off the front of her shirt.

Truthfully, Cassandra's real reason for choosing the room of portraits probably had more to do with the fact that it was lavishly furnished, sporting stately oak paneled walls and long windows. The officious and stuffy leather furniture in the middle of the room was separated by an island of glossy wood in the form of a low table, which was currently supporting a tray of tea sandwiches. A fire burned in the hearth, competing as a heat source with the winter sunlight falling across the carpeted floor. Almost immediately, Astoria felt a wave of oppressive sleepiness wash over her.

Pansy and Flora were already nestled smugly on one of the couches, helping themselves to sandwiches and tea. Astoria took a moment to observe the handful of students who were present. There were several girls older than Astoria from other Hogwarts houses, including two Ravenclaws named Katherine MacDougal and Elizabeth Fawcett, who both must have already been members at the beginning of the year. Slightly relived to have spotted other students not belonging to Slytherin house, Astoria dithered near the doorway, affixing her etiquette pins to the front of her plain white dress. Tracey, who had no pins to attach, stood by awkwardly and waited for Astoria to finish.

The door opened behind them, forcing Tracey to move out of the way as Cassandra and Emilie both entered.

"Good," Cassandra sniffed approvingly, her eyes roving over the couches sharply and coming away with the head-count she had been hoping for. "If everyone is here, we can start immediately."

It was Astoria's turn to step out of the way as Cassandra pushed past her importantly. Astoria raised an eyebrow at Tracey and indicated that they should move toward the couches.

"Now, as the application process has been fully handled by the committee, I can officially welcome our newcomers by addressing them as junior members of the Sisterhood of the Eastern Star," said Cassandra, dropping a thick, leather organizing binder onto the shiny tabletop. "For those of your who are _returning_ , welcome back."

Astoria sunk onto a sofa next to Flora's sister, Hestia Carrow. She scooted over to make room for Tracey.

"Our first order of business will be to discuss the Welcome Mixer that Hogwarts is hosting on Monday afternoon. This small party is for members of the native Ministry and delegations from the governments of several other countries corresponding to Durmstrang Institute and Beauxbatons Academy."

Astoria began to wish that she had not waited for Cassandra to arrive before seating herself. Her legs were entirely too close to the fire and she could feel an unseasonal sweat breaking out across her skin. Astoria was hesitant to stand up while Cassandra was speaking however, suspecting that doing so would incur a wrath of some sort, so Astoria suffered on in silence.

"Now, the point of the mixer is to honor the members of government who have helped make the Triwizard Tournament possible, particularly those who will _not_ be able to attend the Yule Ball on Christmas," Cassandra continued. "It's our job, as Sisters, to make sure that the guests are properly entertained and comfortable."

The heat was beginning to make Astoria feel absent and she found herself tracking the steady ticking of the clock near the mantelpiece like a metronome.

"All members are required to wear white, favoring dresses and skirts over pants. White is the color of the Eastern Star; but also of perfection, goodness and purity, all of which you might choose to remember when selecting the cut and length of your frock. You will never be remiss for erring on the side of modesty."

The winter sunlight was so clear that Astoria could spot specks of dust floating in the illuminated shafts of air in front of her. A log cracked in the fire and Astoria, weary from a week of poor rest, found herself blinking very rapidly in order to avoid dozing off.

"I expect everyone to be in the antechamber off of the Great Hall before one o'clock," Cassandra continued. "House elves will be handling the majority of the set-up, but it is our duty as hosts to make certain that everything is in order before our guests begin to arrive."

"Ooh," said Pansy. "Will we get to greet them?"

" _Senior_ members of the sisterhood will manage the meet and greet alongside the Hogwarts staff," said Cassandra primly, subtly putting Pansy in her place, "while _junior_ members will be charged with refreshments and other minor tasks."

Cassandra's eyes met Astoria's for the first time all meeting. They moved on to Tracey briefly, where they fluttered somewhat vindictively, before returning to Astoria again.

"Oh," said Pansy, sounding disappointed. "How long will I have be a junior member for, then? Until the end of the year?"

"Until _I_ say otherwise," said Cassandra cooly, her eyes never leaving Astoria's or ceasing to promise future suffering. "The Sisters of the Eastern Star has long been famous for shaping future pillars of polite society. It is _my_ job, as chapter president, to yank out any unruly weeds before they take root in an otherwise cultivated garden. I won't be recommending anyone for full membership until each girl has proven herself to me personally."

"Ha!" said Pansy gleefully, perhaps catching on to Cassandra's thinly veiled threat and the subjects to whom it was truly intended.

"That sounds an awful lot like hazing," said Katherine MacDougal, her simple face creasing slightly.

"Does it?" remarked Cassandra, her polite tone entirely unchanged.

"Our last president was Gemma Farley. _She_ didn't do anything like that," said Katherine slowly.

For a long moment, Cassandra's expression remained unmoved. Then, just slightly, the corner of her lip twitched upward. "Gemma sounds _lovely_ ," said Cassandra, her voice laced with a trace of private amusement.

"She _was_ ," sighed Katherine, raising a sandwich to her mouth absently and nearly missing her lips.

0o0

Astoria did not expect the twins to return until the late afternoon, so when Tracey suggested that they go out into the courtyard and have a look at the snow, Astoria readily embraced the distraction this idea seemed to offer.

They stopped over in the dungeons for cloaks, Astoria borrowing one of Tracey's so that they would not have to traipse all over the castle, and then headed outside. Flurries of bright ice crystals, blown off of the roof and the tops of the towers by the wind sliced at their cheeks and dazzled their vision.

The cool breeze did wonders for Astoria's sense of well being and restored a certain wakefulness after a long hour closeted away near a stifling fire. After several minutes, the wind proved to be too biting for Tracey however, so they ducked under the eves near the outdoor corridor and huddled against the wall, pink-cheeked and shivering.

"Cassandra seems like she's going to give us a run for it, doesn't she?" muttered Tracey through chattering teeth, pulling her cloak closer around her bare legs so that the cold would not wick in toward the white dress she was still wearing. "How much do you want to bet she ends up making us hand out punch for the mixer?"

Astoria snorted, thinking of how precarious a job this might be for a person wearing all white. "What about the bit where we have to prove ourselves to her 'personally'?" Astoria clucked. "What sort of Herculean tasks do you think she's capable of coming up with?"

The faint, echoey sound of chatter coming along the closed-in walkway drew their attention toward the left. Draco Malfoy, Crabbe and Goyle were walking together, talking very animatedly in low voices.

" _No_ , Goyle. How many times do I have to tell you? She can't be _seen_ inside the grounds anymore, so we-" Draco broke off at the sight of Astoria and Tracey, looking startled. "Oh," he said lamely, "it's you." Draco's eyes worked over their closely pulled cloaks and dress shoes curiously.

Astoria shifted under his scrutiny, leaning back against the wall behind her and accidentally exposing several inches of tights-clad thigh to the biting cold as she did so. Draco blinked at this tantalizing slip for several seconds longer than he should have and then sneered foolishly to cover his preoccupation.

"Who's not allowed inside the grounds anymore?" asked Tracey loudly.

" _That_ would be none of your business, wouldn't it?" Draco snapped, seizing a reason to look at Tracey immediately.

"You wouldn't be talking about Rita Skeeter, would you?" asked Tracey querulously. "Since I _know_ Dumbledore's banned _her_ from the castle."

"What business would _I_ have with Rita Skeeter, Davis," continued Malfoy challengingly, his expression inviting her to go on, but only if she dared.

"Oh, look!" said Tracey, indicating something in the courtyard behind Draco with a triumphant smirk. "Potter and Granger are coming up from Hagrid's hut. What _perfect_ timing they have."

Sure enough, Astoria could just see Hermione's unruly hair sticking out from underneath a crochet hat several yards away. She was magically plowing a path for herself and Harry to walk on with her wand. Harry look up from the treacherously icy footing and spotted Astoria watching them. He hesitated, perhaps a little thrown by Malfoy's presence, and then raised a hand in order to signal a feeble wave.

Tracey snorted. Astoria lifted her arm, determined to make a quick motion of recognition .

"Don't _wave_ to that moron!" Draco demanded, trying to step in front of Astoria in order to solidly block Harry Potter from view. "What are you _doing_?"

Astoria paused with her hand half extended, and shot Draco a very flat look.

"Too late now," Tracey smirked. "He's already made it to the entrance hall."

"Good _riddance_ ," Draco snapped. "He's probably going to the ball with that jumped-up mudblood, you know. I bet we'll all wind up having to watch them open the ceremony together."

"Granger is going with Krum," said Tracey matter-of-factly. "I heard the youngest Weasley talking about it in the hall."

" _What_?" Draco scoffed, not believing this for one second.

"I know, right?" laughed Tracey. "It's possible Potter might not even have a date yet. You should go with _him_ , Astoria. He's _technically_ a champion."

Astoria scowled at Tracey, knowing that her words had been calculated to upset Draco and lacking the patience to deal with any fit on his part over a theoretical scenario that was unlikely to ever happen.

Draco surprised Astoria by remaining very calm however, with the exception of his look of quivering disgust. "Why don't _you_ go with scar-face, Davis? You seem awfully keen on him."

"Because _I_ am going with Blaise," said Tracey, unable to disguise her absolute excitement about this fact. "Which reminds me, Astoria! You have to help me pick out a dress or else lend me something. I'm at my wits end."

"Yeah," said Astoria, staring over Draco's shoulder at the space Harry had just occupied vacantly, not because she was thinking of Harry, but because it had just occurred to her that Ludo Bagman might very well be coming to the welcoming mixer on Monday. "Alright, I might have something. What are Blaise's colors?"

"What do you mean?" asked Tracey. "You know what color he is."

Astoria blinked, throughly confused.

"His _family_ colors, Davis, you idiot," Draco sneered. "His sigil is an orange tree, so he's bronze and orange, Astoria."

"Why should _that_ matter?" asked Tracey perplexedly. "Pansy asked me about 'his colors' the other day, as well. I thought she just meant his dress robes."

Draco made an intolerant sound, clearly feeling himself to be above making time to explain old-family pedigree to anyone who thought Harry Potter made a decent dance partner.

"Girls usually wear at least one of their date's family colors to formal events," Astoria explained quickly. "It's just an old tradition. Sort of a respectful nod to whoever you're going with."

"Oh," said Tracey, looking nonplussed. "Well, I don't care about any of that. I certainly won't let tradition stick me in an unflattering orange dress."

Astoria shrugged.

" _You're_ one of the biggest rule flouters I know, Astoria!" pressed Tracey exasperatedly. "You're really telling me _you_ would limit yourself to two colors for a dance?"

"Break all the rules you like, Trace," said Astoria, looking away from the bare stretch of snow she had been staring at. "I won't disown you, but flouting color heraldry is coming dangerously close to stepping on the toes of _style,_ and that I _don't_ do."

Draco let out a soft and nasal sound of approval. Tracey, for her part, looked positively downtrodden.

"Seriously?" Tracey moaned. "What about when you went with MacLaggen to his Christmas party? You wore black!"

"Because it was a black and white party," Astoria reminded her. "The colors were themed, so it didn't matter."

"What a _ludicrous_ rule," Tracey spat.

"Go with bronze," said Astoria helpfully, putting her arm through Tracey's and pulling her away from the wall. "I might actually have something in a shade closer to brown."

"If his sigil is an orange tree, why aren't his colors orange and _green_?" Tracey demanded hotly. "I can _wear_ green."

"Maybe because his ancestors didn't want to have to dress up as _pumpkins_ every time they went to a formal?" Draco suggested snidely, elbowing Crabbe out of the way in order to walk behind them.

"What happens if your date doesn't have a house crest?" demanded Tracey smartly. " _D_ o you get to wear whatever you want?"

"No," said Astoria, shaking her head tolerantly. "At that point, you would wear your own house colors—or more specifically—the colors attributed to your mother's maiden name."

Tracey let out a snort of mockery at this fine tuned and complicated list of details that only served to dictate something so very unnecessary to her. "Is there an actual council for this so of thing?"

"Men get to pass down their names _and_ their coat of arms," explained Astoria. "So daughters, because they have no permanent ancestral claim, tend to pay an homage to their mothers when they go stag."

"What if your mother doesn't have colors _either_?" asked Tracey, perhaps thinking of her own maternal line. "What would you do then?"

"Who would invite that person to a party in the _first_ place?" scoffed Draco from behind Astoria's back, dismissing Tracey's query entirely.

0o0

Astoria was unable to locate Fred or George until after dinner. On her way out of the Great Hall, she found them waiting for her. They both looked exhausted.

"Walk with us," said Fred.

Astoria deemed his tone to be calm enough to avoid immediate alarm, so she waited until they had cleared the marble staircase and gained a mostly empty corridor before speaking.

"How did it go?"

"Well," heaved George, "there's good news and there's bad news. Which do you want first?"

"Let's go with good," said Astoria, peering sidelong at George's face, searching for a hint of repressed terror hiding there.

"You pegged Hodrod right as rain," said Fred. "The fact that you didn't show up _did_ put him on his guard, almost immediately. I could tell just from his expression."

" _And_ he took the Bagman bait- hook, line and sinker," George added.

"The bad news?" asked Astoria, already feeling more relived than she had hoped to be.

"Bagman owed more than we could pay," said Fred evenly. "For the Head of a Ministry Department, he's in more debt than anyone would ever care to guess."

"Ok," said Astoria slowly.

"Well, Hodrod wants the whole sum," said George. "A one time fee. He says he'll leave us alone for the rest of the tournament, but we _still_ need to come up with about two thousand galleons."

"We don't _have_ two thousand galleons," said Astoria, rubbing a hand over her face in agitation. "We're broke again. Unless Ragnuk paid you?"

"That's the other part," muttered Fred. "Ragnuk is refusing to pay us right now. He won't even hand over the notebook we recorded our bets in until we settle our business with Hodrod."

"What?" sneered Astoria. "That little thief!"

"Yeah," agreed George. "He says he won't work or have any transactions with someone who might end up dead or under investigation. He's claiming it's too great a personal risk for him."

"When in reality, he probably just _wants_ to see us kidnapped just so that he doesn't have to pay us," admitted Fred resentfully.

"So, where do we stand, then?" asked Astoria.

"We owe Hodrod two thousand galleons," said George firmly. "We've bought ourselves a grace period. He'll wait before doing anything nasty, so we're loads better off than we were at this time yesterday."

"That still doesn't put two thousand galleons in any of our pockets," said Astoria sternly.

They had come to the staircase before the Fat Lady. Fred and George exchanged a long look with each other and Astoria knew that this was something they had already discussed at length in private, without her.

"What?" Astoria asked, unable to find their silence to be anything but ominous.

"Well," said Fred tentatively, "we were sort of thinking that you might ask your friend for the gold- Mendel."

"Yeah," added George quickly. "Now that the amount we owe is so much less, you might even be able to get it off him without raising any giant red flags."

"Aren't you two going to the ball together, too?" remarked Fred, snapping his fingers. "Tell him it's for a dress and then fake him out with one that you already own and say it's designer."

This was a touch sneakier than Astoria would have been comfortable with no matter _what_ the circumstances. As it was however, their plan was flawed from the beginning.

"I'm not going with Maudlin anymore," said Astoria pointedly. "He's not my date. I'm not even _speaking_ to him right now."

"Oh," said Fred, betraying his first look of discomfort. "Well..."

"We'll just have to think of something _else_ ," said Astoria desperately, hurrying up to take the stairs two at a time in order to gain the common room and bed.

0o0

On Monday morning, because they did not share a common room, Astoria got dressed for the mixer with Tracey in the fifth floor bathroom. The brilliant sunshine outside was no longer reflectively sweltering and a cruel draft kept creeping through the bathroom windows, making the tiles under Astoria's feet almost painful to step on.

"Can I wear these?" asked Tracey, holding up the pair of pearl earrings that Belladonna had bought Astoria for her thirteenth birthday.

"Sure," Astoria conceded, padding tenderly across the icy ceramic floor in her stockings to poke about in her jewelry box as well. "Just don't lose them. They're my only pair."

Tracey nodded, having already fixed one into her right earlobe. "Who do you suppose is coming today?"

"Dunno," Astoria sighed, settling for set of tiny ruby studs. "A bunch of aging politicians, probably. Maybe Fudge will tag along? Shake things up a bit with those pinstriped trousers of his."

Goosebumps broke out across Astoria's flesh as she shifted her feet, forcing her pale skin toward a shade that was even closer to that of the freshly dead, and making the white dress she was wearing look positively revolting on her under the brightly lit bathroom mirror.

Astoria had been able to find several white dresses with a modest knee length skirt, as per Cassandra's pointed request, but she did not have any with actual _sleeves_. The least casual dress she could find simply utilized two thick, satin ribbons as straps. While it was nice looking on Astoria in the summer, she could feel the chill creeping deep into her bones in December. With her long, dark hair down, Astoria could have been mistaken for a lovely corpse.

"Hold this please," said Astoria, handing Tracey one of her shoes as she leaned against the bathroom stall in order to put the other on her foot.

"We look like the flower girls for a wedding in _Hell_ ," remarked Tracey morbidly. Astoria managed to fasten her second shoe and turned to gaze into the mirror as well, thinking Tracey made a good point.

"Sincerity, simplicity, sympathy and serenity!" Astoria trilled, calling upon the Sisters of the Easter Star's slogan rather blasphemously before making sure that her etiquette pins were securely in place.

0o0

The antechamber off of the Great Hall was already very busy when Astoria and Tracey arrived, despite the fact that it was still a quarter to one o'clock and they were technically early. The room, while not particularly spacious and rather grimly windowless, did seem to host a good deal of Hogwarts more formal trophies. Astoria could see immediately why it had been selected as the place to hold a party for official dignitaries who responsible for planning a sport.

Several of the large glass cases appeared to have been pushed back slightly to create space. Long tables, draped with white tablecloths, had been positioned in a corner of the room beneath a particularly lethal looking lantern that dangled from the ceiling twenty feet above.

Silver trays stacked with hors d'oeuvres lined the pristine white tabletops. In the far corner, directly underneath the deadly looking lantern, squatted a large crystal punch bowl complete with a shiny silver ladle.

Tracey, spotting the drinks station, turned and raised her eyebrows in Astoria's direction suggestively, clearly reminding Astoria of her prediction that they would be in charge of handing out punch. Astoria, for her part, was too thoroughly distracted by the number of people in the room to give Tracey much notice.

Astoria had been expecting a great deal of the staff to turn up in order to meet with the Ministry, but she had not been anticipating so many students as well. The vast majority of these seemed to be in sixth year or above, but Astoria could not think what they would be doing there. Beauxbatons in particular appeared to be rather over-represented, no doubt due to Cassandra's word of mouth. With lightning quick perception, Astoria was able to spot Maudlin, Alec and Draco from across the room, loitering near a giant vase filled with evergreen tassels and silver Christmas bells.

Resisting an almost ludicrous desire to duck, Astoria turned about to flee in the opposite direction and almost ran headlong into Cassandra. Suspecting that Cassandra had been lingering about behind her to serve just this purpose, Astoria quickly composed herself, unwilling to show vulnerability in the face of such a prickly enemy.

"Alright," said Cassandra in a high, clear voice. "Flora and Hestia, you'll be taking coats by the door. Pansy-" she continued, handing over a stack of pamphlets, "-I want you to mingle and hand out our charitable newsletter with as much grace as possible. Don't take 'no' for an answer but _never_ resort to pushiness."

Something shiny on the front of Cassandra's dress caught Astoria's eye and for a moment, Astoria had to marvel at how _many_ etiquette pins Cassandra had managed to make fit in such a tiny space without actually creating the effect of a chain mail blouse.

"Astoria and Tracey," said Cassandra witheringly, sparing them both a fraction of her attention at last, "man the punch bowl."

Smirking almost triumphantly, Tracey set off for the far corner. Astoria trailed behind her mutely, hating everything about the way her afternoon was shaping up to look. Fifteen minutes later, when the real guests had started to arrive, Astoria was still not feeling much better about things.

Tracey had taken up the job of handing the little silver-handled mugs across the table into eager hands, leaving Astoria with the mundane task of filling them first.

Maudlin, who had popped into line the moment he had spotted Astoria, was one of the first to reach for a glass.

"In charge of drinks, Astoria?" he asked almost merrily, moving to the side so that two Bulgarian men behind him could reach the punch station.

Astoria smiled lukewarmly and continued to ladle the Christmas punch into glasses, but Maudlin would not be deterred.

"What's in this anyway?" he asked hopefully, leaning against the table, causing ice to clink in crystal bowl that Astoria was hovering over.

Astoria cleared her throat and answered serenely, "Political aspirations with a dash of cad."

Maudlin's eyes rattled as he resisted the urge to roll them and when Astoria did not speak again, he pushed away from her and strode back across the room toward Alec.

"Look at Cassandra," whispered Tracey ecstatically during a break in traffic moments later. "She's flirting her little puritan boots off in the corner."

Astoria, who was watching the dagger sharp lantern that was swinging just above their heads _and_ tracking Maudlin, Draco and Alec's progress across the room peripherally, grunted distractedly.

"He's got to have at least ten years on her," Tracey continued, before suddenly elbowing Astoria hard in the side. "Heads up, she's coming this way."

Astoria had dropped the ladle when Tracey had shoved her, but she might have done so anyway out of shock when suddenly, Cassandra was standing directly in front of Astoria and chatting as pleasingly as she dared with none other than Roland Yaxley.

Having been so busy keeping tabs on _known_ threats, Astoria had not had the foresight to predict _this_ one, despite the fact that she knew Roland worked for the ministry. As a result, Astoria was momentarily taken aback.

"These are two of our junior pledges," continued Cassandra, carelessly indicating Astoria and Tracey behind the punch bowl. Cassandra scooped up a pre-poured glass for Roland and attempted to hand it to him herself.

"Astoria!" remarked Roland in gentile surprise, catching sight of her at last. "I didn't know you didn't know you were in a sorority."

Cassandra froze with the punch glass still extended. For the briefest of seconds, an irritation such as Astoria had not yet had cause to see crossed her normally dignified features.

"You know each other?" asked Cassandra, exhibiting an impressive grasp on civility as she put the forlorn punch down.

"Oh, yes," said Roland pompously, "Astoria is my distant cousin on my father's side."

"Is she?" remarked Cassandra lightly, not entirely satisfied by the world 'cousin' when Roland had gone so far out of his way to connect it to the word 'distant'.

"Mhmm," said Roland inattentively. "What is the significance of the pins you're all wearing, Astoria? I don't dare to guess."

"They're etiquette badges," said Cassandra at once, denying Astoria the chance to sneak a word in.

" _You've_ certainly accumulated a great many of them," remarked Roland, looking faintly appreciative of Cassandra's multitudinous honors in civility. "They're all fashioned differently, aren't they? What do they stand for?"

Cassandra began to describe each of her pins briefly and succinctly. Out of the corner of Astoria's eye, a shock of blonde hair gave her cause to turn just slightly, hoping that perhaps Draco might be nearby and willing to interject himself into the conversation without much provocation.

Astoria regretted the naked eagerness of her glance almost immediately, however. Draco was indeed at hand _and_ covertly watching Roland out of the corner of his eye, but he also happened to be standing next to his father. By some queer twist of fate, at the exact moment Astoria happened to chance a look at Draco, Lucius turned his own head to in order to see what it was that his son was peering at with such poorly guarded interest.

Astoria's gaze snapped forward again with enough reactionary force to make her wonder if it was possible to strain the muscles in her face. It was awkward enough for Lucius to wonder why Draco had been staring in _her_ direction, but the fact that he had happened to catch Astoria's doing something similar for even the briefest of seconds seemed likely to bring a great deal attention onto herself that she did _not_ want.

Astoria's fingertips were zipping with nerves so badly that she felt obligated to put the ladle down before she dropped it again or else caused it to shiver against the side of the punch bowl. Astoria was being ridiculous. She had turned so quickly, Lucius probably had not even noticed.

When Astoria let the silver serving spoon fall onto the tabletop, Roland turned, diverted from Cassandra's diatribe about tea service by the sound.

"It doesn't matter, of course," said Cassandra, bringing herself up short, wisely observing Roland's switch of interest. "They mean so many things. I'll just have to show you myself sometime."

She smiled at Roland, who returned the look warmly, perhaps appreciating Cassandra's sense to know when he desired her to stop speaking.

The thing that _Astoria_ desired the most _and_ the thing which seemed most likely to alleviate the sudden, jittery energy surging through Astoria's body, would be to glance across the room again in order to re-understand the Malfoys position relative to the punch bowl. But this, above all else, seemed to be the thing she must _not_ do.

"Forgive me," said Roland, "what were your pins awarded for again, Astoria? I know you've told me before, but I'm afraid I've entirely forgotten."

"Archery and fencing," said Astoria primly, determined to be as focused and attentive to the conversation at hand as it was possible for any human being to be.

"Oh, that's right," said Roland disinterestedly. "You were athletic."

"I was."

"I don't suppose you were terribly good at either diversion, though, were you?" Roland wondered. "They're both rather masculine sports, aren't they?"

"I'll have to _show_ you sometime," said Astoria cooly, parroting Cassandra's words back at him without blinking. Perhaps because of the change in subject matter, however, Astoria's words seemed to achieve a very different meaning.

"Well," said Cassandra crossly, "two is a crowd at the drink table, I think. Tracey, why don't you stand near the restrooms so that people will know where to find them. Roland, you were going to introduce me to your father?"

And just like that, Cassandra had regained the upper hand of the conversation. She reached out for the glass of punch she had put down so subtly and handed it to Roland with great firmness, steering him away toward the bustling crowd again.

"Is she serious?" Tracey sneered. "I'm _not_ a bathroom attendant."

"Better just go," said Astoria tiredly. "There can't be much left of this."

Tracey cast Astoria a furious look, blaming her for this bit of bad luck, but moped off in the direction of the restrooms.

Astoria ran her fingers through her hair. When she looked up again, the source of her unease had materialized in front of her. There stood Lucius, tall, blonde and softly menacing; his son nowhere in sight.

Astoria froze, trying to make up her mind between which was stronger- her fight or flight instinct- before coming to the rapid conclusion that she could not act on either. Astoria tilted her head to the side and asked, perhaps more challengingly than she ought to have, " _Punch_?"

Lucius raised an eyebrow, non-verbally questioning what _other_ purpose a person might possibly have for presenting himself in front of a punch bowl.

Astoria hastily scooped the ladle back up, and poured Lucius out a measure, cursing her own involuntary strangeness. When she moved to hand him his glass however, Astoria caught something in his carefully guarded expression that warned her not to be so hasty in dismissing her instinctual sense of warning.

While Lucius's expression was pleasant, it was also very appraising. Astoria could not help but feel like he was making a brief study of her face, observing her objectively. It was as though it had occurred to Lucius that, while he knew who Astoria _was_ , he did not really know what she _looked_ like and he wished to have a better idea.

"Mr. Malfoy!" cried Pansy Parkinson delightedly, sweeping in with her stack of pamphlets. "Have I given you a newsletter yet?"

Pansy shoved in just close enough to make staring at Astoria instead of herself seem rude. Lucius blinked and turned to humor Pansy, sparring Astoria whatever false pleasantries she was certain Lucius would have come up with in order to linger for a moment longer.

When everyone was gone, either departed or else receiving a tour of the outside grounds from Professor Flitwick, Astoria went to find Tracey.

Cassandra and Emilie were gossiping very animatedly near the vase of evergreen boughs. As Cassandra appeared to be in a rare humor and Astoria had no mind to interrupt her, it seemed to be as good a time as any to sneak away.

Alec, Maudlin and Draco were standing in the Great Hall, leaning against the end of the empty Hufflepuff table and laughing together. Maudlin was still holding his punch glass. For a wild moment, by force of recent habit, Astoria felt obligated to remind him to bring it back to the drink station before remembering how very little she actually cared.

"Astoria!" called Alec. "Darling, you look cold."

"The whole sorority is _frigid_ ," Astoria groused, stopping briefly to avoided looking rude.

Tracey, ecstatic over such an upgrade in company and sensing Astoria's desire to keep moving, began to push Astoria in the small of her back, wanting to force her to stand in a place of more prominence in the circle.

"If being _cold_ is a prerequisite, you seem to be right at home," said Maudlin snidely.

"You're suppose to leave the cups inside," said Astoria flatly, not taking the bait.

Maudlin drained the rest of his punch, raised an eyebrow, and pointedly put his glass back down on the Hufflepuff table instead.

"We're going outside," said Alec, ignoring his friend's childish behavior. "Luc thinks he's found a way to get us into the village. If you want to come, we'll wait for you to get your cloak."

Maudlin glanced at Astoria quickly and she was surprised to see that, behind his mask of snide stubbornness, he seemed oddly hopeful that she _would_ tag along.

 _Anything to avoid being bored,_ thought Astoria unkindly.

"I'm going to have a nap," Astoria informed them.

"Let's go, then," snapped Maudlin impatiently, frustrated and anxious to be away from Astoria's arctic gaze.

"I have to wait for my father," drawled Draco. "He's in a meeting with Fudge and the headmaster."

"Fine," said Maudlin, his annoyance growing more pronounced. "Catch up when you're through."

Astoria set off for the entrance hall. To her surprise, both Tracey and Draco followed her.

"You're really going to nap?" complained Tracey. "What am I supposed to do? Theodore is probably off trying to read an ancient Babylonian scroll somewhere..."

"I don't know," sighed Astoria. "See what Daphne is doing, maybe? I haven't seen her around in ages."

"That's because the Sisters wouldn't have her," said Draco carelessly, before changing tracks. "Cassandra seemed _awfully_ interested in Yaxley."

Astoria paused, hung up on his first statement. "Daphne wanted to join? Why didn't she _say_ something?"

"You wouldn't have been able to get _two_ people in," said Draco, clearly wanting to talk about Cassandra and Roland instead. "Frankly, I'm surprised your aunt even managed Davis."

"I'm sure, if she had wanted your help, she would have said something," said Tracey, looking very uncomfortable. "Besides, Draco's right. You had to ask the Flints for help in order to get my second letter."

Astoria paused, trying not to let herself look as torn as she felt. In truth, she might have given precedence to her sister over Tracey, a fact that she did not wish to share out loud. Not to mention the fact that Daphne, who came from at least one good family, would have been _much_ easier to promote than Tracey had been.

"You asked the Flints for help?" asked Draco, looking curiously annoyed. "Who wrote the letter?"

"It doesn't matter," said Astoria, feeling lousy.

"Ursula was her name, I think," said Tracey.

"You asked _Ursula Flint_ for a favor?" sneered Draco, wearing the same expression of incredulous doubt that Theodore had worn when Astoria had first told _him_.

"I had Marcus ask her for me," Astoria explained, feeling overwhelmed. "Tracey, if you see Daphne today, will you tell her-"

"Marcus and his grandmother _hate_ each other," said Draco flatly. "What did she want from you? What are you doing asking Marcus Flint for favors, for that matter?"

" _Nothing_ ," said Astoria. "We do have to have lunch with Ursula in the spring though, Trace."

Astoria tried to ignore the look on Draco's face, because it was becoming clear that he found the whole matter to be more than odd and Astoria did not want to have to add another thing to her list of worries.

"Shhh," said Tracey, because someone was approaching by way of the marble staircase.

All three of them turned to watch Harry Potter meander into view, holding a book on quidditch and looking a bit aimless.

"Lost, Potter?" called Malfoy nastily. "The Hospital Wing is on the fourth floor, if you're looking for it."

"Whatever, Malfoy," Harry scoffed. Harry spotted Astoria and his eyes registered a look of concerned surprise. Astoria shrugged, trying to imply that _she_ personally had no desire to mock Harry, suddenly feeling very awkward.

"Whats he doing looking at _you_ for?" demanded Draco angrily as Harry walked away. "I _thought_ you weren't friends with him?"

"I'm not, really," said Astoria truthfully. "But if I was, I'm sure it wouldn't last long, since you'd probably _murder_ us both."

Draco blushed, perhaps fearing that there was a greater implication to this, but Astoria had had enough. Without waiting for a response, she touched Tracey's arm in farewell and departed for her dormitory.

0o0

The next morning at breakfast, Astoria could feel that something had shifted in the night, although what it was that had changed, she did not dare guess. Maudlin, who had been taking Astoria's cold shoulder in silence all week, was now watching her again.

Astoria did her best to ignore this and went about eating her toast as usual. When Maudlin had finished with his own meal however, Astoria was not surprised to find his shadow suddenly looming over Theodore's bowl of cereal.

"What are you doing today?" asked Maudlin. "There's a Hogsmeade visit."

"I know," said Astoria. "I'm going Christmas shopping with Tracey."

"Will you meet us for a drink at the Three Broomsticks?" asked Maudlin, his tone surprisingly polite.

"Maybe," said Astoria. "If we have a time."

"One o'clock," said Maudlin, his formal facade breaking slightly. "Come _on_ , Astoria. This stuffiness has gone far enough."

Astoria shrugged but nodded, knowing it was easier just to acquiesce to this request and have a butterbeer with him.

Tracey, for her part, was very enthusiastic about the idea, spending the entire time that they were shopping for mittens Daphne might like professing how relived she was that Astoria was willing to be pleasant to Maudlin and his friends again.

"It's not like he was trying to make you mad on purpose," Tracey insisted as they ducked into a bookshop to find something for Theodore.

"I know," said Astoria, inspecting the front rack of best sellers and dismissing them immediately. "That was never the problem. He's just rude and entitled- he never thinks about anyone other than himself and he _always_ expects everyone he knows to bend over backward for him."

"He's not as though he means any _harm_ though," said Tracey, picking up a tacky romance novel and smirking at the cover.

"No," Astoria agreed, rummaging through the used books bin. "That would require thinking about another person's feelings first. He's _oblivious_. As far as he's concerned, the world revolves around him."

There were several interesting and very battered looking books on goblins in the bin. Astoria knew Theodore would probably like several of them, but she was in no mood to leaf through anything that might remind her of Hodrod or Ragnuk.

"Guess who my brother is taking to the ball," said Tracey suddenly, grinning deeper still.

"Who?" asked Astoria, fishing up what looked like a handwritten book on quidditch. Theodore had no interest in sports, but the rarity of a novel being written out by hand was enough to provoke Astoria's interest anyway.

" _Fleur Delacour_ ," said Tracey, laughing almost unpleasantly. "I think it's safe to say that Roger's life ambitions have officially been met."

Astoria snorted, flipping several pages in the book she was holding before realizing that it was a diary of some sort. "I wonder how that worked out for him. I bet Fleur was really hoping to go with Cedric."

"Undoubtedly," Tracey agreed.

"Who do you think Basil Horton is?" asked Astoria, reading the owner of the diary's name off the inside cover. "I've just found his journal. It looks like he plays quidditch."

"No one, probably," Tracey shrugged. "I bet it just got chucked in with a box of donations by accident. Anyway, I'm sure Roger will scare her off before the end of the night, but could you imagine if Fleur actually started _dating_ him?"

"Not really," admitted Astoria truthfully, poking through the diary's pages until she found what she was looking for. "Look, Basil played for the Wimborne Wasps. That's the team Flint plays for now, isn't it? The one Malfoy's always going on about?"

"Maybe," said Tracey. "I thought Flint played for Puddlemore United."

"That's Oliver," Astoria corrected.

They got ready to leave at twelve thirty, with Astoria purchasing Theodore a dictionary of Mermish words and a brand new manual to help him translate the letters. After getting to the front counter and discovering that everything in the used book bin was priced at five knuts, Astoria decided to take the diary with her as well, suspecting that it might be a collectors item in disguise.

The Three Broomsticks was characteristically packed. Groups of students had laid claim to most of the tables and the majority of the stools near the bar seemed to be seating either goblins or bankers.

Not wanting to go anywhere near the goblins at the bar, Astoria scanned the room for Maudlin, vowing to never speak to him again if he was late.

Alec spotted them first and flagged them toward a booth near the back. Luc, Maudlin and Draco were all crammed in together, splitting what looked like a bottle of mead. Maudlin must have bought it from Madam Rosmerta's private stock, because it looked like it was freshly uncorked.

"Move over for her, Luc," commanded Maudlin, pushing his friend toward the wall so that row could move down and Astoria would have room to sit. Tracey squeezed in after Astoria and promptly turned the mead around to read the label. "Do you want a glass?" asked Maudlin.

" _I_ do," answered Tracey. When Astoria nodded as well, Maudlin stood up and actually went to the bar himself in order to fetch them, surprising Astoria immeasurably.

"Remind me not to forget to buy fruit," said Luc, pouring himself another draft of mead.

"Because otherwise you'll stop fitting into your robes?" asked Malfoy, who was sitting on Astoria's other side, sarcastically.

"For Cassandra," Luc clarified. "She thinks the Hogwarts fare is too heavy. Of course, it probably doesn't _help_ that Alec keeps telling her how _thick_ she looks in her coat."

Alec smirked privately into his glass of mead.

"I don't know why you bother running her errands," drawled Draco amusedly. "She'll never have anything to do with you."

" _You're_ her cousin," protested Luc angrily over Alec's delighted chuckles. "Put in a good word for me."

"How close _are_ you and Cassandra?" asked Astoria, who had been wondering this for some time.

"I see her once a year maybe," Draco shrugged. "Not often enough to talk her into letting _Luc_ take her anywhere, that's for sure."

"Do you _like_ each other?" Astoria continued curiously. "Where is she right now, anyway?"

Draco shrugged lazily. "Off writing your friend Yaxley a love letter, I expect."

Maudlin had still not returned with the glasses. Astoria cast an eye about the room looking for him, only to discover that he had been waylaid at the bar by two goblins dressed in crimson velvet. Fearing that this could mean nothing good and wanting more than anything to avoid drawing notice to her face, Astoria turned back toward Draco.

"Have you ever heard of Basil Horton?"

"Yes," said Draco, snorting in a way that was just a little patronizing. "Have _you_?"

"Oh, good," said Astoria, retrieving the diary she had found from her shopping bag. "I have a Christmas present for you."

Draco looked slightly taken aback by this but the sight of the raggedy looking book gave him cause to recompose his face. "I hope it didn't _cost_ you anything," he scoffed.

"I know," said Astoria, acknowledging the poor state of the book's cover before flipping it open to the first page, "but look. I think it was his diary." Astoria pointed toward the name sighed in the front.

Draco, who no longer looked scornful at all, put down his glass in order to inspect the signature. "Is this _real_?"

"I don't know but on page thirteen he talks about his girlfriend's nipples," said Astoria. "It's an excellent laugh."

Draco promptly flipped to page thirteen, snickering in disbelief as he read through the eagerly handwritten paragraphs that featured potentially famous nudity. "This is worth a _fortune_ , if it is real," he declared, looking very impressed.

"I got it for less than a sickle," Astoria shrugged. "I just thought you might like it."

Despite the appeal of the pages in front of him, Draco eyes flicked distractedly toward Astoria at these words and she could feel his gaze lingering on the side of her face even after she had turned away from him.

"Why did the goblins stop you?" asked Alec as Maudlin made his return, putting both empty glasses down on the table.

"It was nothing," said Maudlin dismissively. "What's with the book?"

"It's someone named Basil Horton's journal, apparently," said Alec smoothly.

" _Really_?" asked Maudlin, perking up in recognition. "He played for the Wasps during their five year winning streak, you know."

"I'm sure," said Alec, entirely uninterested.

"Anyway," said Maudlin, pouring Astoria's mead and handing it to her, "who are you taking to the ball, Astoria?"

"No one," said Astoria, using the time during which he was handing her the mead to force herself not to look annoyed. "I haven't really tried to find anyone. I'm not sure I care."

This was _not_ entirely true, as Astoria had spent the last week subtly interrogating almost all of her male friends in order to see if they were still single, but she had not gone so far as to actually _ask_ anyone to go with her, so she did not feel as though this was really telling a lie.

"Well, Cassandra's set her sights on someone from your ministry and now _she's_ going with Emilie. _Again._ " Maudlin settled back into his seat. "So, I can take you, if you want."

Astoria bit her lower lip to keep from laughing, suddenly understanding Maudlin's eagerness to be so helpful and polite. Despite his casual display, it was clear that Maudlin wanted very badly to avoid going to the ball alone.

"No," said Astoria, still biting back laughter. "That's alright."

"Why not?" insisted Maudlin, his expression darkening slightly. "You've _just_ said that you aren't going with anyone."

"I know," said Astoria lightly, trying not to feel hugely vindicated by this turn of events. "I just don't want to go with _you_."

Astoria felt Draco shift beside her, watching this exchange with barely concealed satisfaction.

"It's not like I actually stood you up, Ria!" exploded Maudlin exasperatedly. "My girlfriend didn't have a date to the _same_ dance. What would it have looked like if I had went with you instead?"

"You shouldn't have even asked me, then!" Astoria exclaimed. "I told you 'yes' as a favor, and then you turned around and ditched me after everyone _else_ who was suitable had already found a date. Why don't you go with Luc? He seems to be single."

Maudlin scowled but recovered before he could say anything that would turn Astoria off further. "Fine, I get it, you have to prove a point," said Maudlin flatly. "What do you _need_ in order feel like you've proven it?"

"Amnesia?" Astoria suggested.

"I'm serious," said Maudlin tersely. "I'm sorry that Emilie changed around her plans so much. I just want to make it up to you so we can _all_ have fun. Tell me what you want and I'll do it."

Astoria was actually laughing now but the look of satisfaction on Draco's face was bleeding towards displeasure again. "Do you plan on telling Emilie this time?" Astoria asked.

"I already asked," Maudlin sniffed. " _She_ doesn't care."

"What do you mean by that?" asked Astoria, disliking the tense he had put on the word 'she'.

" _Emilie_ doesn't care," said Maudlin carefully, looking equal parts exasperated and evasive.

"But _Cassandra_ does, is that it?" guessed Astoria. "You're out of your mind. I'm stuck in that stupid club with both of them! If I go with you, Cassandra will behave like an absolute cow to me."

"Since when do you care what Cassandra thinks?" Maudlin sneered.

"Since I became her weird little sorority slave," returned Astoria, thinking of Cassandra's promise to make every girl prove themselves to her personally. "Just go by yourself."

"You're being ridiculous," Maudlin sneered. "Just _come_ with me."

Astoria snorted and finished the last of the mead in her glass. "I won't do it, Maudlin."

"I'll convince you," said Maudlin at last, waving his hand as though he imagined the task would be a piece of cake. "You don't want to go alone either."

"Alright," said Astoria challengingly. "Go ahead and try. Wow me."

Maudlin made a face and leaned back in his seat glumly, mulling the situation over in silence.

0o0

* * *

Alright, I have notes!

1\. I know I said that the next chapter was going to be the Yule Ball, but I'm thinking there may have to be one more post first. There was so much plot that needed to happen first and I couldn't cram it all into one chapter. I tried, but things got out of hand fast.

2\. I deeply miss Belladonna this Christmas. So much so that I think for their spring vacation, I'm going to send a bunch of the students home for a few weeks. That makes sense, considering how many students stayed at Hogwarts for Christmas, right?

3\. A lot of time and space was spent going over weird details about color in the this chapter. I know some of that was probably long and gratuitous to read, but I really feel like these sort of rules seem plausible for several reasons. For a start, antique pure-blooded culture seems to be very caught up on its heritage. It's also a hostile environment for newcomers and it dates back to the time of heraldry. Therefore, having a proper coat of arms seems like it would be a major status symbol that a new (or muggle-born) family could not easily replicate or fake.

I also think there is something sorcerous about color in general, both because of its symbology and its psychology. There's a lot of color talk in magic. I've personally been making up most of the color patterns associated with certain surnames (despite the fact that J.K Rowling has already generously provided many of them) and it's amazing to read about, say, the meaning of the color purple (the color I've decided to associate with the Mendel coat of arms) and to see how extremely fitting a lot of the traits associated with the color are in comparison.

In any case, reviews are always so wonderful and immensely fun to read. I'll have the next chapter up around Monday! * EDIT: Probably closer to Wednesday actually!


	41. Lilacs and Ribbons

Chapter Forty One

Lilacs and Ribbons

* * *

0o0

A cruel, icy cold descended over the castle during the next few days. No fresh snow fell, and the old layer quickly became encrusted with ice. There wasn't a cloud to be seen for a hundred miles during the day and by night, the stars blazed so brightly in the expansive, moonlit darkness that Astoria was nearly able to read magazines by their twinkling light in her bed at the top of Gryffindor tower.

The Yule Ball was rapidly approaching, and Astoria had made no more headway in picking out a dress than she had in procuring a date. What Astoria _had_ done however, was begin to press scraps of paper into the spines of various fashion periodicals, marking particular styles and designs that she found pleasing. By Tuesday evening, Astoria had accumulated so many paper bookmarks that the whole exercise began to feel a bit like planning her own wedding without a groom and she resolved to show the lot of them to Tracey the following morning.

Because they did not share a common room and because Astoria couldn't stand the idea of having to try on dresses in the freezing cold fifth floor bathroom again, they decided to meet in the study nook on the third floor. Properly deserted, barren of any students with last minute homework, it suited their needs nicely.

"I like this one," said Tracey, fingering the earthy brown fabric of a strapless shift that Astoria had brought along for Tracey examine. "It's not really orange _or_ bronze, though..."

"I know," Astoria lamented, "but I thought it looked a bit metallic in my dormitory."

"I suppose I'll try it on and see how it fits," mused Tracey, still testing the fabric's thin, fluttery consistency. "It's the thought that counts, right?"

"That's the rule with _gifts_ ," Astoria reminded her. Smiling, she turned away so Tracey could pull the dress down over her head and wriggle out of her skirt.

"Well it's _close_ to bronze," admitted Tracey, opening the cabinet that Maudlin had rifled through about a week ago, exposing a small mirror that hung on left side of the door. "What if I wore a sparkly headdress or something?"

"I wouldn't," Astoria cautioned, trying to hide the horror that this image conjured.

"A _headband_ or something, then," Tracey clarified dismissively. "You _know_ what I mean. I wouldn't wear a fruit hat."

Astoria smirked and flipped open one of her magazines. "Look at this," she said, pointing to a gown on one of its glossy pages. "This one is bronze."

"Yeah, and it only costs about a _thousand_ galleons," remarked Tracey sarcastically, consulting the shopping directory that ran along the side of the article. "Are you mad? You _really_ couldn't find anything else?"

"Nope," Astoria sighed, letting the thick magazine fall shut with a liquid grace. "I've got the brown strapless dress you're wearing and—" Astoria neatly shifted the stack of outfits until she found what she was looking for, "— _this_ beaded one, but it's definitely gold."

The rest were all white; a sacrifice to the Eastern Star on Astoria's part so that Tracey would no longer have to wear the mini-dress to meetings.

"Oh!" jolted a familiar and surprised voice near the doorway. "Astoria. What are you doing in here?"

Astoria turned around in her seat to watch Maudlin and Alec amble down the nearby stairs, presumably on the return leg of a mid-day adventure toward the owlery.

"Playing dress up, of course," smirked Alec suggestively, guessing the answer to Maudlin's question. "Ball gowns?"

Astoria raised a single eyebrow, not particularly anxious for Maudlin's company while she and Tracey discussed the details of the forthcoming dance.

"What are _you_ planning to wear?" asked Maudlin nosily, his eyes sliding onto the pile of dresses stacked on the table.

"Those are for Tracey," said Astoria pointedly, "and at some point soon, she _might_ want to re-dress herself."

Either because he had missed the hint or because he was deliberately choosing to ignore it, Maudlin strode forward and began to inspect the various fabrics that were now splayed across the wood.

"I don't stand by any of these, frankly," he commented idly. "I'd send your measurements off to one of my father's tailors, if you'd stop being so _stubborn_ about things."

"Those are all for _me_ ," said Tracey flatly, just perceptibly affronted. "Tell you what, send _my_ measurements off to your dad's tailor and _I'll_ curse Astoria into going with you."

Tracey had meant this as a joke but for the swiftest of seconds, Astoria perceived that Maudlin was genuinely considering the offer.

" _Enough_ ," said Astoria shortly, reminded somewhat shamefully of Fred and George's idea of extorting money from Maudlin through false dress purchasing funds. "Maudlin, don't you have some other place to be?"

"I'm on vacation," argued Maudlin. "Where would I have to be?"

"We told Draco we would meet him in the entrance hall," said Alec mindfully.

Suddenly afraid that their party would expand to include Draco as well, Astoria actually got up from her seat, prepared to corral both boys out of the room.

"Oh, that's right!" said Maudlin, remembering himself just in time to prevent Astoria from resorting violence. He consulted his watch. "Well, we'll leave you to it, Ria."

When they had both continued down the hall and turned the corner, Astoria let out a huff of pent up breath. She turned to stare out the long windows; there was a cardinal perched in one of the bushes below, working on snow-buried seeds. Astoria's eyes followed the bird's light, jittery motions as it hoped from branch to branch.

"I'd never _actually_ curse you for a dress, you know," said Tracey carefully, perhaps a little concerned by Astoria's distant body language.

"I know," Astoria reassured her, continuing to watch the bird.

In truth, Astoria was not thinking of Tracey's at all. She was suffering from a queer pang of irrational anger with _herself_. Christmas Eve was less than a week away and a tiny, loathsome, little voice in her brain was beginning to make her wonder if it _wouldn't_ just be easiest to go with Maudlin, after all.

This was a cowardly attitude to take at the eleventh hour, not to mention most unlike herself. Astoria had never been one to feel as though she needed a date in order to make it through a social event with grace. _She_ was quite witty and pleasant enough on her own to make up for the absence of an appropriate partner, but _still_...

The type of eager anticipation surrounding the Yule Ball was something new to her. The power it seemed to have in splitting the population into so many neat little twosomes was disarming. If Astoria was being totally honest with herself, she knew that she was beginning to feel left out. A school dance, (infinitely more so than a staid family occasion) seemed to be something that was best enjoyed as a duo.

If Maudlin could manage to think of some way of asking Astoria to go with him that did not feel like an obvious bribe, she was prepared to consider the matter. After all, the idea of having Draco and Pansy on one side of her, and Maudlin and his last minute date on the other was practically repugnant to live through in imagination _alone_. A situation to be avoided at all costs.

" _This_ is pretty," said Tracey, picking up a dress that had fallen off the table and slunk onto the floor between the legs of a nearby chair.

"Oh!" Astoria jumped, tearing he eyes off of the chilly yard with a jolt as she recognized the dress in Tracey's hands. "That one was from _my_ pile. I don't know how it ended up in there—"

The dress that Tracey had just discovered on the carpet was, incredibly enough, the outfit Astoria was planning to wear herself if she ended up having to go to the ball in her own colors. Amazed that she could have been careless with something so precious, Astoria moved away from the window in order to take the dress back and stow it away safely in her bag.

"This is _loads_ better than anything you brought along for me," complained Tracey, tugging the fabric out of reach, eager to have a better look.

"I don't know what made you think I was the authority on _citrus_ colored formal wear," muttered Astoria defensively, resenting the way that Tracey had just yanked her own clothing away from her.

"Yeah," agreed Tracey, acknowledge the fact that there was some fairness to this statement. With a twitch, she unfolded the dress and held it up to the light for proper inspection.

Wine-red jewels picked out in crimson satin sparked like a condensation of fresh blood in the last rays of sunset. The dress itself had been ordered and purchased by Belladonna the moment she had spotted the demand for dress robes on Astoria's school list, and the quality of the piece showed in everything from the soft fabric, to the weight of its many glowing adornments.

"Try this on," commanded Tracey, looking just as excited she might have been if the dress had been her own. "I bet it's _gorgeous_."

"I _know_ what it looks like," said Astoria evasively, not particularly wanting to strip down in the raw chill or draw any more attention to the stark difference between Tracey's dress and her own. "My aunt had it made. I'm sure the measurements are spot on."

Tracey pressed the garment at Astoria anyway. The feel of the buttery fabric beneath her fingers was the only persuasion Astoria needed to yank her shirt off and slide the dress down in its place.

"See?" Astoria insisted, kicking her skirt toward her school bag. "It fits."

But it did more than just fit. Even in the pale, wintery morning light, the dress really _was_ something to behold. Everything about the cut screamed of Belladonna's hand; evenly fitting and well tailored, intentionally complimentary to Astoria's skin tone without bearing any further trace of desperation. The bead-work begged to be looked at, and no more advertisement seemed to be required. Just the weight of the dress on Astoria's body seemed imbue a certain feeling of casual opulence, and Astoria could feel herself shifting her posture in order to hold herself differently in it as a result.

Astoria peered at her reflection in the dusty mirror, both surprised and privately pleased by the sight that met her there. A slip underneath the heavily beaded fabric ended just above her knees but several feet of sheer, wildly sparkling material cascaded all the way down to her feet like sunlit water. Two thin strands of ribbon hung from both sides of Astoria's body near her elbows. Assuming that these were intended to pull in the loose fabric in at her waist to give her figure a proper shape, Astoria hastily tried to make both ends meet behind her back. Tracey batted Astoria's awkward fingers away and tied the ribbon herself.

"Who needs a date?" remarked Tracey almost caustically. "I wish your aunt would do _my_ shopping."

"What are you two doing?" demanded a drawling voice. It was Draco this time, on the prowl after having been made to wait in the entrance hall for who knew how long.

"Trying on dresses," answered Astoria, continuing to gaze at herself in the mirror while subtly peering at Draco in the glass behind her. "If you're looking for Alec and Maudlin, they've just set off to find you."

"Let them find _me_ ," Draco sneered. " _I_ waited for _them_ for more than an hour. Crabbe and Goyle defected to the Great Hall—probably for the best. When Crabbe stands in one position for that long I start to worry he might _calcify_."

Draco slung himself into one of the seats at the long table and stared at them both expectantly, clearly hoping that they might fill the void of boredom that Maudlin had created with his tardiness.

"Does this look bronze to you, Draco?" asked Tracey hopefully, turning about so that he might have a better look at her.

"No," sneered Draco carelessly, making a swift assessment of Tracey's dress.

His eyes flicked back toward Astoria. "You _are_ going by yourself, then?" he asked, noting the obvious lack of purple in Astoria's outfit with a touch of poorly concealed smugness.

"I'm not sure," breezed Astoria, sounding much less invested in the matter than she actually felt.

"You've already got a dress," Draco persisted, shifting slightly, no longer meeting her eye in the mirror. "Why bother changing it now?"

For all of the many times Astoria had seen Draco try to be goading on purpose, she was capable of recognizing that this was _not_ one of those moments—a fact that did not entirely prevent his words from rubbing her the wrong way. It was all fine and well for Draco to be so thoughtless about the matter: _he_ had a date, even if she _was_ insufferable...

"What's Pansy wearing?" asked Astoria archly. "The last I knew, she was all of a dither."

"How should _I_ know?" sneered Draco, looking faintly uncomfortable and eager to distance himself from Pansy's last minute (and highly annoying) fretting about ball gowns. "It's not _my_ job to dress her..."

"She made it sound as though you were picking her color scheme _for_ her," said Astoria carefully, taking great care to guard her voice from the unreasonable resentment that was suddenly governing her. "I thought it was something you two were doing together."

Tracey cackled gleefully but Draco, for his part, had gone slightly pink.

"I'm not _dress hunting,_ " he insisted, looking more than a little embarrassed by the idea that Astoria thought of him as Pansy's fashion toady.

"Oh," Astoria lightly. "That's too bad. I was looking forward to seeing what you both would come up with."

Draco leaned back in his seat, visibly shamefaced. After a moment, his pale eyes narrowed suspiciously, perhaps trying to work out what he had done to cause Astoria to take such a pointless stab at him.

Astoria opened her mouth to backpedal, not wanting to give Draco any reason to dig too deeply into the matter when she was distracted by the sound of another rapidly approaching voices in the hallway. Turning away from the mirror at last, Astoria half-expected to find that Alec and Maudlin had come back in search of Draco again.

"Stupid feathery git!" stormed a highly irritated voice that Astoria recognized as belonging to Ron Weasley. "You bring letters to the addressee!" Ron Weasley himself appeared on the other side of the doorway amidst a unexplainable maelstrom of feathers. "You don't hang around showing off!"

He made a cartoonish strangling motion with his fist, drawing Astoria's attention to the head of a tiny owl protruding over the tops of his fingers. The bird hooted gleefully in response, so Ron shook it a bit harder, looking very much the part of a ill-contented mad-man.

"Let me have the letter, Ron!" called Harry, catching up with his friend. He eyed the toy-sized animal in Ron's hand with an expression of great pity.

"Is that your _owl_ , Weasley?" drawled Malfoy, his voice dripping with condescending delight.

Ron glanced toward Draco, already clearly toeing the edge of wrath and ready to turn nasty at the drop of a pin.

"Forget it, Ron!" said Harry quickly, anticipating Ron's reaction by seizing his arm before he could storm forward and punch Malfoy with his bird-fist.

"Do you own _anything_ that actually works, Weasley?" inquired Draco cruelly. "Or do you just _like_ everything around you to be trash?"

"Leave him alone, Malfoy," said Harry, maintaining a tight grip on Ron's sleeve. His eyes swept the study lounge, where they came to a nervous rest on Astoria. "Let's get back back to the common room. I want to read the letter. Are _you_ alright, Astoria?"

Harry had meant this inquiry chivalrously, but Astoria could tell it would do nothing to defuse the brewing sense of confrontation.

"What's _that_ supposed to mean?" snapped Draco before Astoria could respond, curiously livid.

"You can come with us, you know," said Harry, pointedly ignoring Draco in order to provide Astoria with an escape route, incorrectly assuming that she was in an uncomfortable position.

"Why would she go anywhere with _you_?" sneered Draco, his expression icy.

"Come _on_ , Harry," scoffed Ron, giving up the gun. "Let's _go_."

When Astoria made no indication of distress, Harry's shoulders loosened and he followed Ron up the steps that spiraled along the North Tower.

"Is Potter just _following_ you around now?" demanded Draco hotly, overcome with annoyance. "That makes the _third_ time in two days he's stopped to have a look at you. What's with the new fixation?"

This was utter nonsense. Surely, if Harry had ever actually spent any time following Astoria, he would have known enough to avoid being surprised by her present company; Tracey was one of Astoria's closest friends and Draco tended to cast an almost constant shadow over most of her doings.

"That's ridiculous," said Astoria dismissively, leaning across the table to reorganize the stack of dresses, feeling it was high time to leave the third floor. "Harry can't help _walking_ places, can he?"

"Yeah, walking directly past places _you_ are," sneered Draco doubtfully. "Or have you not noticed?"

"We share a common room," said Astoria dully. "I think it's safe to say that he's in the same _place_ that I am often enough without having to go out of his way to look for me."

Astoria made to straighten back up but was met with a gentile resistance. Assuming that one of the ribbons on her dress had come loose and snagged in a crack on the table, Astoria glanced down and was surprised to find that Draco was the culprit. Softly fiddling with one of the crimson strands, he did not seem to have realized that the ribbon was attached to Astoria's body. The moment he understood why the fabric had gone tense, he dropped the ribbon from his grasp like a fiery coal.

"That owl, though!" trilled Tracey.

Draco scoffed, his eyes going back to the last place that Harry had been standing, and there was an apprehensive flickering in his features that threatened to overrun his distaste.

0o0

Despite the cutting temperatures and the inhospitable nature of the grounds in general, Cassandra insisted that the Sisters of the Eastern Star meet near the greenhouses on Thursday morning in order to go over flower arrangements for the Yule Ball.

Beyond the point of questioning the absurdity of meeting up on a frozen tundra to go over bouquet baskets, Astoria took great care to dress warmly. She did not own any white hats or scarves but she did manage to find an ivory toned pair of gloves. Thinking that any hostility on Cassandra's part over something so necessary would constitute full-on madness, Astoria drew the hood of her cloak as close to her face as she could and set off toward greenhouse four.

She was the last girl to arrive, a fact that she was sure did not slip past Cassandra's all-seeing eye. It was an unexpected relief, therefore, when Cassandra did not take the time to chastise Astoria outside in the snow.

"About time," snapped Cassandra impatiently, producing a key from her pocket in order to let them all in to the glass room that housed the majority of the school's decorative flora. Katherine MacDougal shot Astoria a particularly accusatory look before cutting her off to scuttle into the miraculously tropical warmth first.

Stepping over the stone doorframe was a bit like crossing through a portal in time. The sounds of steadily trickling water and the smells of wet, balmy earth were like a song of summer in the middle of winter.

At once, Astoria's fingers began to scrabble at the neck of her cloak in order to unfasten it, thankful that she had remembered to wear white underneath.

"Now," said Cassandra, entirely too preoccupied with the task at hand to appreciate the gift of unseasonable humidity, "Professor Dumbledore wants an arrangement on each table. Madame Maxime, however, thinks it would be more appropriate to focus on the champion and staff tables. I say we split the difference by creating more than one design."

"The one for the staff table could be bigger?" suggested Katherine, shooting for the obvious.

"Good idea, Kitty," returned Cassandra dryly, her eyes on a clipboard that she had brought along. "You're the first to think of that, I'm sure."

"What are good winter colors?" began Flora. "Do all the tables have to be matching?"

"The only color _we'll_ be using is _white_ ," said Cassandra rigidly, forcefully suppressing any attempt at imaginative decorating before it could grow legs. " _Calla lilies_ for the staff table, I think. Peace roses for the champions, and I don't know what for the rest—aster maybe?"

It was obvious by the way that Cassandra was speaking only to herself that she had already gone through most of the trouble of planning for them. All she required from the rest of the Sisters _now_ was enthusiastic agreement.

Torn between the desire to be difficult and wanting for this thankless task to be out of the way as soon as possible, Astoria leaned against the nearest planter and inhaled the faint scent of a cluster of hydrangeas.

A sharp rap on the foggy glass caused Astoria to jump so badly that she almost put her hand into the dirt to balance herself.

"What was _that_?" demanded Pansy dramatically.

Just visible though the misty greenhouse walls, Astoria could make out a cluster of boys standing in the snow. At the front appeared to be Luc Millefeuille, smirking and pointing at them like a cartoon jester.

Astoria chanced a glance at Cassandra, unsurprised to find that her eyelashes were fluttering punishingly behind her clipboard.

"Well, if nobody has anything else to add," Cassandra went on acidly, "the meeting is adjourned."

Nobody did and pretty soon, most of the girls had redone their cloaks and stumbled back out into the chilly yard. Knowing that Maudlin was likely among the pack of spectators on the other side of the glass and suspecting that she would be waylaid if she tried to make an escape, Astoria did not bother moving away from the pleasant warmth of the hydrangea bushes.

"All right, Cassandra?" asked Luc eagerly, stumbling over the doorframe and shaking ice from his hair.

"Not really," said Cassandra coldly. "You interrupted my meeting and now you've got snow on my shoes."

Astoria did not manage to hear Luc's response because Maudlin, Alec and Draco had all pushed in behind him.

"Well, _this_ is pleasant," said Maudlin, surveying the nearby flower beds approvingly, no doubt immensely preferring the sweet smelling humidity of the greenhouse over the frozen wasteland he had just abandoned.

"You never could stand the cold," drawled Alec lazily, as unaffected by the joys of false summer as Cassandra had been.

"Draco!" squealed Pansy, pausing near the doorway in order to ambush him.

Astoria snorted when Draco reflexively startled away from Pansy, turning back toward the hydrangeas to hide her triumph.

"Father sent me a letter this morning," said Maudlin, sidling away from Alec toward Astoria. "He's with the Trefle-Picques in Monte Carlo for the holiday."

If Maudlin was hoping to appeal to Astoria's sentimental nature by discussing his father, he would have done better not to mention the Trefle-Picques, who were the key reason that he had stood Astoria up in the first place.

"Is that so?" said Astoria archly. "I suppose they're having a politically conscious Christmas together, are they?"

"He told me to send his love, in any case," said Maudlin, wisely backing away from the subject altogether. "I didn't bother mentioning what a selfish terror you're being."

"I should think not," returned Astoria serenely, plucking a low budding glowers and smirking. "You wouldn't want him to ask _why_ , would you?"

"Are we going in for lunch or _not_?" asked Luc, breaking away from what appeared to have been a painfully scolding conversation with Cassandra. "What's Maudlin doing?"

"Tying to bribe Astoria with a dozen roses, no doubt," sneered Malfoy, glancing mutinously in their direction.

"Well," said Cassandra unpleasantly, "Maudlin might want to be very _clear_ with his florist, otherwise his bouquet will probably come with a card addressed to Emilie."

Pansy, perhaps disliking the bitterness with which Draco had suggested the idea in the first place, laughed loudly.

"It would be a moot point, Cassandra," said Maudlin in a raised voice, not even bothering to turn around as he spoke to her. "Astoria doesn't _like_ roses. Her favorites are all wild and I can't think of anyone who sells lilacs in mid-winter, anyway."

Cassandra blinked, as taken aback by his outright defiance as she was displeased by it. For a moment, Astoria herself was disarmed, although for entirely different reasons. It had never occurred to her before that lilacs were her favorite flower, but now that it had been said, she knew that it was quite true. She could not think how Maudlin, in his state of almost permanent self-involvement, had come to observe this fact before she had.

"I want lunch," complained Luc. "It's too hot in here."

There was a hasty discussion that ended with a general agreement to head toward the Great Hall. All of the boys were still dressed for the weather and they were several feet ahead with Pansy in tow when Cassandra moved to block Astoria's way out of the greenhouse.

The movement was more serpentine than Cassandra's fox-like features might have suggested possible, resulting in a kind of soft torso touching that most girls would have shied away from as being faintly sexual. Cassandra, on the other hand, leaned into it excitedly in the hopes of being all the more intimidating.

"Wait for me," she commanded, and Astoria was not fool enough to think that she had meant this as a request.

Moving back several inches, Astoria waited for Cassandra to carefully fasten her cloak. When it was properly buttoned, Astoria started toward the door again only to have Cassandra block her a second time; this time roughly. A Cheshire grin seemed to express Cassandra's sense of great triumph when Astoria winced.

" _So_ ," Cassandra purred, "you don't want to go to the dance with Maudlin?"

A thrill of adrenaline hit Astoria's legs and prevented her from slipping out into the snow.

"I suppose you think you're playing hard to get?" continued Cassandra, tilting her head to the side patronizingly. "Think it's funny to make him work for it?"

"Not really," said Astoria carefully, feeling that, unlike Pansy, Cassandra was something of a worthy nemesis and not to be crossed lightly. "I thought I was saving us _all_ the trouble by turning him down."

Astoria had been hoping to express solidarity, but the words tumbled out of her mouth like a challenge.

"Oh, yeah?" snapped Cassandra snidely, her thin lips pressing into irritated line. "Taking one for the _team_ , are you?"

"Yes," Astoria returned stoutly, meeting Cassandra's displeased brown gaze.

"Well," Cassandra went on, swiftly changing tactics, "if you really _don't_ like him, why don't you go with someone else?"

"There _is_ no one else," Astoria sneered. "Everyone already has a date."

"Prove it," said Cassandra, sounding much more like a bratty schoolgirl than the well organized chapter president that Astoria had come to know.

"Prove _what_?" snapped Astoria.

" _Prove_ that you don't like him," explained Cassandra, eyes sparkling with baited cruelly. "If you're not interested in Maudlin, than you won't mind kissing someone _else_ to prove it."

"I'm not just going to kiss someone because _you're_ feeling insecure," said Astoria roughly, genuinely surprised by the spoiled eight year old that seemed to dwell within Cassandra's spirit.

"I told you when you joined _my_ club that I expected every girl to prove herself before the year was over," Cassandra reminded her, not backing down. "I've already told some of the other girls what I want from _them_ —now I'm telling _you_ what I want."

"You want me to _kiss_ someone?" repeated Astoria stupidly.

"How about Draco?" suggested Cassandra keenly. " _He_ doesn't seem to like Maudlin's pathetic attempts at wooing you, either. I'm sure _he'll_ do you the favor."

" _Draco_ is going to the ball with Pansy," said Astoria slowly, becoming more suspicious of Cassandra by the second. "I don't suppose _she_ would appreciate me making out with her date, would she? Or _you_ for asking me to, for that matter."

"I won't tell if you don't," laughed Cassandra, making a crossing motion over her heart, face continuing to promise cold murder. "I can keep a secret."

"And if I won't do it?" Astoria sneered, knowing in her heart of hearts that spontaneously kissing any part of Draco would probably result in some kind of tragic upheaval.

"Then I'll slap the silly shit out of you and _tell_ Maudlin that you did it anyway," leered Cassandra joyfully. "You can spend the rest of the year as a junior Sister _and_ a pariah, if you want. See if I care."

"Are you seriously be _so_ afraid that I'll try to steal your friend's boyfriend?" Astoria wondered in amazement.

" _Afraid?_ " asked Cassandra sharply, her eyes as hard as steal as she bit back a laugh. "That is a word I _never_ use."

Without so much as a backward glance, Cassandra pushed out into the wintry yard, taking long strides to catch up with Pansy, leaving Astoria alone with her jumbled and highly aggravated thoughts.

Astoria blinked awkwardly in the blazing afternoon light, trying to understand where she stood after receiving a percussive blow.

It wasn't as though Cassandra had challenged Astoria to murder anyone. In theory, simply being made to kiss someone over the holiday was probably getting off easy as far as Cassandra's homemade tasks were concerned. No, it was the motive behind the whole thing that was so deucedly awkward. Surely there was no way that Astoria would ever be able to get away with snogging Draco without _Draco_ wondering why she had done so? It did not seem any more likely that Draco would be willing to help her if Astoria explained her motive to him _first_ , either.

Cassandra had clearly left her with two options: Astoria could lie in order to succeed (and very likely hurt someone's feelings along the way), or else tell the truth and be denied—for _why_ would Draco willingly kiss her, if he knew that Astoria only wanted him to do so in order to settle a debt with his cousin?

It was a well crafted plan on Cassandra's part; one that, if allowed to reach fruition, granted Cassandra the power to police Astoria's life from afar by holding Maudlin hostage in a web of ignorance while Astoria ran about the castle awkwardly begging Draco to molest her.

 _Unacceptable,_ thought Astoria sternly, coming to the firm decision that she would never stoop so low in pursuit of Cassandra's good graces. _Let Cassandra tell Maudlin whatever she likes,_ Astoria fumed, trudging out into the snow alone. _I'll tell him that she's lying. Her plan won't work._

This new threat would not entirely leave her thoughts, however, and Astoria caught herself brooding over it periodically throughout the day. What had seemed like such a spur of the moment piece of cruelty soon began to seem much less spontaneous, the more she thought about it. Could Cassandra have been planning such a maneuver for days? Had she perhaps been waiting for an opportunity to spring a trap since the the Welcoming Mixer?

Yes, in fact, this seemed more than likely. Clearly Cassandra wanted Astoria as far away from Maudlin as possible, to the point that she was actually willing to sacrifice both Pansy's friendship and—potentially—Draco's loyalty in order to do so.

It was an almost ludicrous state of affairs. Astoria did not genuinely believe herself to be a threat of any sort to Emilie, nor did she wish to present herself as one. All Cassandra was doing by pushing so hard was make Astoria want to push back even harder. It was a game no one would win, and between Astoria's stubborn nature and Cassandra's clever turn of mind, it would likely result in a disaster.

Feeling very tried and decidedly awkward, Astoria went to bed early that night. She slept in for so long the next morning that she woke up stiff and more exhausted than she had been the night before.

0o0

"Coffee?" offered Theodore.

It was nearly one o'clock and the library, once a bustling hubbub of activity, was now deserted for the holidays. With the exception of several first years in the next room, Astoria and Theodore had the run of the place. It was a welcome change to be able to talk at a normal level without being hushed by Madam Pince.

"Thanks," said Astoria gratefully, taking his thermos and drinking directly from the mouth without bothering to pour out a measure into the tin lid.

Theodore watched Astoria swallow, her eyes watering from the unexpected heat of the coffee. He turned away politely when she spluttered.

"Have your ball gown all picked out, yet?" Theodore asked, crossing one spindly leg at the knee, revealing the pattern of his socks.

"I suppose," said Astoria, thinking it was highly odd for Theodore to bring up the ball at all in such a civil tone, much less welcome a conversation involving the details of her party dress. "Have you decided to go, after all?"

"I don't know," said Theo, coloring slightly as he shrugged. "Millie asked me to go with her. I'm not sure if she'll go alone, so I figured I might as well take her."

"Oh," remarked Astoria, as surprised as she was burned by this announcement. Astoria was forever asking Theodore to accompany her places and Theodore was forever turning her down. "That's nice."

"I guess," shrugged Theodore. "I probably won't stay very long."

"No," Astoria sighed, feeling as though even Millicent Bulstrode had managed to one-up her. "I probably won't either."

"Why not?" asked Theodore, looking genuinely surprised. "Formal dress-up occasions are kind of your scene, aren't they?"

Astoria had no idea what would have given Theodore this impression, but correcting him seemed like it would require more effort than it was worth.

"Between Maudlin and the Sisters of the Eastern Star, I'm starting to wish I had just gone home for break," Astoria admitted, deciding her tongue had recovered from its burns and reaching for the thermos again.

"You'd prefer Belladonna over a ball?" asked Theodore flatly, clearly under the impression that Astoria was being overly dramatic. "Since _when_?"

"Everything is such a tangled mess," Astoria lamented bitterly. "I never should have told Maudlin I would go with him when he asked— _that_ was the catalyst. After that, Draco asked Pansy to go with _him_ and then Pansy went to Cassandra ratted out Maudlin for asking me."

"What?" scoffed Theodore, faintly annoyed and unable to keep up.

"Yeah," Astoria spat. "So _then_ , Cassandra made Maudlin take Emilie. Only Cassandra met Roland _bloody_ Yaxley at a mixer later in the week and had take it back so that Emilie could be _her date_ again, because she doesn't want Roland to somehow get the impression she's a floozy."

"So just go with Mendel," said Theodore flatly, clearly finding little about this complicated log of events to be enjoyable storytelling. "Wait, your _cousin_ Roland Yaxley? Your potential betrothed?"

"Who's _betrothed_?" came a drawling voice from just behind them.

Astoria, who had been seconds away from spilling the beans about Cassandra's mad request to see Astoria throw herself at Draco, jumped heartily.

Malfoy, Crabbe and Goyle must have wandered in while Astoria was ranting, because she had not even heard Goyle's lumbering footsteps creeping up on her.

Feeling guilty and blessedly thankful that she had not continued speaking, (for she highly doubted Draco would have known what to do with the gossip she was secretly sitting on) Astoria fought very hard not to look as startled as she felt.

"Astoria is ," answered Theodore sarcastically. "She's going to marry Roland Yaxley. Didn't you know?"

"Still can't find a date for the ball, then?" asked Draco lazily. "Or are you just sitting around and plotting ways to make Cassandra hate you more _?_ "

"Oh!" shocked Theodore, the gears of his mind shifting just enough in order for him to finally grasp. _Roland and Cassandra!_ his dancing eyes seemed to laugh. _Your nemesis and the man who would marry you for an inheritance!_

" _What_?" asked Draco waspishly, sensing correctly that he was missing something and resenting them both for it.

"Nothing," insisted Theodore, backtracking at once, knowing better than to start a discussion about Astoria's family battle with the Yaxleys in front of Draco.

Draco glanced between Theodore's sorry looking expression to Astoria's embarrassed one, narrowing his eyes.

The muffled sound of a book hitting the rug several feet away distracted him before he could say anything rude. Between two shelves on practical charms, Harry Potter had just dropped a manuel of sailboat enhancements.

For a long second, Astoria could do nothing but blink. She had not heard Harry Potter enter the library either, and she was moderately surprised that he could have been so close at hand without somehow thinking to announce himself.

Draco froze in place, leaving Astoria with the terrible feeling that, if Harry tried to wave to her again, Draco might finally sic Goyle on him.

Thankfully, Harry seemed to realize that he was an intruder. He quickly scooped up his book about boats and shifted away toward the librarian's desk.

Draco rounded on Astoria accusingly, as though he thought it was somehow her fault that Harry had taken up an interest in aquatic vessels.

" _Four_ times," he sneered. "This is getting ridiculous!"

"What's ridiculous?" asked Theodore, trapped in a spiral of confusion that did not seem to want to spit him out.

" _Potter_ has been following Astoria around like a lost puppy all break," Malfoy snapped, giving vent to an idea that clearly bothered him more than he knew how to admit.

"Really?" demanded Theodore skeptically. "I hadn't noticed."

"You _wouldn't_ ," Draco sneered. "That would require putting your _book_ down long enough to _blink_."

"Do you think he's trying to ask you to the ball?" asked Theodore, shifting toward Astoria and smirking. "He tried asking Chang, but she turned him down. I'm pretty sure he's still single."

Astoria blinked at Theodore, mildly surprise. Theo was almost never a font of gossip and this was an odd topic for him to be so knowledgeable about.

"I heard some Ravenclaws talking," Theo clarified, not quite meeting Astoria's gaze, perhaps because it had been Padma Patil who had mentioned Harry's romantic woes and he did not want to be forced to mention her name.

"I doubt it," said Astoria in clear, level voice, afraid to even look at Draco. "We hardly ever talk. I don't know _why_ he would ask me out."

"Because there are so many _other_ good looking girls loafing about his common room without a date only two days before the ball?" snapped Draco, clearly believing that Theodore was right and fighting an uphill battle to stay composed as the idea sank in.

Astoria shrugged, oddly preoccupied with the fact that Draco had just insinuated that she was attractive, as she did not think she had ever heard him come out and say it before.

"You _wouldn't_ actually go with him?" demanded Draco tremulously. Astoria startled as she realized that he had not moved as much as an inch since Harry had disappeared.

" _No_ ," sang Astoria sarcastically. "I'd run away from him howling bloody murder and then never, _ever_ talk to him again."

Theodore laughed but Draco did not seem to be content with sarcasm.

"I'm going to take a nap," said Astoria quickly, knowing the conversation at hand had potential to implode.

"You slept in until _noon_ ," said Theodore who, despite being one of the most slothful people Astoria knew, still seemed to find her sleep patterns excessive.

"Well, it _wasn't_ enough," shot Astoria truthfully, longing for her bed and the blissful solitude of her curtains.

She hadn't even made it to the fourth floor when she heard footsteps approaching behind her. Suspecting that it was _not_ Theodore, Astoria did not bother to slow down, hoping more than anything to avoid a another confrontation with Draco about Harry Potter.

"You think the idea is _funny_ , do you?" Malfoy sneered, catching up with her. "You'd be a _laughingstock_ if you went anywhere with him, you know."

"Why's that?" Astoria fired back, knowing it would be better to hold her tongue but feeling as though she had had more than enough of other people telling her what to do lately. "Because he's an actual famous person _and_ a champion? _Laugh away_ —"

Draco cut in front of her, preventing her from continuing up the stairs. "If you go to the ball with Potter, I'll _never_ speak to you again," he spat.

"Are you _kidding_ me?" asked Astoria slowly, hating the way that Draco was impeding her ability to escape.

" _No_ ," Draco snarled. "Do what _you_ want, Greengrass, but _I_ won't be caught dead hanging about with Potter's prissy little _girlfriend!_ "

It would have been hilarious if only Astoria had not felt so cornered. Harry had never asked her out and, moreover, she suspected that he never _would_. Still, Astoria was beginning to feel like a trapped animal and the stain of Cassandra's last attempt at sabotage had not yet managed to rinse itself from her psyche.

"If you don't get out of my way, I really _am_ going to scream bloody murder," Astoria promised hotly.

"Yeah?" Draco sneered. "Go ahead. Maybe Saint Potter will swoop in to _rescue_ you. He's all about _saving_ people, isn't he?"

"What are you on about?" Astoria snapped, slipping under his elbow only to immediately regret asking a question at the same moment she managed to wriggle free.

"You think anyone would want _anything_ to do with you after?" Draco continued nastily. "You think _any_ of your pals would stick around if you went out with Potter?"

"You're acting like a crazy person," Astoria snapped, summoning as much lofty dignity as she could muster. Surely _that_ would annoy Draco far more than her anger ever could?

"He's an actual famous person _and_ a champion?" Draco exploded hatefully, parroting Astoria's words back at her. "What are _you_? Some desperate, fame obsessed _groupie_?"

Draco's livid sneer remained the same but his eyelashes stuttered rapidly, a tell-tale sign that he knew he had gone too far.

"Nice!" Astoria bit back. " _Really_ nice!"

Draco twitched a hand through his hair, fighting for a way to express himself that would not come out as a defensive mess before Astoria managed to get away.

"Just _tell_ me that you _won't_ go with him!" said Draco sharply, a caress of desperation creeping into his tone.

"Why _should_ I?" Astoria snapped. "Harry _hasn't_ asked me to go to the ball! And even if he had, why should I _have_ to say no to him on principal alone? _You're_ going with Pansy and _I_ don't like her. You don't see me threatening to never speak to you again!"

"That's different," Draco snapped at once.

"Not the way I see it!" Astoria sneered.

"Potter's nothing more than some jumped-up usurper who's _obviously_ trying to get on top of you!" spat Draco, positively choking on his own hatred. "Why are we even _playing_ this game right now? You _must_ know what you would say if he asked you to be his date. _Why_ won't you just _tell_ me that you would turn him down?"

Draco had moved again, blocking her path in a way that was only slightly less claustrophobic.

"Do you want me to take you?"

" _What_?" Astoria snapped, positive that she had misheard him.

"Do you want _me_ to take you?" Draco repeated, sneering half-heartedly, not entirely joking but more than willing to play the offer off as a snide joke at the first sign of rejection. "I'd rather deal with ditching Pansy than have you go with that scar faced _moron!_ "

More than Cedric's cowardly attempt to procure a dance partner, or even Maudlin's infuriating way of treating Astoria like a back-up plan, _this_ had to be the offer that was the most trying to Astoria's good nature.

Perhaps it was because Draco did not want to admit that he was actually asking her? Or perhaps it was because Draco already _had_ a loathsome date and there was no pleasant outcome possible? Either way, Astoria deeply resented him for even trying and for a long moment, her irritation literally silenced her.

"You _can't_ be serious," Astoria managed coldly, clinging to her anger in order to prevent any regret from surfacing. "You've already _got_ a date! Are you stupid or are you just _mean_?"

Draco blanched and it was gone immediately. The tiny window of vulnerability that Draco had left open slammed shut.

"I guess I'd rather take the piss for going with _you_ than have to doge Potter all night," Draco spat reflexively, scrambling to save face. "What do you think Alec will make of Potter? Quick work, I'd wager."

"Probably," Astoria agreed, becoming desperate to escape the conversation without somehow doing any real damage, fearing that she had already crossed the line by roughly silencing whatever weird attempt at swapping Astoria for Pansy _might_ have just been attempted. "It doesn't matter! I'm going alone, anyway!"

0o0

Unlike Cedric's attempt to ask her out, Astoria received virtually no joy from Draco's poorly executed and brutally rebuffed stab. If anything, the entire experience left her with a ball of dread in her gut that was only growing heavier.

There was no possible way that Astoria could have said yes. Surely Draco must have known that? She couldn't imagine _what_ Draco could have been thinking to even bring it up in the first place.

From her point of view, going with Draco seemed very much like declaring to the word that she didn't care about what an insufferable, bigoted bully he was. Did she want the rest of the school to think that she didn't mind pushing other girls out of the ring just to get to him?

Theodore would have had a fit. Pansy would have strangled her in the loos. Astoria could not bring herself to imagine such a world, no matter how much of a _relief_ it would be to just have a _sodding date lined up._

Astoria muttered the password to the Fat Lady, trying to get the bitter taste out of her mouth. The best case scenario was that Draco would simply believe that Astoria had never perceived that he had probably been making a poorly concealed, real offer.

"Astoria!" hissed an excited voice.

A pair of hands grabbed her by the shoulders, startling her out of her state of deep and fretful distraction.

"What?" Astoria muttered, taking in Fred and George's eager faces with a thrill of terror.

"How did you do it?" whispered Fred intently. "We just found out!"

"Found out what?" Astoria asked, thinking that if another thing had gone wrong, she really might just have a mental breakdown.

"You _know_!" pressed George.

Astoria's eyes slipped down to George's hands and she was very surprised to see that he was clutching the notebook of Tournament bets. The last thing Astoria knew, Ragnuk the goblin had been holding this book hostage until further notice, and she could not fathom how the twins had come by it.

"How did you _get_ that?" Astoria whispered back alertly.

"What are you talking about?" asked George with a frown. " _You_ paid off our debt. Ragnuk sent us the book back with his formal respects about an hour ago and Hodrod as good as sent us a receipt!"

"I _didn't_ pay off any debt," Astoria insisted, trying to spot a trap in this very peculiar behavior but failing to see it.

"Are you serious?" demanded Fred in wonder. "Why would they send the book back, then? You _must_ have paid..."

"And what? I just forgot about it?" Astoria demanded doubtfully.

"Maybe the book isn't real and someone's messing with us?" guessed George, failing to spot the logic in this and shrugging.

"Let me see," said Astoria.

She took the notebook and flipped it open, half expecting to discover a letter of blackmail from an unidentified fourth party tucked under the cover. Instead of anything so ominous, there was nothing but a flower pressed between the front pages.

"That's weird," commented Fred. "Did you put that in there?"

Astoria was relatively certain that she had not. The book had been taken from them in late November, when nothing in the regular gardens had been in bloom. Furthermore, Astoria could not remember having ever pressed a flower in her life, and she was relatively certain that she would not have started the habit between the pages of such an important and official journal.

Astoria gingerly lifted the flower and held it up toward the windows to catch the light. I was a single lilac branch.

Astoria's mind rapidly spun back to her last Hogsmeade visit, recalling the way that two goblins in velvet pants had swooped down on Maudlin in order to interrogate him in the middle of the Three Broomsticks.

Was it possible that, by sending Fred and George alone to meet with Hodrod to assert strength, Astoria had roused enough curiosity for Hodrod to begin making inquiries about her? If that was the case, surely Maudlin would have been one of the first people on his list. Maudlin was rich, of legal age and had known Astoria for her entire life. Could it be that the seal around the cracks of Astoria's plan had begun to leak and Maudlin had somehow caught wind of it?

"What do we do?" asked Fred, beginning to look worried. "Do you want me to write to Hodrod and try to question him without being obvious about it?"

"No," said Astoria, still staring at the flower and thinking of what Maudlin had said about Astoria preferring lilacs over roses. "Don't do anything. I know who paid him."

Astoria had to hand it to him, the fact that Maudlin had not included a smarmy letter along with the notebook was a mark of great restraint...

"Who?" asked George, flabbergasted.

"Maudlin," Astoria admitted.

"What? You finally told him?" asked Fred.

"No," said Astoria absently, twiddling with the lilac branch. "I told him to wow me."

She _was_ 'wowed', and not by the fact that Maudlin had paid her off, either. In theory, Maudlin had so much money that gold meant very little to him. No, what Astoria was moved by the most was the fact that he had not brought the matter up at all in front of Alec or Draco, nor had he used it as an opportunity for shaming her. Astoria sighed and tucked the flower back into the notebook. Perhaps she did own something in purple, after all...

0o0

* * *

Right off the bat, I'm super-duper sorry that this took so long to get posted! I promise not to go a whole week without an update again for quite some time if I can help it. Again, sorry for the wait! This chapter probably still needs a bit of an edit, so I'll come back and do that tomorrow. I hate to post something that hasn't been hard-edited but I had two weddings to attend this weekend and I've been starting to feel massively guilty about the lack of updates!

Reviews are always a joy! Next chapter is the Yule Ball (I think it _will_ end up split into a two-parter, btw) and I plan to have that up on Wednesday. I've got the whole week off, so posting should be speedy and pleasant!


	42. The Yule Ball Pt 1

Chapter Forty Two

The Yule Ball Pt. One

* * *

0o0

Christmas morning dawned as grey, chilly and charged with humidity as pre-spring. The tremendous cold had finally broken and there was a slight promise of fresh snow in the air.

It was only the second Christmas that Astoria had ever spent at Hogwarts, but it began in far higher spirits than her first. Something about the ominously dim grounds outside seemed to make the the corridors and rooms inside feel twice as snug and the fact that so many people had stayed on over break prevented the castle from feeling like an empty museum of its former self.

The staff, continuing to demonstrate a certain desire to impress the visiting guests, seemed to have ordered the tiny elves down in the kitchens into a state of near frenzy. Everywhere Astoria walked throughout the day, she was accompanied by the faintest aroma of good things baking; breads and pastries near the basement and apples and spices near the eaves.

Around noon, the grey sky outside began to grow slightly darker and by the time Astoria had made it to the Great Hall for a light lunch, the cloud-cover had unclenched its moody firsts and begun to release the first flakes of what promised to be a thick blanket of snow.

"It's a sweater set!" Tracey deplored, thrusting a hastily opened parcel in a cardboard gift box onto the tabletop. "My mother sent me a navy sweater set!"

"So?" remarked Theodore flatly, pushing the present away from the sandwich he had built himself out of dinner rolls and dripping hunks of roast duck. "It's a _sweater_. Astoria gets me one every year and wraps it around a book, trying to be clever. Just chuck it in your trunk somewhere."

"It's so prim," said Astoria cheerfully, ignoring Theodore's snide remark about her thwarted annual attempts to help him dress in less ill-fitting clothing.

"Astoria buys you a sweater _every_ year?" drawled Draco Malfoy in flat disbelief, stopping behind Astoria on his way down the table. "What _happens_ to them?" Draco eyed Theodore's loose fitting and very care-warn shirt scornfully.

"Nothing," said Theodore stubbornly. "I never _wear_ them."

"Well, _I_ would never wear _anything_ so stuffy," continued Tracey unchecked, eyeing her own sweater set petulantly. "If only it were white... I could probably get away with wearing it to Sisters meetings if it was."

"You've been trying for _four_ years to make Nott dress smarter and this is all you could manage?" demanded Draco unkindly, turning towards Astoria.

Astoria did not know what to say to this and the streak of red that was creeping up Theodore's neck beneath his tatty collar made Astoria want to push Draco into a heap of snow and leave him there.

"Theodore looks _fine_ ," Astoria ventured stoutly, feeling at once that there were several far more cunning answers she might have given that would not have sounded so false.

Draco scoffed loudly and continued onward toward Crabbe and Goyle.

Theodore was still holding his sandwich in one hand but he no longer seemed inclined to eat it and Astoria could tell by the pinched look on his face that he was contemplating Draco's point with a sense of embarrassment.

"I don't _care_ if you wear the sweater or not," said Astoria, just earnestly enough to make Theodore blush a little more.

"Forget it," Theo snapped, throwing his sandwich down onto his plate. "I don't care."

"Maybe I could have one of the house elves bleach it?" muttered Tracey, still preoccupied with her lousy gift.

"What?" muttered Astoria distractedly, catching Tracey's drift again and promptly inspecting her sweater's tag as a result. " _Don't_ , it's angora and you'll ruin it. Save it for our lunch with Ursula Flint in the spring. It'll be perfect. I bet you'll look like someone's boring housewife in it."

"You know what I _do_ resent, though?" continued Theodore darkly, presumably carrying on a conversation that he had started in his head. "The fact that every time _Malfoy_ is in a bad mood, he takes it out on _me_ because I'm your friend."

"How do you know he's in a bad mood?" insisted Astoria doubtfully, intentionally choosing not to inquire into Theodore's reasoning about why Draco was more likely to insult him because he friends with her. "Isn't he _always_ like this?"

"To second year Ravenclaws, maybe," Theodore sneered. "He doesn't harass his own house half as much unless he's already ruffled, otherwise we'd have mutinied on him years ago. He's been a moody tit all weekend."

"He has, hasn't he?" Tracey agreed. "It's probably Pansy's fault. She was nagging him about corsages in front of Blaise last night. It was kind of hilarious."

Not particularly wanting to hear about Draco and Pansy's coordinated ball outfits, Astoria endeavored to change the topic but was spared having to do so by Maudlin.

"Ria, we're going up to the North Tower to watch the snow!" he informed her, snagging a handful of pistachios out of a nearby bowl. "Come with us?"

Since agreeing to be his date to the ball, Maudlin had become decidedly easier to tolerate over the course of the past two days and he no longer harassed or attempted to cajole Astoria every time he saw her. Astoria, rather thankful for the newfound peace, was in no rush to reinitiate any kind of a spat with him.

"Alright," she agreed. "I'll catch up after I eat."

"There's a feast before the ball," said Maudlin dismissively. "Save yourself the room and come with us now, or you'll wind up stuffed later."

Astoria turned toward Tracey, passing along the invitation.

"I can't," said Tracey, shoving her sweater set deeper into its cardboard box and then crushing the whole thing flat. "Cassandra wants to see me. Something about last minute flower decorations."

The idea of Cassandra contriving a scenario that would allow her to meet with Tracey alone struck Astoria as faintly ominous, but Astoria was determined not to care about Cassandra's antics or allow herself to feel threatened by them.

"All right," Astoria sighed, "but tread lightly."

Alec was quick to lend Astoria his cloak when they met up on the steps to the tower (perhaps in order to intentionally expose the mint green blazer he was wearing underneath, complete with a stiff white pocket square) and together, along with Draco and Luc, they all climbed the narrow, spiraling staircase that lead to the tallest outcropping that overlooked the owlery.

"It's really coming down, isn't it?" remarked Luc, sounding a little put out by the steadily rising snow on the stone bannisters.

"You don't even know what _real_ snow looks like," remarked Alec unconcernedly, flicking a tuft of it in Astoria's direction.

"Your father's house is near Saint Petersburg, isn't it?" snapped Luc. "That's still a _city_. You weren't born on the floor of a yurt in Siberia. I don't know why you always make it sound like your entire life has been lived in _suffering_."

"Oh, the weather is the least of anyone's worries under my father's roof," said Alec smoothly, unperturbed by Luc's visible agitation. "The white nights of home would expose every quaking fear you've ever had and some you haven't even thought of yet."

Astoria had an idea that Alec was being intentionally sensational in order to provoke Luc, but to what extent, Astoria could never tell. There was always something of a dark shadow cast over any conversation that lead to Alec's speaking about his father, and if it weren't for his careless mannerisms and sense of sly amusement, Astoria had a feeling that his words would occasionally have the power to be quite frightening.

"What is that even supposed to mean?" Luc demanded, his well-disciplined French accent becoming more pronounced in his state of irritation.

" _Nothing_ ," sneered Draco, tired of Luc's whining. "He's trying to make _you_ act like an idiot. _Shut up_."

Alec chuckled heartily and leaned against the snow covered battlements.

Maudlin had brought along a thermos of spiced cider from the great hall, which Alec promptly spiked with a flask of what Astoria could only assume was fire-whiskey. "Cheers," he added, passing the drink along to Draco.

A gust of wind, smelling strongly ice and the far off pines of the forest played with Astoria's hair until the thermos came back around to her. The cider was still warm and the slight bite of the liquor did something to sooth her stomach against the decidedly high-strung energy of Maudlin's group of friends. It occurred to Astoria, as she stared off across the white washed grounds, that it had been a very long time since she had felt capable of controlling the direction of any conversation she had with Draco or Maudlin.

It suddenly seemed to Astoria that, despite the fact that everyone was neatly partnered off for the dance and getting along fairly civilly, there was a deeply rooted hostility hidden somewhere in the heart of this group dynamic waiting to break free, and she did not know when she had lost track of its brewing progress.

At some point, Astoria had either stopped trying or stopped caring, but the sense of repressed violence had not faded while her attentions had been elsewhere.

"Here," said Astoria, trying to pass the thermos to Draco, feeling a great desire to be soothing.

Draco briefly glanced at the drink in her hand and scoffed, a motion that Astoria realized a few seconds later must have meant 'no' because he continued to ignore her and her outstretched arm.

Feeling a little embarrassed, Astoria gave the drink to Alec and studied the side of Draco's face, realizing for the first time that he seemed to be funneling a good deal of his energy into _not_ looking at her.

"Is that bloke Yaxley coming the ball tonight?" wondered Luc half-heartedly, perhaps thinking of Cassandra's vested interest in Roland's potential attendance.

Alec groaned.

"Give it a rest, Luc," yawned Maudlin. "Cassandra's smitten. You know her well enough to know that there's no getting in her way now. She's on the war path."

"What a rubbish job we all did on our ball dates," mumbled Luc bitterly. "Alec's going _alone_."

"Speak for yourself," said Astoria lightly, still infected with the desire to be faintly placating. "I happen to think that I'm a very proper date."

Alec and Maudlin both spared Astoria an amused glance but Luc was undeterred.

"Well, you've known Maudlin since you were both babies. It's not as though he's got a shot of hooking up after the dance, does he? That rates as a poor date in my opinion."

"Try not to be so self-pitying, Millefeuille," commented Maudlin lazily. "Your company is trying enough as it is."

"Draco's got the best chance," continued Luc resentfully. "At least he's got a proper date. _He_ might get lucky at any rate."

Unbidden, Astoria's eyes strayed searchingly toward Draco's face. This idea had not yet occurred to her and she was surprised by how thoroughly the prospect irritated her.

Draco shrugged stonily and continued to stare off into the snowy wilderness, his eyes as cold as the wintery weather. "Yeah," he drawled almost stubbornly. "Maybe."

Astoria forced herself to ask for the thermos, determined not to do or say anything that might give away her startled instincts. _He's mad at you,_ Astoria realized, taking a long, slow sip of the cider. _You should have let him down easier when he suggested taking you to the ball. Now he'll probably grope Pansy to get back at you and you'll have to live with Pansy vividly re-living the experience with Flora and Cassandra for the rest of the year._

Astoria choked slightly on the cider and blamed it on the cinnamon stick at the bottom of the thermos.

0o0

There was nothing for it; Astoria was just going to have to be as pleasant as possible and hope that she might somehow win over the evening by dint of charm alone.

Astoria stood in front of the bathroom mirror at the top of Gryffindor tower, adjusting her earrings.

It had been a long time since Astoria had dressed so meticulously and her tense sense of insecurity privately showed in the way she had perfected every physical detail that could be managed. It was as though she was secretly hoping that by matching her underwear to her bra and making sure that every inch of skin from her elbows to her feet had been properly exfoliated, she might somehow make herself more impervious to imperfections of the _rest_ of the world.

Astoria had conducted her ball preparations with one rule in mind; no snickering would be inspired by her own physicality. Astoria had left no holes to be picked at, no reason to inspire any stray malicious comments. If Cassandra was going to gossip about her or spread any cruel rumors, Astoria was going to force her to do it while she was in true fighting form.

With this idea in mind, she had painted on her nail polish with an almost sociopathically steady hand and spent more than an hour correctly applying makeup to the contours of her cheekbones and eyelashes. In all truthfulness, Astoria knew that her face had a tendency toward loveliness as long as she was not over-tired or unwashed and as a result, she was often terribly lazy about the amount of work she put into preening over herself. She had sparred no stops tonight however, and the effect was one of almost intimidating elegance.

Her goal for the evening was to be as pleasing and congenial as possible, thereby preventing Cassandra from attacking her over her choice of a ball date, with the additional aim of potentially winning Draco back from the well of resentment that he was currently treading water in.

Astoria touched her lips to make sure that her light lipstick was sealed. Her fingers smelled like soap from so much scrubbing between eyeshadow and lotion applications. For a moment, she allowed herself to close her eyes and breathe in the clean, calming scent. Astoria groped for the sink with her other hand, pressing her palm against the cold porcelain.

There were a hundred things that could go wrong within the next several hours and Astoria was determined to thwart them all with nothing but her wits and her will to survive.

0o0

The Fat Lady was already roaringly drunk off of chocolate liqueurs with her friend Violet from one of the downstairs paintings when Astoria began her trip toward the entrance hall.

"Nice bum!" Violet called after her approvingly, hiccuping tipsily.

 _Yes_ , thought Astoria somewhat smugly, leaving Violet's commentary about properly fitting hosiery behind her. _It is._

The entrance hall was very busy when Astoria arrived. Tracey quickly spotted Astoria and waved enthusiastically from a tight-fitting position between Blaise and Pansy. Astoria approached them confidently, pointedly ignoring the way that Pansy was clutching Draco's arm in a vice-like grip, as though afraid he might float away if she released him. Immediately, Astoria felt a deep rooted desire to escape from Pansy's company; a desire that could not entirely be explained away by the fact that she was giggling girlishly at nothing and wafting an ornamental fan in front of her face like someone's great aunt at the opera.

"You look nice, Greengrass," commented Blaise, smirking at her.

"Thank you," said Astoria, generously accepting the compliment and ignoring the leering undertone of Blaise's gaze simultaneously. "The dress isn't new- I've worn it before, but I think it repurposes well."

This was actually true. It was the same floaty, lilac colored satin that Astoria had worn to meet the Yaxleys for drinks the summer before. With formal jewelry however, it adapted well as nightwear and mercifully did not lend her skin the same sickly paleness that the white dresses for the Sisters of the Eastern Star so often did.

"There's Cassandra!" said Pansy, snapping her paper fan shut and tearing her disapproving eyes off of Astoria. "She'd have done better wearing heels, wouldn't she? At least she's in navy. I _told_ her that would look better than black."

"The Rowle colors are navy and black?" commented Tracey, searching for harmless fodder in order to hold up the conversation.

"The _Burke_ family," said Pansy stiffly. "Her mother was a Burke. No proper girl wears her _father's_ colors to an event."

"Oh," said Tracey, straining to remember Astoria's brief lecture about this. "That's right."

"She's going to have a fit when she sees _you_ in purple, Astoria," said Pansy, looking as though she was counting down each second until impact with vindictive relish.

"Not to my face, she won't," said Astoria calmly, drawing herself up to her full, high-heel enhanced height while eyeing Cassandra in her prim flats and pearl necklace. "Maudlin will have to find her a step stool first."

Blaise imploded with surprised delight but Astoria, spotting Maudlin and Alec near the front doors, politely excused herself before Blaise could truly enjoy himself at Cassandra's expense.

 _Graceful, pleasing and unafraid,_ thought Astoria as she made her way towards the doors. _That is all you have to achieve tonight. Don't even think about Cassandra._

"Ria!" called Maudlin merrily, moving around Luc. "You look like a piece of cake!"

Astoria angled her head so that he could kiss her cheek, smiling radiantly.

"Yeah," agreed Luc, casting her a quick and disinterested look. "Very nice. Do you think there will be drinks in there? I have whiskey but I want to mix it."

"Why don't you ask Cassandra?" Astoria suggested primly. "I know she helped organize the refreshments. _She_ would certainly know."

"Forget that," sneered Luc. "I don't want my whiskey _confiscated_."

"There's a feast before the ball," said Alec wryly. "I don't suppose you'll be forced to swallow it with a dry mouth."

Pansy and Draco had detached themselves from Tracey and Blaise and were currently heading their way. Astoria did her best not to track their progress out of the corner of her eye, fearing that doing so might cause her to lose her nerve. Pansy had warn a frilly, pale pink dress with a black trim (a disingenuous nod to one of the Malfoy colors, in Astoria's opinion) but her hair, finally released from the tight pony tail that she normally wore it in, looked very nice.

For a strange, strangled second, Astoria felt a queer stab of sadness for Pansy, thinking of the way Draco would have thrown her over as ball date, if Astoria had let him and the strange, rather unmerited hostility that Astoria herself felt toward Pansy for procuring him in the first place.

"Draco," said Maudlin supportively, opting for a hand shake over an embrace.

At that moment, Fleur Delacour sauntered by in all of her icy blonde glory, heading to her rightful place at the front of the line as a school champion. The only male head that did not turn at least a fraction for a full twenty foot radius, Astoria noticed, was Alec's.

Parvati Patil slipped by next, leading Harry Potter by the arm as she adjusted her multitudinous bracelets. Parvati beamed at Astoria, who waved back, knowing it would annoy Draco but seeing no way to avoid doing so.

"Oh my _God_ ," gasped Pansy in horror.

Astoria knew at once what she was talking about. Ahead of them, standing just behind Cedric and Cho, was Viktor Krum with Hermione Granger beside him.

Smiling privately at Hermione's good fortune, Astoria forced herself to gaze at the floor.

The doors opened to admit them and Astoria was not alone in admiring the impressive decor. If Cassandra Rowle was responsible for even half of what had been done to transform the Great Hall into a wonderland, Astoria was very impressed indeed.

The walls had been coated with a layer of sparkling frost. Mistletoe and ivy crisscrossed the inky back ceiling, which reflected a clear winter night above them. The four house tables had been removed to make room for a hundred smaller ones, lit by lanterns and decorated with white flowers. In the corner of the room, between two giant ice sculptures that served as glittering bookends, was a vast icy bowl filled with drinks.

"I'll be back," said Luc, making an immediate beeline for the drinks. "Save me a seat."

Astoria allowed Maudlin to suggest seating arrangements when they reached their table without making a sarcastic comment. This was something that Maudlin always, without fail seemed to do and it annoyed Astoria to no end to watch him pretend that was the host of every event he had ever attended, but tonight, she held her peace. It was only when she was placed in a seat on Draco's left that she began to wish she had spoken out sooner.

"What are these?" demanded Pansy, taking her own seat on Draco's right. She plucked a menu up off of a pristine white tablecloth that screamed of Cassandra's decorating influence, and eyed it with hostile confusion.

"I think you order from your plate," said Maudlin mildly, looking slightly amused by the quirkiness of this notion.

"Is Krum _drunk_?" demanded Draco snidely, watching Hermione and Viktor Krum conversing over at the champions table.

"I _know_ , right?" gaped Pansy unkindly. "She probably dosed him with love potion. She's _not_ very pretty, but she's certainly bookish enough for that sort of thing."

"Krum's a silent scholar," remarked Alec impartially. "All he does is sulk, read and gaze broodingly toward the north. Maybe she appealed to him?"

Draco audibly scoffed but Luc had returned with several fizzing drinks and a few bottles of pumpkin juice. "Everyone take a measure of something," he commanded, covertly pulling a flask out of his pocket.

Astoria allowed him to top off her fizzing raspberry flavored drink, making a point to be careful about pacing herself, so long as maintaining her dignity remained a priority.

Draco continued to abuse Krum but Astoria's interest had moved on to Ludo Bagman, who was sitting at the head table and wearing a magnificently silly set of purple dress robes covered with bright yellow stars that reminded Astoria of something a magician on a muggle halloween sticker might wear.

Did _he_ know that Astoria and the twins had paid off his debt to Hodrod? Was he perhaps, even now, thinking of ways to approach her or was he ignorant of Astoria's meddling hand in his financial affairs?

"Your Head of Games and Sports is a delight," remarked Alec, following Astoria's gaze. "It looks like I could hire him to perform cunning tricks for me."

"From what I hear, he performs plenty of those for free," said Maudlin, his eyes sliding onto Astoria only briefly, but firmly. "Nobody seems to have anything good to say about him."

Astoria was reminded of the large sum of money that Maudlin had very likely paid in order to put Bagman in his position of current debt and she left off staring at the staff table at once.

"Look at Potter," chuckled Luc, his spirits wildly enhanced by his newfound ability to consume his whiskey in peace. "His date is actually rather nice looking."

Draco sneered disdainfully and returned the salt shaker in his hand to the table roughly, where it teetered and fell sideways.

Instinctually, Astoria quietly righted the shaker for him.

The food was very good but it was not what anyone had come for and when everyone had finished eating, Dumbledore stood up and asked that they all did the same. The small tables zoomed to the the side of the hall, the dancing flames of the many lantern centerpieces flickering slightly from the breeze.

A string quartet started up near the stage and the crowd began to push away from the center of the room to allow the champions space to start the dance.

"Ooh," said Pansy. "I have to find Cassandra. I'll be right back!"

Maudlin was busy trying to catch Alec's attention however, gesturing toward the doors, anxious to escape from the stuffiest portion of the evening into the freer illumination of softly glowing fairy lights in the rose gardens.

Seeing no reason that this should not be allowed, as the rose garden had clearly been decorated with the ball in mind, Astoria finished her raspberry whiskey fizz and followed Alec out into the chilly night.

Except that it was _not_ especially chilly. A labyrinth of ornamental walkways had been constructed, bordered by statuary and hardy roses, all laced with a layer of powdery soft snow. The sound of trickling water nearby made Astoria think that they must be standing very close to a fountain and she suspected that the same spell that seemed be keeping the temperature on the path so moderate must surely also be what was protecting the flowing water from ice. For a moment, Astoria was slightly in awe, but then Draco followed them out onto the steps and she remembered to close her mouth, fearing that Pansy might be lurking somewhere behind him.

"Hogwarts should always have guests," sneered Draco half-heartedly, clearly as pleasantly surprised as Astoria was by the number that had been done on the front lawn.

"Let's walk," said Luc, anxious to be as far away from the prying eyes of the teachers as possible.

The garden was a veritable maze of winding tunnels and pathways, all seemingly straight out of a painting featured in a book of fairy tales.

Talk soon turned to Christmas presents, as they meandered lazily through the warm snow. Aston Mendel had purchased a boat of some kind that Maudlin seemed very excited about, so when the conversation turned back onto Astoria, it was especially insulting to have to admit to her lack of bounty.

"What did your father get you, Astoria? He's quite stylish. I suppose you two have that in common."

"Nothing," Astoria admitted, toying with the roses. "He usually sends my gift closer to the new year, after he's had a chance to sober up and remember it's the middle of the holiday season."

Draco scoffed but Maudlin laughed. "I've always loved your father, you know. He's endlessly fun."

"That he is," Astoria conceded, carefully picking one of the pink blossoms to avoid picking her fingers. "Too much so, maybe."

"At least he's a laugh," Maudlin continued. "It's your aunt that I could live without. It's terribly hard to relax in her presence, isn't it?"

Astoria laughed. There was certainly a touch of truth to this that often went unspoken, and was rather refreshing to hear someone other than herself admit to how intimidating she could be.

"You're _afraid_ of Belladonna Lestrange?" drawled Draco who, never having really seen Astoria's aunt in a towering rage, seemed inclined to classify Maudlin's opinion as cowardly.

"To be fair, it's been a very long time since I've seen her," continued Maudlin unashamedly, "but yes, every memory I have of her is tinted with shades of terror."

"How long _has_ it been?" wondered Astoria, choking with amusement, raising her voice slightly over Draco and Alec's snickering.

" _Years_ , I should think," admitted Maudlin, struggling to recall.

"Does she live in a haunted manor atop a hill?" asked Alec slyly, enjoying the conversation immensely. "I suppose your view overlooks a misty moor?"

"No," sighed Astoria wistfully, eyes sparkling. "But the only pieces of furniture in her house are an antique fainting couch and a vase filled with half dead flowers."

"Ah," said Alec, his grin as a wide as a melon and positively pregnant with sarcasm. "Then she must know exactly where it's considered most appropriate to situate a bronze bust or a heavy urn?"

"On the most precarious shelf at the top of a long staircase, of course," Astoria answered primly, hardly able to keep a straight face.

"What are you two _on_ about?" demanded Luc, missing their gist entirely. "Hold on, I hear Cassandra."

Astoria continued laughing despite the approaching voices, but whether this was because of the whiskey or because occasions that allowed her to mock Belladonna so expertly were very rare, she did not know.

"I'm going to find her," said Luc, as incapable of avoiding Cassandra as Astoria was of liking her.

"You'll get lost," said Alec, who did not seem to be in the possession of any desire to hunt down Cassandra Rowle. "The gardens are thick."

"We'll meet up by the fountain," shrugged Luc, clearly unconcerned by the idea of being unable to reunite with the group.

Astoria watched him go, half suspecting that Draco would tag along after him in order to find Pansy, but he remained where he was, leaning against a statue of a tall reindeer.

"You should offer to dance with Emilie tonight," said Astoria thoughtfully, turning toward Maudlin. "You'll save me _so_ much grief from Cassandra, if you do."

"Alright," Maudlin shrugged, trying not to appear a little annoyed at the prospect. "I'd better do it _now,_ then, before I'm drunk and the music gets sappy."

"Stay here," said Alec calmly, starting off in the direction Maudlin's wake as well. "I'm going to collect the whiskey from Luc before Cassandra _takes_ it from him, the bloody fool."

It was an awkward moment. Astoria had been counting on Alec's presence as buffer but the rose bushes rattled to admit Alec onto the central walkway nonetheless, leaving Astoria alone with Draco and the sound of softly bouncing shrubbery.

"Well, _I_ still don't see what's particularly frightening about your aunt," drawled Draco smugly. "Mendel must scare easily."

Astoria smiled at the flower in her fingers, so thankful that Draco's mood seemed to have defrosted that she was perfectly willing to respond as pleasantly as possible as a result.

" _That_ is because you don't _know_ her," said Astoria, moving forward to tuck the rose in her hand into Draco's breast pocket, arranging it so that it peeked over the carefully pressed fabric. "Truthfully though, my aunt is an absolute menace. Maudlin's probably right to have avoided her for so many years."

"Because she murdered her _husbands_?" demanded Draco thoughtlessly, eyeing the flower furtively. "It's not as though she had her sights set on Maudlin when he was eight."

Astoria used her arms to hoist herself up onto a low stone wall behind her, sitting just below the flowering vine of a creeper rose that had climbed a stone column. Draco, for his part, seemed to have realized his carelessness because he pushed away from the statue he had been leaning on and backtracked slightly. " _If_ she murdered them," he amended.

"Of _course_ she did," Astoria scoffed, thinking that Draco had probably already heard many stories about her aunt's guilt before now, and that it was slightly foolish and rather Cassandra-like to attempt to deny the truth. After all, the Wizengamot had failed to convict her aunt of murder four times. What were the odds that Draco would be the one to finally prove her crimes?

Draco had ceased fidgeting and was watching her fixedly, privately entranced. "Yeah?" he asked at last, afraid of startling her out of her current state of willing vulnerability.

"Well," Astoria mused, "three of them, at least. Uncle Mordecai vanished on a country lane in his motorcar one weekend, so who knows? Maybe _he_ wised up and fled. I doubt it, though..."

" _Mordecai_ in his _motorcar_?" Draco repeated sneeringly, clearly believing that he was being played for a fool by some made up story. "Because _that's_ remotely likely."

"I'm _not_ kidding," Astoria insisted, trying very hard not to laugh at the ludicrousness of her own tale for fear of disrespecting the dead. "My aunt has a _very_ dark sense of humor."

"I suppose he _also_ had a _mustache,_ this uncle of yours?" Draco drawled, ducking under the creeping rose branches so that he might be able to see her better.

In truth, Astoria's uncle Mordecai _had_ been sporting a rather well-groomed mustache in the weeks preceding his death and had most certainly had one on the day that he had disappeared in his motorcar, but Astoria did not have the heart to confirm this.

"It's not _my_ fault the scene of his death was so alliterative," countered Astoria crossly, playing with the hanging rose that Draco had pushed aside, her lips quivering with a very inappropriate grin.

Draco scoffed, amused just the same.

"I suppose _your_ mother probably never lounges about on a fainting couch, plotting foul play?" Astoria continued curiously, knowing that this kind of teasing had a chance of backfiring and coming across as a way of insulting Draco's family; an act that always made him bristle.

"She's never tried to _murder_ my father, if that's what you mean," Draco sneered.

"That _you_ know of," Astoria laughed.

"My mother's not like that," said Draco stiffly, seeming to decide that Astoria was joking and refraining from taking offense in order to correct her instead. "Mother _always_ goes along with what my Father thinks is best. She wouldn't know what to do without him."

Astoria studied Draco's face, realizing that the respectful awe that he himself felt for his father probably played a prominent hand in convincing him that this was true. Astoria, for her part, had a hard time imagining anyone as socially careful and proud as Narcissa Malfoy giving up on life and dropping dead just because of Lucius's absence, no matter how much she _might_ like her husband.

Not wanting to admit to this opinion when she knew so little of Narcissa personally however, Astoria let the matter drop, sensing that all she would do by pressing the issue was accidentally force Draco into insulting his mother's sensibilities.

"What happened to Alec?" Astoria wondered.

"Probably waylaid by Cassandra," decided Draco, eyeing the path that Alec had taken. "You can play puppet master with Maudlin all you like, but you're not going to win her over. It really doesn't matter how many times you _make_ Maudlin dance with his girlfriend."

"I didn't _make_ him do anything," Astoria corrected, her knee brushing the side of Draco's leg as she fixed her skirt beneath her thighs.

"He _wouldn't_ have done it otherwise," Draco snapped, watching her face a little too intently.

"Maybe not," Astoria allowed, letting her knee continue to rest against Draco when she had finished adjusting her skirt, thinking queerly of Pansy back up at the castle.

Draco's eyes lingered on this point of contact in the dark, clearly unsure what to make of it. He opened his mouth to say something, thought the better of it, and then started again.

"Does he hit on you when no one's watching?"

Astoria's eyes lit on Draco's dimly visible face, feeling an odd spark of electricity dampen her skin as she wondered if this question had required Draco to summon his courage before asking it.

"No. Why would he?"

"Why does Cassandra have such a problem with you, then?" Draco demanded, uncertainty shaking his expression free of its usual arrogant rigidity. "She's always been controlling but she's _unnaturally_ stuck on you."

For somehow who had been unnaturally stuck in a cycle of resentment toward Harry Potter for his entire education thus far, Astoria thought this was a rather tall order. Rather than suggest that this was something of a family trait however, Astoria took a different tact.

"Who knows? Maybe she thinks I hit on him," Astoria suggested.

" _Do_ you?" sneered Draco, his irritation as obvious as his apprehension.

A lost fairy fluttered through the vines above them. Astoria watched it until it had bounced back out onto the path.

"No," Astoria answered flatly. "So you should tell your cousin to call off the hounds."

"It's not _my_ job to tell her what to do," Draco sneered. "Why don't _you_ try acting less interested in your old friend, Maudlin?"

"Well, you might want to say something to her soon," said Astoria cooly. "She'll drag you into things, if you don't."

" _Why_ would she do that?" Draco scoffed, clearly underestimating Cassandra's ability to meddle in the affairs of others.

"She's already tried, you know," said Astoria, feeling the beginnings of a rather dangerous plan beginning to assemble itself.

"What are you talking about?" asked Draco a little intolerantly, his eyes narrowing.

"You think she wouldn't _use_ you, just because you're her cousin?" Astoria asked. "That's what she _does_ , she uses people."

"What do you mean?" demanded Draco, not following.

"She told me just the other day that should would never make me a full member of the Sisters of the Eastern Star unless I agreed to make out with you and then tell Maudlin about it."

Astoria waited patiently as the trust-breaking bomb dropped. She had not originally meant to tell Draco about Cassandra's silly bit of hazing, but the darkness of the garden and the way Draco had just briefly spoken about his mother seemed to be urging her to do so. It wasn't Astoria's regular habit to trust Malfoy any further than she could throw him, but it suddenly seemed that this was an occasion where it might be wiser to break the rules. Astoria was certain that Cassandra had been counting Astoria's social fear to keep her silent and compliant. Surely, by mentioning the matter to Draco himself, Astoria might manage to bring him onto her side of the matter? Astoria herself might not have enough sway over Cassandra's life to pose much of a threat, but _Draco_ certainly did and if there was one thing that every Slytherin Astoria knew hated, it was being tricked into acting as a pawn in another person's manipulation.

"Why would she do that?" asked Draco sharply, having gone very still and slightly pink .

"She didn't want me to tell you about it, either, " Astoria continued, driving Cassandra's foolish betrayal home to the best of her ability. "I"m fairly certain that I was supposed to _trick_ you."

Draco's eyes flickered mutinously, torn between annoyance and some other, sharper fear that Astoria imagined had something to do with wondering _why_ Cassandra had picked him so particularly.

"Hundreds of paths," muttered Alec wearily, slipping back through the gap in the bushes. "I found them near the fountain."

Draco blinked, tearing his keen gaze away from Astoria's face. His own sense of self-preservation seemed to have frozen him in place as he contemplated this bit of news, perhaps trying to understand all of the many ways that it might become embarrassing for him.

"Are you two playing hide and seek?" asked Alec smoothly, uncapping Luc's flask.

Astoria hopped down off of the wall, meeting Draco's eye and holding it for a fraction of second before pushing aside the hanging vines.

More sound on the path nearby alerted Astoria to newcomers before she even had chance to differentiate their voices.

"Draco!" trilled Pansy shrilly, spotting them through the leaves first. "What are you _doing_ back here?" she demanded, all put pushing Astoria aside in order to reach him.

Pansy was accompanied by Cassandra, Tracey and Blaise. Tracey gave a great squeal of delight when she spotted Astoria before seizing her round the middle in a fierce hug.

"Trace," Astoria laughed indulgently, privately thinking that it looked as though Tracey had been drinking.

"The band is _so_ good!" said Tracey emphatically, releasing Astoria and stumbling back into Blaise, who caught her with cat-like precision. "Blaise took a bottle of brandy from the teacher's table- look! Show her Blaise!"

The only thing Astoria could see however, was the fact that Blaise seemed disarmingly pleased to be acting as Tracey's support beam, to such an obvious extent that Astoria made a silent promise to herself to keep an eye on the two of them throughout the evening, secretly fearing the potential for foul play.

"Do you want any?" asked Tracey, trying to hand her the bottle. "Cassandra says she won't drink any without a glass."

Cassandra made a low, annoyed sound under her breath, adjusting the way the cable of pearls she was wearing fell about her neck.

"I want it," muttered Draco, moving away from Pansy's clutching grasp.

Astoria became aware of another voice, this time unpleasant and highly familiar, on the other side of the wall of roses.

"Then flee-" the voice sneered. "I will make your excuses. I, however, am remaining at Hogwarts."

It was Snape and Astoria was suddenly painfully aware of the bottle of unconcealed brandy in their possession and Tracey's obvious level of intoxication.

Draco swallowed his mouthful and thrust the bottle at Blaise, clearly having heard Snape's voice as clearly as Astoria had.

" _Hide_ that," he commanded sneeringly, stepping as far away from Blaise as he could.

Snape and Igor Karkoroff strolled into sight. Snape had his wand drawn and his sharp, beetle dark eyes were scanning the bushes intently, searching for rule-breaking students.

"Back to the hall?" suggested Alec lazily, pocketing Luc's flask.

"Yeah," Astoria agreed, falling into step behind Tracey and Blaise because the path was not wide enough to admit more than two people side by side.

"You look nice tonight, Astoria," said Cassandra primly, after several minutes of walking together on the path.

"Thanks," Astoria returned carefully, plucking the hem of her dress away from the thorny garden wall, intentionally not returning the compliment.

"I don't know why you bothered to make such an effort, honestly, if you're only going to hide in the gardens all night," Cassandra continued, pushing a rose branch out of her way and letting it snap back against Astoria's hip rudely. "What a _waste_ of a good outfit."

Astoria gently unhooked her dress from the branch that Cassandra had sent catapulting into her, gritting her teeth.

"You were alone with Draco for quite a while," Cassandra remarked smirkingly. "One might wonder if you were up to something scandalous."

"We were talking about you, actually," said Astoria, replicating Cassandra's light, falsely pleasant tone in her annoyance.

"Didn't your aunt ever tell you that it's _rude_ to gossip?" Cassandra sneered.

"We weren't gossiping, actually" Astoria returned. "I was only telling him about our little conversation in the greenhouses this week."

A shadow crossed Cassandra's face.

"Anything discussed between Sisters is considered confidential," said Cassandra after a lengthy pause, a hint of something menacing now coloring her voice. "I _know_ you wouldn't tell him anything that I may have mentioned to you in confidence."

"Was that rule in the newsletter?" Astoria wondered idly. "I didn't read this month's edition."

"You _told_ him?" Cassandra scowled, dropping her vapid, chummy pretense at last.

"Was I _not_ supposed to?" asked Astoria slowly, eyes blazing.

They had both come to a stop in order to stare at each other. When Astoria made to catch up with the group again however, Cassandra thrust out an arm to stop her.

"Are you stupid, Greengrass?" she spat, squinting at Astoria as though she was the most useless human being she had ever had the misfortune of knowing.

"Not _especially_ ," remarked Astoria stoutly, moving away from Cassandra's hateful touch.

Cassandra bit her lip, searching for the best course of recovery, her face a swirl of contending emotions.

"Well," Cassandra sneered at last, "it's your loss, I suppose."

"Because now I'll be a junior member _forever_?" demanded Astoria mockingly, knowing that it was unwise to be so careless.

"Because now you'll _still_ do what I say, or else I'll tell the teachers you've been taking illegal bets on the tournament," said Cassandra triumphantly, absolutely unwilling to lose even one battle in her war for supremacy, even if it meant a rift with her cousin.

A trickle of fear shook out across Astoria's body like mist. "I don't know what you're talking about..."

"Like _hell_ , you don't," Cassandra laughed sharply. "You're the bottom of the food chain Greengrass, learn your _place_."

Astoria had not anticipated this and she did not like the position that it put her in at _all_. This was beyond social blackmail, this was potential expulsion. Anthony Goldstein had once tried to rat her out, but _he_ had gone to Professor Vector who greatly favored Astoria, and he had lacked Cassandra's dedicated malevolence. What if the teachers opened an inquiry into the matter and discovered her dealings with the goblins? That might mean something worse than expulsion... not to mentioned the fact that the twins would be dragged into it as well.

"You know what, _forget_ this!" Astoria scoffed. "You win. I resign. You can have the Eastern Star, for all I care."

"Oh, p _lease!_ " Cassandra scoffed, pulling a face. "Could you be any more pathetic?"

"What do you _want_ from me?" Astoria snapped, at her wits end. "This is idiotic."

"I want you to do what I _tell_ you to do, now matter _what_ it is," Cassandra hissed punishingly, clenching one of her fists. "I'll give you until the end of the night. After that, I'm writing you off. At least you'll have Maudlin to pay your legal bills."

Astoria ran her fingers through her hair irritably, momentarily forgetting the effort she had put into styling it.

"I'll play nice at meetings, if that's what you want," Astoria snapped, feeling very awkward and decidedly panicky, hating the way Cassandra had taken the upper hand so thoroughly and feeling as though it was her own fault for neglecting her original mission statement. "Will that do?"

"No. I like the original task better. It serves you right," Cassandra shrugged, her eyes sparkling coldly. " _You're_ the fresh fool who told him."

0o0

* * *

More than being the 'Yule Ball', this was sort of the 'introduction to the Yule Ball', wasn't it?

Sorry this post took so long guys, my end of the summer schedule has been packed with all kinds of crazy stuff. Things will get a little better moving toward the fall.

Random tidbits:

In case anyone is wondering how Cassandra is related to Draco, I've been assuming that she is Lucius's mother's sister's granddaughter. In point of fact, Draco's grandmother's great niece on his paternal side.

I also have a working list of color heraldry for most of the old families for anyone who likes that sort of thing:

Hundin (Alec): Blue and gold. I've long assumed that Alec is a is an alleged relative of Rasputin's. So, as a faint homage to the Romanov family, I went with some very faberge egg appropriate hues for him.

Malfoy: Black and silver. (J.K. Rowling has stated that they are actually black and green, so I'm breaking the rules on this one).

Mendel: Purple and gold. Partially for aesthetics, but also because purple is so associated with showy wealth and extravagance.

Lestrange: Black and crimson. (Black and gold, if you're a canon purist. That's what it says on the wiki, so J.K. must have stated it at some point).

Greengrass: Green and brown. Because of grass, y'all.

Trefle-Picques (Emilie): White and black.

Millefeuille (Luc): Canary yellow and chocolate brown. After the pastry he takes his name from.

I'll have the second half of the ball up as soon as possible. There might even be some dancing in that half! Reviews are always a rewarding treat!


	43. The Yule Ball Pt 2

Chapter Forty Three

The Yule Ball Pt. Two

* * *

0o0

The entrance hall was no longer empty when Astoria finally returned to the castle. Clusters of students now stood here and there in their seasonal finery; some leaning against suits of armor and laughing, still others sitting on the stone benches and holding court.

The sound of music trickling in from the Great Hall was an odd sound in here, echoey and unfamiliar. Astoria shivered slightly in her dress, keenly aware that it had been made for summer days, and tried to decide what to do with herself. Maudlin was still off with Emilie. Unhindered by Cassandra, the rest of the group had managed to move much more quickly up the garden path.

"Astoria!" called Theodore, saving her from continuing to stare about the hall aimlessly.

Theodore, wearing a slim-fitting grey suit, was sitting against a nearby wall. Millicent, dressed in all brown, appeared by a cruel trick of the light to be drawing style influence from a freshly unearthed boulder next to him.

"Hey," Astoria breathed, still agitated from her stroll with Cassandra. "What are you two doing?"

"Nothing," Theodore shrugged, brushing stray tobacco off his pants. "Avoiding the dancing, mostly. Want to come outside with me?"

"Not really," Astoria muttered, not wishing to return to the maze of rose bushes in which she had just been verbally attacked. "Have you seen the twins anywhere?"

"Yeah. They're stomping about in the middle of the dance floor like sailors on leave," remarked Theodore disinterestedly. "One of them gave Montague a black eye, you know."

"They were fighting?" asked Astoria quickly, surprised in the extreme.

"No," Theodore corrected, carefully tucking his rolled cigarette into his breast pocket. "Doing a jig of some kind. Montague didn't duck fast enough."

Astoria bit back a smile, all too capable of picturing what Fred and George's rowdy idea of a proper two-step might look like.

"Where have you been, anyway?" Theo wondered, eyeing the doors behind her, perhaps only just realizing that she had not come in from the ballroom.

"Outside," Astoria answered evasively, not particularly wanting to have to give a detailed account of her evening, as she had already managed to put herself into a slightly ridiculous state of affairs and Theodore was particularly prone to judgmental scorn. "I should find Maudlin."

"In the corner, near the drinks bowl," Theodore suggested. "That was the last place I saw him."

Astoria waited for Theodore to wander off into the garden before doubling back to the first floor bathroom, ignoring Millicent's accusing stare as she did so.

The wall sconces had all been lit in the washroom, their flickering amber glow against the backdrop of ceramic tiles creating an atmosphere of surprising warmth. A vase of ferns had been placed on the corner of one of the sinks in order to spruce up the space. Drawn to the greenery, Astoria tucked her hair behind her shoulder and bent close enough to bring her nose to the ferns, testing for scent.

The wooden door behind her rattled and slammed open, disturbing Astoria's moment of much needed serenity.

"Ria!" Tracey squealed enthusiastically. "What happened to you? We must have lost you in the garden!"

"I was talking to Cassandra," said Astoria, uncomfortably aware of the fact that Tracey had just used the nickname that Maudlin had given her as a child. Astoria righted herself, letting her hair fall back into its formally arranged symmetry.

"Oh?" quirked Tracey, eyes shining wickedly. "About what?"

"Nothing," Astoria answered stiffly.

Tracey quirked an eyebrow before continuing into one of the stalls. "Has she given you a task yet?" Tracey called out. "You know, the thing she wants you to do in order to 'prove yourself'?"

"No," Astoria lied smoothly, feeling her pulse quicken as she adjusted her garnet earbobs in the reflective surface of the mirror. "Has she given _you_ one?"

"Mhmm," Tracey admitted.

"What is it?" Astoria asked quickly, selfishly fearing that it might have something to do with herself.

"I'm not supposed to tell," said Tracey coyly, reemerging from her stall over the sound of the toilet flushing.

"So?" Astoria sneered. "Since when do you keep secrets with Cassandra?"

"Since never, but she specifically told me not to tell you," said Tracey, shooing Astoria aside tipsily so that she could access the faucet. "If you really want to know, I'm supposed to play spy and find out all that I can about Roland Yaxley."

Astoria snorted. "Well _that's_ nothing. Just tell her that he's a dull sports enthusiast and she'll know everything there is to be found out about him."

Tracey laughed, drying her hands on a carefully folded linen hand towel. "She's probably saving something _awful_ for you, if she hasn't given you a task yet," Tracey mused happily, pinching color into her already brandy-red cheeks. "I wonder why she was so adamant that I didn't tell you what she wanted from me? Do you think it's because Roland is your cousin?"

"Probably," Astoria agreed, privately thankful that she had never decided to explain the complicated Lestrange-Yaxley inheritance yarn to Tracey. "You should tell her that Roland only falls for women who are loud and impertinent," Astoria smirked. "Send her at him armed with the worst advice imaginable."

Tracey laughed. "You _know_ I would, but she'd probably see to it that I was banished to Durmstrang as punishment. Everyone knows that I only got into this sorority in the first place because you helped me. I'm already on thin ice."

"Nobody knows that except Cassandra," said Astoria bracingly. "You shouldn't think of it that way. Once you're a member, you're a member for life. There is nothing Cassandra can do to get rid of you."

Tracey met Astoria's gaze in the mirror and smiled mischievously. "Well, maybe _one_ white lie couldn't hurt."

The Weird Sisters were playing a slow song when they reentered the hall. Conscious of the fact that Ernie Macmillian was standing a few feet away and eyeing her boldly, Astoria made quick work of pulling Tracey along behind the dance floor, afraid that Ernie would stop her and ask for a dance if she dallied.

Theodore, possessing a quiet knack for observation that Astoria would never be equal to, had been quite right to suggest that Astoria begin her search near the refreshment table. Maudlin was standing next to a glistening silver tap that seemed to control the flow of dark purple fluid, and chatting animatedly with none other than Roland Yaxley himself.

Tracey pinched the inside of Astoria's arm at this provoking sight, snickering drunkenly.

Feeling that the time for artful subterfuge was not in the middle of a packed ballroom however, Astoria shot Tracey a quelling look.

"Astoria!" called Maudlin, spotting her and Tracey over Roland's shoulder. "I've been looking for you everywhere!"

Astoria and Tracey approached. Astoria was cautious as new mother stumbling upon a den of tiger cubs but Tracey was as loose as a wayward sail.

"Astoria," said Roland smoothly, his mild eyes registering something like faint surprise as they flicked between Astoria and Maudlin.

"Roland," Astoria answered, her tone equally as serene, beginning to resent Tracey for needing so much physical assistance. "Are you here with the ministry party?"

"I am," answered Roland lazily, "and what a sorry lot they've sent! I ate dinner between Ludo Bagman and one of Arthur Weasley's dozen sons. I think Barty calls him Wetherby."

"Percy," Astoria corrected, trying very hard not to smirk at this because she could _see_ Percy out of the corner of her eye, actively shaking hands with Viktor Krum rather pompously.

"Do you want to dance or should we find Alec first?" asked Maudlin, heedless of Tracey's inebriated amusement and uneven gait.

"Alec, I should think," said a high, clear voice behind Astoria, causing Tracey to swivel about and almost lose her footing. Cassandra smiled at Astoria cooly. "Davis looks as though she would be better off acquainted with a _chair_ somewhere, if you know what I mean."

Maudlin laughed lightly. Spotting Tracey's inappropriateness at last, he plucked up his drink from the bar behind him. "We have a table near the ice sculpture..." he trailed off, his head swiveling as he tried to spot Alec's shock of blonde hair.

"Actually, will you take her, Maudlin?" asked Astoria politely but firmly, stealing her will against Cassandra's icy gaze. "I was going to help myself to punch first."

"Oh," remarked Maudlin in surprise, suddenly obligated to take Tracey's arm because she had already launched herself at him. "Well, alright."

"Are two you here together?" asked Roland, gesturing between Astoria and Maudlin curiously. "I had no idea you knew each other. I suppose because of your mother, Astoria-"

"Yes," Astoria confirmed, speaking before Maudlin could seize the chance to make a comment about Astoria's childhood pigtails. "Although I'm afraid we've each worn a slightly different shade of purple, haven't we?"

Maudlin's eyes ghosted over Astoria's face, perhaps caught off guard by the idea that Astoria might willingly own up to being his date so thoroughly. The notion could not have entirely displeased him however, because he went on, "Nonsense, I've always thought you looked lovely in lilac. We'll be in the corner by the ice statue."

Astoria smiled at Maudlin radiantly, causing him to blink uncertainly several times before steadying the hand his drink was in and helping Tracey across the room.

Astoria turned her eyes back onto Roland and Cassandra, her smile still carefully set. Cassandra, either because of the way Astoria had just dispatched Maudlin like a servant or because of the fact that she had chosen to linger behind on purpose, was watching Astoria with sharp, hostile eyes.

"Do you miss Hogwarts, Roland?" asked Astoria conversationally, gently removing a punch glass from the artful tower they had been stacked into, resolving to move as though she was in no rush whatsoever.

"Not terribly," admitted Roland dryly, "and when I do, it's only for the quidditch."

"Oh, that's right," Astoria recalled smugly, "you're quite a sports enthusiast."

Behind Roland, Ludo Bagman was excusing himself from the staff table. For a quick moment, Astoria thought he might be looking at Roland, but then his eyes fell on Astoria and stuck there.

"Look at that, the ice bowl is all the way on the other side of the table," said Cassandra cooly, knowing that Astoria would have to leave them in order to reach it. "Poor Kitty, common sense seems to escape her. Perhaps next time, I'll have to ask for _your_ help decorating, Astoria."

Whether this was a threat or a shameless way of ingratiating herself with Roland, Astoria could not tell. What she did know what that Ludo Bagman was wading through the crowd toward them and Astoria did not want to have to converse with him next to Cassandra or Roland.

"That's alright, I don't need ice," said Astoria, dropping a lime into her punch for good measure. "If you'll excuse me."

Astoria nodded politely to Cassandra and to Roland, noticing as she did so that he was gazing in the direction of Maudlin's retreating back with just perceivable interest.

 _There,_ thought Astoria stubbornly, using the ice sculpture as a compass. _Boss me around all you like. See what good it will do you in the end._

Maudlin's table was very noisy, to the point that Astoria could tell, even from a distance, that they would all be better off outside where they would draw less notice. Blaise and Tracey were sharing a glass of the stolen Brandy underneath the table and Luc was attempting to tell a story about one of his great uncles, but he did not appear to be doing a very good job holding his audience. Astoria slipped in among them with a surge of almost pleasurable anxiety.

"How do you know Roland Yaxley?" asked Maudlin quizzically, the moment Astoria had sat down.

Across the table, Astoria felt Draco's attention switch from Luc to Maudlin, his body shifting slightly in his seat so that he could watch their exchange without having sit up straight and ruin his sprawling pretense of lazy nonchalance.

"He's a cousin, actually," Astoria answered swiftly, not wanting to discuss the matter in front of Pansy or Blaise.

"Is he?" remarked Maudlin. "On your mother's side or your father's?"

"My mother's," said Astoria evasively. "It's distant."

"Was he talking to Cassandra?" asked Pansy pertly, quickly catching on to the conversation just as Astoria had known she would.

"Yes," Astoria answered, actually preferring talk of Cassandra over an interrogation into her family blood line. "They're by the drinks table."

"Ooh!" Pansy giggled. "Come on, Flora. Let's get more punch so we can eavesdrop!"

Astoria watched them both go, cackling like hags together, not at all sorry to see them leave.

Astoria's eyes strayed toward Draco furtively, uncomfortably conscious of the fact that, at some point throughout the evening, she was going to have to devise a way to corner and kiss him without raising a fuss.

After all, Astoria might have a cousinship with Roland on her side- not to mention an old friendship with Maudlin- but Cassandra held the real trump card. It was one thing for Astoria to silently taunt Cassandra in front of Roland near the drinks bowl, but actually allowing her to run to Dumbledore with proof of Astoria's blackmail-worthy crimes was another matter entirely. It was a risk Astoria was not willing to take, especially when she thought of Fred and George, dancing up a storm and completely unaware of the present danger they were in because of Astoria's rude mouth.

Draco swept his thumb across the bridge of his nose and leaned back further in his chair, laughing snidely at something Alec had just said. Astoria watched him quietly, trying not to think about how very closely he resembled his father in formal wear. Draco said something in return that must have been very funny to anyone who was actually listening as well, because Tracey and Blaise both burst into peals of laughter. Almost instinctually, Draco's eyes darted toward Astoria to judge her reaction. Not wanting to be caught staring, Astoria quickly arranged her face into something resembling an amused smile

If Astoria's smile had actually been closer to a grimace, Draco did not seem to notice. His eyes returned to Alec, brightened by a sense of smugness.

Tracey was trying to sip from the glass of illicit Brandy while it was still in Blaise's hand and she slipped halfway out of her seat with a squeal.

"We should go back to the garden," said Maudlin, eyeing the teacher's table nervously. Several of the Hogwarts professors were trying to enjoy themselves by dancing or mingling but a sturdy few had remained seated, watching the sea of students hawkishly.

No one could argue against this so, without waiting for Pansy, Flora or Cassandra to return, they evacuated the hall as quietly as they could with Tracey (who seemed to have developed an extra set of feet) in their midst.

The tepid, wind-swept paths outside were something of a balm against the noisy, warmth of the dance floor. Astoria took several calming breaths of the snowy air, anxious to purge herself of Cassandra's menacing influence so that she could be at her most charming; dimly aware of the fact that the Yule Ball was supposed to be fun, and that she was not having any.

Blaise took over as navigator, winding his way through the collection of wild shrubbery and statuary with a sense of purpose. Moments later, they all came out of the thin gravel walk they had been traveling on into a wide circle of bushes. In the center of these bushes was the fountain that Astoria had heard earlier, its bubbling waters catching the illumination of the many fairy lights in a dazzling, otherworldly display of diamond-bright luminescence.

Lacking any sense of self-consciousness, Tracey promptly kicked off her shoes and tested the temperature of the water with her toes. Astoria went over to sit on the fountain beside her, trailing her fingers through the icy ebb and flow of the stream from one of the jets.

Blaise handed Tracey the glass of brandy from behind and went to talk with the boys. Astoria waited for the moment when he was no longer looking before gently taking the drink from Tracey, afraid that she might fall into the fountain if she drank any more.

"We should have gone to Monaco for Christmas," Maudlin was saying. "It's all your fault, Alec, for starting off on the wrong foot with Karkoroff. If had known that my father was going to buy the boat, I might have just left you here and taken anyone else who wanted to go..."

"Blaise told me he liked my Christmas card, " Tracey whispered loudly in Astoria's ear, giggling under her breath.

"Did he?" demanded Astoria, laughing heartily at this. Astoria took a small sip of the brandy that Blaise had left them; a subconscious attempt to join Tracey on whatever plane of delighted existence she seemed to be living in.

"Well, no," Tracey corrected, still sniggering. "He told me he was _amused_ by the Christmas card, but same difference, right?"

Astoria did not have the heart to answer this truthfully, so she splashed a handful of chilly water at Tracey's feet instead.

"Who goes boating in December, anyway?" countered Alec unapologetically. "We'll go in the spring."

Astoria found herself watching Draco again, fortified slightly by the brandy and the night air, which seemed much colder now that she had spent an hour sweating inside the Great Hall. Astoria was just going to have to catch Draco alone. _That_ seemed as though it would the most difficult part; separating him from the rest without making a scene.

Draco turned and caught Astoria staring at him for a second time out of the corner of his eye. Instead of jumping or grimacing, Astoria forced herself to smile at him softly, not wanting to stimulate Draco's already over-active tendency toward suspicion.

"Why else would he say the card was amusing, if he didn't like it?" wondered Tracey, mercifully giving Astoria something else to look at. "Do you think he kept it?"

"Probably," Astoria admitted, although for what purpose, she did not care to guess.

"That _has_ to be cold," drawled Draco, coming up behind them.

The fountain _was_ cold, but Astoria had left her fingers submerged in the water long enough to dull her senses against the deadening chill.

"Maybe we're just braver than _you_ are, Draco," sang Tracey, kicking her feet about in the ankle deep water joyfully.

"Or _maybe_ it's the brandy," commented Astoria, smirking slyly.

"What are we even _doing_ right now?" called out Tracey needfully, clearly wishing that it was Blaise who had come to join them instead of Draco. "We should play a game."

"Like what?" scoffed Draco, eyeing the water cautiously. "Marco-polo?"

"We're in a maze, aren't we?" chirped Tracey, eyes gleaming. "What about hide and seek?"

"You want to play a _kids_ game?" sneered Luc, finally seeming to realize that half of the group had defected toward running water.

"Luc can be 'it'," Tracey insisted, smirking wickedly.

"I'll play," volunteered Blaise swiftly. "What's the prize for winning?"

Maudlin, who was secretly very fond of competitions despite his dislike of exercise, began contemplating this idea at once.

"The winners get bragging rights," stated Astoria firmly, hating the idea of voluntarily putting herself at yet another person's mercy that evening.

There was a bit of grumbling about this but as nobody could think of a decent prize, Luc was soon forced toward the fountain and turned about so that he was staring in the direction of the castle.

"Count to one hundred," Tracey commanded him, seeming to take a perverse amount of pleasure in bossing Luc about. "No peeking, or else we'll dunk you in the fountain."

Maudlin laughed at Tracey's unexpected bit of abuse and positioned himself next to one of the many walkways leading off the circle of rose bushes that they were standing in.

Astoria finished half of the drink in her hand, looking about hurriedly for a place to put the still half-full glass down before she was obligated to run.

Seeing her distress, Draco plucked the drink from Astoria's hand, finished it off and then tossed the glass to Blaise, who was guilty of stealing the brandy in the first place. Blaise scowled, not wanting to be responsible for the punch cup either, but there was no time for him to complain.

"One- Two- Three-" began Luc, sounding very harassed, clearly embarrassed by the prospect of being caught alone, counting out loud to himself in the garden once the rest of them had slipped away.

Quick as lightning, Tracey yanked Astoria down one of the narrow paths, giggling as they dodged past a statue of a frog wearing a crown. Astoria had privately been hoping to mark which path Draco took, feeling as though this was probably the best chance she would be given all night to catch him on his own, but Tracey had been too quick for her.

Thankfully, Astoria's shoes did not allow her to run as fast as Tracey could and when they reached a fork in the trail, Tracey went right and Astoria decided to go left.

After a swift race down another long walkway, Astoria slowed to a trot, conscious of how noisy she must be jogging along on the pea stone. The light snow that had been falling all night was becoming steadily wetter. Large flakes now clung to her hair and dampened her warm cheeks. Astoria pressed onward, taking stock of her situation as calmly as she knew how.

If she managed to find Draco, she would do the best she could to reason with him. If Astoria _couldn't_ find him, there was nothing more she could do and she would simply have to try to reason with Cassandra again.

Perhaps Ragnuk was not above kidnap, if Astoria told him that Cassandra was planning on doing something that might draw attention toward his goblin clan? Wasn't it very possible that this was the sort of thing goblins might do?

Astoria shook her head, startled and a little sickened by the dark train of her own thoughts. Cassandra was still a human being _,_ after all _._ Despite how loathsome Cassandra was, Astoria was _not_ willing to sic a pack of goblins on an her, no matter how richly deserved a punishment it might be.

Stunned by the apparent black swirl of her subconscious and not paying proper attention to the path, Astoria turned the corner and ran headlong into something very solid.

Draco staggered, turning about to look at her in surprise, his face glowing faintly in the dark like a sign from above.

Astoria blinked, realizing for the first time that she must have moved a fair distance away from the castle, because there were hardly any fairy-lights here. The shadowy darkness of the hedges made something of an ideal hiding spot without having to duck behind or under any of the statues, but it was also slightly creepy.

"Astoria?" asked Draco, squinting at her features, which were decidedly less blonde and visible than his own.

"Yeah," Astoria returned in order to identify herself, half wishing that she had not run into him after all.

The sound of feet on the other side of the bushes made both of them pause. Astoria ducked closer to a stone column, shaking snow out of her her hair. A frozen mist was rolling in and Astoria could no longer make out the lights of the distant castle.

"How big is this garden?" Astoria wondered quietly, peering through the leaves of the nearest rose hedge. It was nearly eight feet tall and certainly more closely resembled a maze wall than a marker in a cheerful walking garden. Astoria was just barely able to see the path behind it. _Deserted._ Whoever had just sprinted by had kept moving.

"Big enough for you to get lost in with Cassandra earlier," sneered Draco accusingly. "I suppose you told her everything that you told me?"

Astoria tore her eyes away from the towering hedges, wondering idly if one of the forthcoming Triwizard Tasks would involve a maze of some kind, because it almost seemed as though someone had used the edges of the fairy garden for practice.

"I told her," Astoria admitted, slightly thankful that Draco had brought Cassandra up, as it seemed to lead things in a direction that suited her. "Why wouldn't I?"

"I could have done something, if you had just _waited_ , you know," snapped Draco resentfully, breaking the agitated silence. "If I say anything _now_ , she'll think I teamed up with you on purpose. Don't come crying to _me_ for help tomorrow. You're on your own."

Astoria tried not to contemplate this because the idea of ruining such a simple fix was frustrating beyond measure.

"I'm going to need you to kiss me, Draco," said Astoria, trying very hard not to smirk. Something about Draco's agitation seemed to make the scenario seem almost humorously foolish and Astoria was much more comfortable channeling her awkwardness into amusement than embarrassment.

"Yeah? You think so?" sneered Draco nastily, his features un-readable in the poorly lit darkness. "So you can run around telling people how pathetic I am for letting you talk me into touching you for my _cousin's_ benefit? _That's_ likely."

"I'll tell her that I tricked you, if you want," said Astoria pertly, the same stupid grin refusing to fall off her face.

"Because _that's_ so much better?" spat Draco, pride-hurt and visibly agitated in the light of a single, lingering fairy.

"You can tell her that I begged, if that suits you better," Astoria tried quietly, edging closer.

Draco's agitation seemed to triple. Astoria caught the cuff of his sleeve, not willing to risk letting him slip away.

"Is this _funny_ to you?" he snapped at last, his tone raw with repressed confusion and shame.

Astoria paused, chilled by the tone of his voice, realizing at last that it was not Cassandra's influence that was causing Draco distress. It was the possibility that _Astoria_ might use his vulnerability against him later on to make fun of him that was grating on Draco, and this was the notion she would have to put to rest.

Astoria held her breath, letting her eyes flutter closed for an instant. Dimly, Astoria realized that the only way to get what she wanted without abusing Draco was to give up any pretense of playing a game. A strange alchemy was taking place; part of Astoria was urging her body to become soft and lovely, while a powerful sense of misapprehension was screaming its warning into Astoria's suddenly still limbs.

"What's so awful about Cassandra thinking you've teamed up with me on purpose, anyway?" asked Astoria quietly.

"Are you kidding?" scoffed Draco nasally, going rather still himself.

"You told me yourself that you only see her once or twice a year," Astoria reminded him, her hand moving irresistibly from his sleeve to the front of his shirt, no longer smirking or repressing laughter. "Maybe my team is better."

This was something Astoria had always been very careful about; the insinuation that there was any kind of unspoken loyalty between Draco and herself. The way that Astoria had selected Tracey for a friend in third year, had written to Ursula Flint instead of Narcissa Malfoy for a recommendation letter, had gone out of her way to avoid verbally abusing Professor Moody _and_ refused Draco's offer to take her to the Yule Ball all served a common purpose. Astoria had literally spent years skirting around any action that might result in having to truly rely on him for anything, because she knew full well that he stood firmly behind just about everything that caused Astoria distress in the world.

Draco was an unkind teenager, who would doubtlessly grow into an even less kind man, Astoria reminded herself. He had the same views on life that had seen Astoria's mother imprisoned and torn her formative years apart.

There was a _reason_ that they weren't really on the same team, Astoria reflected further, and she didn't know what she was doing by even loosely insinuating that they _should_ be. It was a bit like playing with gunpowder next to a fireplace. For a teetering second, Astoria couldn't quite bring herself to look at him, trying to think of a way to express what she wanted to say _without_ saying something that she didn't mean.

" _Draco,_ just _-_ " Astoria breathed out exasperatedly, losing track of what she was saying because the act of saying his name so close to his ear had caused a strange, shivering warmth to spread across her cheeks.

Draco had fully frozen now, his head slightly bowed, and his gaze drawn inward. At a loss, Astoria turned and pressed her lips against the nearest part of his face, somewhere between the corner of his mouth and his nose.

The effect was immediate and almost stupefying. It was as though somebody had seized Astoria's insides with an invisible fist. Draco made a weird sound in the back of his throat. A snowflake melted from her hair and landed on her arm with a cold plop, but Astoria hardly noticed because Draco had twitched his mouth toward her instinctually.

Everything about the warm neediness of his face was startling, even if she _had_ asked for it. She could feel Draco reaching for the rest of her with a kind of fumbling desperation, unable to gain a solid purchase on the space that Astoria occupied in the world.

Then, suddenly, what had been overzealous and frantic seemed to smooth itself slightly. Astoria tilted her head back, willingly embracing the invasion. One of Draco's hands slid into the hollow between her arm and waist, trying to pull her away from the creeping rose vines. Astoria leaned into him, choosing not to rationally focus on the fact the Draco's tongue was in her mouth, because everything about the way she was angling her body seemed to be permitting it and she was not sure what to do with that information anyway.

After a long moment, Draco's choppy breathing against her hair slowly became a thing of fascination. If the way he smelled was making Astoria push back against him on sloppy tiptoes, he did not seem to mind in the slightest or feel any inclination to make her stop.

Paralyzed with giddy anxiety, Astoria was suddenly no longer sure whether she was more inclined to jerk away from Draco or climb him like a totem pole. Next moment, it didn't matter, because Astoria had lost her footing on the slant beside the path. She stumbled about a foot toward the stone column, taking Draco with her down one lurching step, still clutching at his shirt.

Draco blinked at Astoria in astonishment, perhaps a little ashamed by the wetly enthusiastic way he had just attacked her face, so much so that he did not even seem to be gratified by the accomplishment.

Astoria's head remained fuzzy. The silk of her dress, a thin as butterfly wings, seemed to be sucking up all of the cold in the space between their bodies again like a sponge. Astoria's skin prickled with the chill, leaving her feeling curiously raw. It was as though Astoria had been inches away from the brink of some greater self-understanding, only to end up yanked away again at the last second. Astoria could not help but feel unfinished and a little robbed.

Somehow, touching Draco seemed to take the many sensations that Astoria attributed to him and pin them together into something more understandable, like pages in a book and she was suddenly afraid to let him get away. Astoria highly doubted that she would ever be dared to kiss him again, after all, she was quite unwilling to begin making out with him recreationally, outside the black and white confines of a challenge.

Before Draco could sneer, or say anything to save face, Astoria leaned in and kissed his astonished mouth a second time. Cassandra's task had already been met, making whatever Astoria was trying to do a little unexplainable, but Astoria had not quite found what was that she was searching for and she was determined not to let her own embarrassment thwart her.

Perhaps, because he no longer entirely understood her purpose, Draco's breathing hitched and he seemed oddly hesitant to grab hold of her. Astoria shimmied in along the length of his arm until it seemed obvious that hers would have to go around his neck. She didn't have to pull on him because he seemed to be magnetically attached to her already, his movements becoming very heavy and stupid, much less mechanical and somehow softer for it.

Astoria's back bumped against the stone column behind her before they both flattened against it. Twice, because Astoria' shoes were wobbly in the grass, Draco missed her mouth between short gasps of air and kissed her face instead. Amazed by her lack of disgust, Astoria gave up trying stand evenly and let Draco push her against the wall instead.

Somewhere in the maze, Blaise Zabini was probably creeping about between rose bushes. Tracey was peeking over a statue and laughing to herself in Astoria's imagination, while Alec had wandered to the the edge of the garden with that zippo of his, flicking it open and then shut again.

At the same moment Draco's fingers found her hair, Astoria heard voices again on the other side of the hedge. Astoria's yelp was lost against Draco's mouth. Her own hands had been inside Draco's suit jacket but she quickly used them to shove away from him, as startled by the longing way that Draco had just tried to touch her face as she was by the approaching voices.

"It's dark back here," said Maudlin. The accompanying sound of someone else tripping on the path followed by Tracey's laughter cut through the silence, and Astoria understood that she was the one who was stumbling.

"Where did all the fairies go?" Tracey asked.

"Look how tall the hedges are," drawled Blaise. "They can't fly that high."

The light of a flickering lumos charm came around the corner. Astoria had moved far enough away from Draco to disguise her guilt, but she did not dare look at his face.

"Oh!" said Maudlin, spotting Astoria in the dark with a look of satisfaction. "Good! It's Astoria and Draco. What the hell happened to Alec?"

"Don't know," drawled Draco cooly. "We haven't seen anybody else."

Astoria relaxed slightly, relived that Draco's tone wasn't flustered or suspicious.

"Did Luc find you?" asked Astoria, a little surprised that all three of them were walking about together with their wands lit.

"No," scoffed Maudlin. "The garden is huge. He probably gave up in order to drink and prowl after Cassandra and Yaxley in the Great Hall."

Tracey was clutching Blaise's arm happily but Blaise's eyes were on Astoria, observant in a way that Maudlin was not. Blaise had walked in on Astoria and Draco alone in a dark place more than once before and she could tell that the fact the he had done so yet again was not lost on him.

"Alright, Blaise?" snapped Draco warningly, noticing the way that he and Astoria seemed to be maintaining eye contact.

"Yeah," Blaise shrugged, his shoulders raising fluidly like the corners of his lips. "Why wouldn't I be?"

0o0

The Great Hall was louder than it had been when they had left. Alec had found a couple of Durmstrang girls in blood-red dresses to dance with with that Astoria at first took for twins. Both girls were dancing shyly, glancing at each other nervously but Alec seemed to take his rhythmic buoyancy from the same school of thought as Fred and George and the picture that they painted together was so hilarious that Astoria could not even be mad at Alec for abandoning the garden unannounced.

Luc was still nowhere to be seen. Astoria to wondered briefly if he might not have simply tripped over a statue of a woodland squirrel and was perhaps currently lying alone in the fairy-lit darkness, cursing all of their names. It was a mark of how little anyone seemed to care about Luc that nobody suggested looking for him.

Pansy, Cassandra and Flora were all sitting at a nearby table, their heads very close together, whispering animatedly. Flora looked up and nudged Pansy in the side, pointing toward Draco in the doorway. Flooded with awkwardness at the idea of having to stand next to Draco and Pansy at the same time, Astoria's eyes spun across the room, searching desperately for a distraction before they lit on Theodore in a far corner.

"Where are you going?" asked Maudlin curiously, a smirk breaking out across his handsome features as he took in Alec's dancing partners. "Look at Alec, the fool!"

"I'll be back," Astoria assured him, trying to ignore the way Draco's head had turned intently when she had moved to slip away as well, wanting to be as far away from him as possible before Pansy swept in.

Astoria slid around a cluster of boys, who were attempting to form a mosh pit, and quickly lost herself in the crowd. Not far away, Emilie and Daphne were dancing together, giggling in an earnest, whole-hearted way that nearly broke Astoria's heart. How long had it been since she had been able to interact with her sister so easily?

Theodore was slouching near one of Cassandra's cascading lily arrangements. Astoria started in that direction but she was intercepted by a beaming Ludo Bagman.

"Miss Greengrass, is it?" he asked jovially, his round face lit up with boyish delight.

"I'm sorry," said Astoria boldly, afraid of what Bagman might or might not think was appropriate to say in such a public place, very aware of the fact that Astoria could not be certain who was listening. "Have we met?"

"No," said Ludo, wagging a finger at her, "but I believe that we _may_ have friends in common."

"Is that so," asked Astoria cooly, hoping that Bagman would be smart enough to do no more than elude to his spot of trouble with the goblins.

"Oh, yes," chuckled Ludo, taking a handkerchief out of his magnificent purple robes to dab at his splotchy red cheeks. "It's as I say, it occasionally pays to have friends in _low_ places, doesn't it?"

Bagman chuckled at his own joke and Astoria could only assume that he had been making a crack about the trifling height of the average goblin.

"I suppose," said Astoria slowly, trying to guess what Bagman might want so that she could address the matter without him having to say something obvious or foolish.

"Listen now," said Bagman, taking her by the arm with a surprisingly ungentle swiftness. "I didn't become the Head of the Department for International Games and Sports just because I used to play a spot of quidditch-" Ludo broke off to chortle again. "I've got my fair share of hobbies and far be it from me to try to persuade anyone to give up anything that they think is _fun_ -"

Astoria had move uncomfortably close to Bagman in order to avoid being stepped on by Anthony Goldstein and Katherine Macdougal.

"Of course not," said Astoria sharply, wanting badly for Bagman to release her arm.

"-but there is a difference between fun and abuse, isn't there?" asked Bagman, the smile slipping down his round face until he was gazing at her almost nervously. "Men like me, we have to be careful about that sort of thing. Sometimes people want things that we can't give them..."

He knew that Astoria had paid off his debt to Hodrod, this much was clear, and if his nervousness was anything to go on, Astoria imagined he was probably trying to figure out what Astoria wanted in return for that favor.

It was a peculiar moment made even stranger by the vast gap between their ages. After all, Astoria was a student and Bagman was a Ministry official. That he should owe Astoria such a large sum of money because of an illegal scheme was so very odd that it bordered on preposterous.

Astoria was not the type of person who could easily take pleasure in another person's fear however, no matter how much of a bizarre stroke to her ego the situation almost was. Astoria had spent much of her of own year in a state of active fear, and she could not help but be slightly sympathetic to Bagman's plight.

"I think I know what friends you're talking about," said Astoria widely, pointedly removing her arm from Bagman's grasp. "I can't say that I'm overly fond of them."

"I see," said Bagman slowly, his chin quivering slightly.

"They're not very nice-" Astoria wavered, because she had been about to say 'people' and had realized at the last moment that the goblins were not even that. "I don't like being menaced," Astoria started again. "Perhaps _we_ can be friends without them? Are you menacing, Mr. Bagman?"

"Why, no..." said Bagman, catching her meaning and brightening considerably. "Of course not! I quite agree with you. Blasted thing when fun stops being enjoyable, isn't it?"

"And you wouldn't want to get anyone into trouble even if you could, would you?" Astoria prompted. _If the goblins or someone like Cassandra bring my name up in front of the Ministry, you'll be in charge of the inquiries,_ Astoria continued with her eyes. _Remember that I helped you._

"Oh, never!" exclaimed Bagman lightly. "There's enough trouble in the world as it is!"

Astoria beamed at him. _There's a good chap._

"If you don't mind," Astoria started, catching sight of Theodore again, intending to use him as an excuse to escape.

"It might interest you to know something," began Bagman swiftly, not quite done with her yet. "Professor Dumbledore's friend, Igor Karkoroff? He has similar hobbies."

Astoria frowned, unsure why Bagman would tell her this, feeling no more inclination to strike up dealings of any kind with Karkoroff than she had before.

"I've gotten into a spot of bother with him quite similar to what, well, you know- what happened with the _other_ ones," Bagman waved his hand, his ability to talk in thinly veiled code nearly exasperated.

Astoria's frown deepened. Was Bagman suggesting that he was in debt to Igor Karkoroff as well, and that he was secretly hoping that Astoria might help bail him out a second time?

"I don't know what you mean," said Astoria carefully, her tone much less friendly.

"He's a dangerous fellow," said Bagman, eyeing her very steadily, almost as though he was trying to decide upon whether or not to tell her something. "Not a man to cross. I'm very sorry that I ever trusted him."

"That's too bad," said Astoria slowly, sincerely hoping that Bagman would not try to hold her hostage in order to present a pitiful case for himself that Astoria would have no choice but to largely ignore.

"Yes, it is," Bagman lamented, watching her closely. "Of course, it may turn out that I've been very silly to let such things worry me. He'll be leaving soon, I'd wager."

Astoria could hardly see how Igor Karkoroff's return to his post at Durmstrang would stop him from trying to collect Bagman's money, but it didn't seem to be Astoria's place to say so.

"Yes, I suppose he will," said Astoria vaguely.

"I hear he's been having a spot of trouble with his _left_ arm," continued Bagman, his tone suddenly strange and oddly intentional, each word carefully enunciated. "A _nasty_ spot of trouble, at that. Or so _some_ people have been saying. I myself have never had any trouble with either arm, so I'm sure that I can hardly sympathize."

Astoria stopped peering through the crowd toward Theodore and focused all of her undivided attention on Bagman's face. _Surely_ they were speaking about arthritis...?

"Ah, it's Mr. Crouch's Wetherby!" declared Bagman happily, slinging an arm around Percy Weasley's shoulders. "And how is the old man? I haven't seen him around the office..."

"As I have been _continually_ telling the press, Mr. Crouch is simply suffering from a bout of the flu," said Percy tightly, trying to straighten out his tie, which was now crooked from the force of Bagman's wild embrace. "You would _know_ that, Ludo, if you bothered to check in more. I suppose you still haven't sent out a search party for poor Bertha Jorkins? Surely that would be a more productive way to focus official attention?"

Astoria slipped away, deeply chilled by the conversation she had just had. _A spot of trouble with his left arm..._ Bagman had made such a point of specifying the left arm...

Astoria's mother might have been imprisoned when she was very young, but that had not stopped Astoria from learning the most intimate basics of Death Eater lore at a very early age. Astoria knew that the left forearm was the place that a Death Eaters could be given away by his Dark Mark if he did not hide it with care. Belladonna had told her as much when she was still in swaddling clothes. _A nasty spot..._ Astoria did not like this one bit. _Mr. Crouch is simply suffering from a bout of the flu. I suppose you still haven't sent out a search party for poor Bertha Jorkins?_

Meanwhile, on a loch in Scotland, Harry Potter's name had come out of the Goblet of Fire...

Strange doings, indeed. Connected together in one conversation, Astoria could feel a veil of dread beginning to settle over her insides like a mourning shroud.

 _Forewarned is forearmed,_ Astoria told herself, shaking her head in an attempt to clear her suddenly heavy soul of this new and troublesome weight. _You're a student at school. It's no matter to you._

Except that it _was_. Astoria thought of her mother, slowly loosing her mind in Azkaban and the room seemed to shrink.

"You alright?" asked Theodore, a tiny crease forming between his brows as he took in the look on Astoria's face.

"Yeah," said Astoria quickly, fighting to become present again.

"What did Bagman want with you," Theodore wondered suspiciously, relieved when Astoria seemed to snap-to. "He kept you over there for a long time."

"Nothing," Astoria laughed. "He's just chatty, I think. His poor assistant deserves a raise."

Theodore snorted.

"Astoria!" called Maudlin, catching up, thankfully not a minute sooner than Astoria was comfortable with. "Come dance with me."

Astoria turned to Theodore, hoping he might tag along as well, but just the idea of the dance floor seemed to fill him with primordial dread.

Maudlin was a decent dancer; not half as wild as Alec or as clinging as Tracey. Astoria was very pleased to have something to do that didn't require her to have to talk to anybody. She stayed with Maudlin for the next hour, occasionally allowing Alec to sweep in to shake things up, marveling at his ability to appear graceful even when his body was given over to a series of rhythmic fist pumps.

Draco had disappeared into the gardens again with Crabbe and Goyle long before the Weird Sisters struck up their last song at midnight. Suspecting that they were up to some fresh mischief (and thinking of the last conversation she and Tracey had accidentally overheard them having about Rita Skeeter) Astoria wisely decided to stay out of it.

By the time the last chord had been played, Cassandra was nowhere to be seen either, lost in conversation somewhere with Roland Yaxley.

Astoria brought her hands together, joining in with the rest to applaud the band, thinking longingly of her bed. People were making their way into the entrance hall now, although some were complaining loudly about the fact that the Ball could not carry on.

"Really, though!" said Maudlin quizzically, shaking his head. "Has _anyone_ seen Luc?"

"Maybe he went to bed," suggested Alec, taking his lighter out of his pocket in preparation for the walk down to the Durmstrang ship.

"Knowing our luck, he probably fell into the lake and _died_ ," declared Maudlin, sounding curiously unfazed. "We should probably look for him on the way out."

Astoria bid them both good night, as anxious to return to her dormitory as she had ever been in her life.

The entrance hall was so full of lingering people that Astoria had trouble moving through the crowd toward the marble staircase.

Cassandra was standing in the light of the castle doorway, saying goodbye to Roland. Astoria paused to watch, mesmerized by the way the light from the hall seemed to catch upon her face, lighting up her soft, hopeful expression in a way that seemed to entirely transform her.

At that moment, Cassandra saw past Roland and caught Astoria staring at her. The moment of flawed hopefulness was gone. Cassandra twitched to the side, cocked a cruel eyebrow in her direction, and was suddenly the girl that Astoria knew again.

 _So?_ she seemed to demand.

Astoria nodded once to confirm that Cassandra's task had been met and then turned away, entirely able to properly hate her again.

Across the room, Pansy and Flora were heading in the direction of the dungeons together, a sight that struck Astoria has slightly foreboding. Whatever it was that Draco was doing in the garden with Crabbe and Goyle was him taking so long that he had not even managed to leave the ball with his date.

 _She'll forgive him,_ thought Astoria stiffly, trying to feel as impartial about this as she could, certain that Pansy would forgive Draco any slight. _She wouldn't forgive you for kissing her ball date, though,_ thought Astoria tersely, praying that Cassandra was too self-preserving to tattle.

Astoria cut in front of Ernie Macmillian and Susan Bones, ascending the stairs as fast as she could without looking ridiculous.

0o0

* * *

Ah ha ha. Awkward first kisses. This story is starting to make me feel like a bit of a sadist.

Seriously though, I was sort of one the fence about this one. A part of me kind of wanted Astoria and Draco's first real moment to be more genuine but I think, considering their age (I feel like about a third of the population probably owes their first kiss to a dare of some kind in their formative years) this sort of scenario seemed totally plausible. If anyone does feel a little let down, I'm sorry and I promise to deliver something less 'dare-induced' the next time a similar moment rolls around!

In other news, I think I felt the first rumblings of war in this chapter and I got a little nostalgic. I'm often in a rush to try to age everybody up, but Voldemort is going to happen, guys. He's going to roll in here with a bang.

As always, reviews are an actual joy and always greatly appreciated! I seem to be on something of a weekly posting schedule right now but things might start to speed up soon. I'm moving in about a week and I think my schedule stands a chance of clearing up quite a bit!


	44. Fever Haze

Chapter Forty Four

Fever Haze

* * *

0o0

Astoria slept in on boxing day, laying flat on her stomach with the bed hangings slightly open, too lazy to roll over and fix them. The wet snow of the night before had melted into cruel sheets of winter rain and the sound of icy water thundering down against the window panes and tower turrets acted as a sedative until the early afternoon.

Someone had kept the fireplace in the common room well-stoked all morning and at last, rising up the stairs to the circular girls dormitory like a dense fog, the suffocating heat became unbearable.

The first thing Astoria did was crack the window in the ladies bathroom before washing the makeup off her face by the sinks. The rainy chill from the grounds invaded the room, causing her to shiver as she tried to wake herself up. A slight pressure in her sinuses warned Astoria that she had either slept too long or was developing a cold. The skin beneath her eyes was dark; not with runny mascara, but with the promise of a flu-like illness.

Feeling very dull and groggy, Astoria lingered for half of an hour in the showers, trying to allow the steam to loosen the heaviness in her face. By the time her fingers and toes had begun to prune from the spray, Hermione Granger had come in to comb the straightening-potion out of her hair and left again, closing the bathroom window behind her. With a resilient stuffiness between her ears, Astoria padded back to her trunk to dress, hoping that food might set her right again.

The trip down the stairs left Astoria surprisingly winded however, and she had to pause near the doors of Great Hall, feeling dizzy and very out of sorts. Half of the school seemed to have slept in after the Ball, because the four long house tables were packed with students taking a late breakfast. Unequal to much discussion, Astoria was relieved to spot Theodore in his usual seat, messily eating an english muffin over his newspaper.

"Morning," said Theodore distractedly, flipping a page without glancing up or bothering to brush the crumbs off his tie.

"Morning," Astoria croaked back, surprised to find that her voice was hoarse.

Theodore shot her a brief but very penetrating look over the top of the economics section before pronouncing, "You look like shit."

"I _feel_ like shit," Astoria admitted, eyeing several of the nearby muffins and jars of marmalade, unable to summon any interest in consuming them.

Theodore peeled the style section off the back of his newspaper and passed it over to Astoria with a frown. "How much did you drink last night? Tracey must have done a number but I thought _you_ looked fine."

"I'm not hungover, it's a cold," Astoria sighed. The tiny newsprint in her hand seemed to be rising and falling slowly, like the bow of a boat on a calm sea.

"Go see Madame Pomfrey," said Theodore bossily. "You look like you're about to keel over."

"Yeah," Astoria muttered, blinking slowly in the direction of a photographic editorial featuring a Ministry Christmas party from the night before. "I thought I might try to eat first."

"Forget it," Theo insisted, dropping the unwanted crust of his english muffin. "You look disgusting. Take the paper with you and get it over with."

Not wanting an argument, Astoria got up from her seat and wandered back the way she had come, a little nauseated by what little of the wafting smell of bacon and eggs managed to actually reach her senses through her stuffed nose.

Unwilling to go to Madame Pomfrey, (Astoria suspected the nurse would force feed her a pepper-up potion that would make her ears steam, if she did) and even less desirous of going back to her dormitory, Astoria dithered on the second floor uncertainly. What she really wanted was a private place to go where she could be alone and nap without interruption. With the school so full however, Astoria could not think of where such a place might exist. Her own bed was too hot and her usual chilly haunts: the library, Divination tower nook and courtyard, were not well designed for lying down.

Shivering desperately, Astoria balled her fingers up in the sleeves of her sweater and decided to go to the study area on the third floor, as it boasted a window seat _and_ several throw pillows.

She made it halfway down the second floor corridor before the door to the staff room opened and Professor Vector came out. He was holding a steaming cup of coffee in the same mug he always seemed to use- the one Astoria had spotted countless times on the edge of his desk looking empty and dirty- and for a moment, Astoria wondered rather dizzily if it was the only mug Professor Vector owned.

"Miss Greengrass," remarked Vector warmly, brightening when he spotted her. "A very merry and belated Christmas to you! How was the Ball?"

Astoria strained, trying to recollect if she had seen Professor Vector the night before and realized that she had not. Could he have been dancing with Professor Sinistra, perhaps?

"Everything was gorgeous," Astoria smiled, forcing enough lightness into her voice to disguise her gravelly croak. "Didn't you go?"

"I missed it, I'm afraid," said Professor Vector mildly, sipping from the coffee in his hand. "I _was_ invited to a rather pompous dinner party hosted by the French Minister of Magic, but I'm sorry to say that it wasn't half as amusing as I had hoped it might be."

Astoria laughed at this, subtly peeking at the purple golf socks that Professor Vector wore under his loafers, wondering how it was that Professor Vector might know the French Minister.

"Which reminds me," said Professor Vector, his hand twitching upward to pat his breast pocket absently, "I have something for you."

"You _do_?" asked Astoria, rather taken aback. If Professor Vector had discovered an excellent book of remedial Arithmancy problems during his travels, Astoria would just as soon not know about it.

"Yes," Vector continued. "Aston Mendel gave me photograph to pass along to you. It should be in my carrying case. Can you spare a moment? I'm afraid my luggage is still in my office-"

Curiosity won the battle against burgeoning illness and Astoria decided that she could spare Professor Vector as many moments as he needed. She turned to walk with him up to the seventh floor.

"Do you see Aston often?" asked Astoria slyly, lingering near the doorway as Professor Vector rummaged about in a leather case behind the blackboard.

It was an odd thing to be in the Arithmancy classroom during the holidays. The shades were all half drawn and the many personal affects that Vector had left strewn about his desk served to make Astoria feel as though she was trespassing into his private space.

"I have lately," ventured Professor Vector in distraction, finally locating a large manilla envelope in a side pocket of his bag. This envelope appeared to contain a number of very personal and private looking documents, so Astoria averted her eyes, afraid that Vector might think she was snooping otherwise. "Here it is."

Professor Vector licked his thumb and forefinger, gently sliding the photograph out of the envelope without disturbing the contents of the packet.

When it became clear that he did not mean to bring the photograph to her, Astoria crossed the room to gaze at it in the light of his one un-shuttered window.

It was a black and white image of Astoria, Maudlin and Aston Mendel, taken perhaps five years previously. Aston Mendel, wearing a wildly purple tartan scarf, was leaning against the oak desk in what Astoria recognized as his office at home. Cringing with the grim embarrassment of the recently chastised, Maudlin appeared to be lingering under a nearby lampshade, the corner of his tartan sweater only just visible, despite the effort that his tiny photographic self was making to hide it.

Directly in the foreground, sprawled on the floor in an oversized tartan beret and sobbing uncontrollably, was Astoria.

"Oh!" cried Astoria in delight, seizing the photograph at once. "It's us on Dionysus Day!"

Professor Vector blinked, glancing between the miserable looking photograph and Astoria's face, evidently surprised by her cheerful reaction.

"Dionysus Day?" remarked Vector, looking slightly bemused. "I can't say that I've ever heard of it."

"That's because we made it up," breathed Astoria quickly, unable to hide her enthusiasm. "It's a fake holiday- a competition, really. It starts on New Years Eve morning and carries on until midnight. The goal is to try to make the other players do as many nonsensical things as possible before they realize what they're about. Whoever causes the most mischief wins. Then, the winner gets to punish the losers by giving them a task that they _can't_ refuse."

"Oh? How clever," quirked Professor Vector, looking as though he would have dearly loved to laugh at her.

"It's good fun," Astoria finished lamely, a little embarrassed by the unfettered joy she had just displayed. Astoria's tiny photographic double continued to bawl in grainy, black and white discontent. "Sort of..." Astoria amended.

"That explains the tartan, I suppose?" prompted Professor Vector kindly. "I thought it a bit out of fashion."

"That's the fools uniform," Astoria answered promptly, wishing that her mouth would stop speaking of its own accord. "Well, thank you. I'll let you unpack."

Astoria left the room as quickly as she could, feeling as though she had already lost enough of her dignity to make rushing out seem like an inconsequential evil by comparison.

The heavy sleet continued to hammer the castle windows in the stairway. Astoria's eyes itched and her nose throbbed but she was suddenly wild to show Maudlin the photograph in her hands and she did not think she could sleep until she had done so.

Not wanting to cross the wet grounds if she did not absolutely have to, Astoria decided to start with the Great Hall and she was not disappointed. Theodore had left but Alec, Maudlin and Draco were all eating toast together near the end of the Slytherin table.

"They decided _not_ to send him back to Beauxbatons but, short of corporal punishment, Maxime's taking the most ruthless line that she can..." Maudlin broke off at the sight of Astoria and beckoned toward her excitedly. "Ria, come here!"

Astoria had been walking toward him anyway but she slowed her pace at once, determined not to look as though she was responding to his summons. Draco watched her covertly, the toast in his hand momentarily forgotten.

"What's going on?" asked Astoria, uncomfortably conscious of the fact that her voice sounded like a sack of rocks being jostled.

"Have you heard about Luc?" demanded Maudlin, his eyes bright with amusement.

"No," Astoria sniffled, drawing her sweater tight about her as she took a seat. "What's happened to him? He _didn't_ actually fall in the lake?"

"No," replied Maudlin smugly, "although he probably wishes he had."

"Are you going to tell me or am I supposed to guess?" asked Astoria tartly, the discomfort in her face shortening the fuse on her temper by half.

"Your Professor Snape caught him roaring drunk and trapped in the rose bushes at the Ball. Snape turned him over to Madame Maxime last night," explained Maudlin, snickering unkindly. "Maxime's beside herself, declaring that he's an embarrassment to the whole school. She made Luc stand outside in the rain for three hours this morning to recite an apology to no one until Delacour complained and said he was keeping her awake."

"What?" Astoria gaped, momentarily absorbed.

"Nothing but beauty rest and relaxation for the school champion, of course," remarked Maudlin snidely. "Maxime sent him back to our room drenched and then _I_ had to deal with him. I've only just gotten away."

"I suppose that's why we couldn't find him the maze," said Astoria, piecing this information together.

"You know, it's people like Luc who ruin it for everybody," reflected Maudlin resentfully. "Now, he'll probably have regular room checks and my whole life will go into lockdown just because _Luc_ couldn't hold his liquor."

"At least it wasn't _you_ that Snape found headfirst in a rosebush," said Astoria, taking the photograph out of her pocket. "Have a look at this."

"When have you ever known me to _collapse_ into the shrubbery, Astoria?" demanded Maudlin haughtily. "That sort of thing is for people who drink half a glass of wine on and ice and start trying to—Oh!" Maudlin's affected dignity vanished in a flash of child-like joy as he took in the picture Astoria was showing him. "Dionysus Day!"

Draco frowned, studying Maudlin suspiciously, as though he thought it was entirely possible he might be witnessing a stroke.

Alec's toast froze at his lips however, and his shoulders went very still.

"Fucking _hell_ ," growled Alec, parting ways with his usual unshakable stoicism. "Not _this_ again!"

" _What_?" demanded Malfoy, glancing between Maudlin and Astoria in annoyance, knowing that he was the odd man out and resenting them both for it. "What's a Dionysus Day? Some pagan thing?"

"Don't even ask about it!" snapped Alec, throwing his half eaten toast onto his plate in disgust. "However annoying you _think_ it sounds, you're not even grasping the half of it."

Startled more by Alec's departure from silky-smooth form than his hostility, Draco turned his incredulous gaze back onto Astoria and Maudlin, his face trapped in the kind of half sneer he always seemed to form when he was confused and didn't want to show it.

"What are you _talking_ about, Alec?" demanded Maudlin. "Dionysus Day is the best thing ever, Draco. Don't listen to a word he says."

"It's so much fun!" Astoria rushed to agree. "Its a day of pranks."

"Its a whole day of these two idiots competing with each other in tartan costumes and then breaking down into temper tantrums when they lose," cautioned Alec sharply, eyes flashing with annoyance. "I don't want to hear about this, Maudlin. Enough. You're a grown man, for merlin's sake!"

Luc had entered the hall and was making his way toward them but Maudlin seemed to have forgotten his intention to be rude.

"It works like this," said Maudlin, leaning over the table toward Draco, who actively twitched away from him. "The game starts on the morning of New Years Eve and ends at midnight—"

"Good morning, Luc!" said Alec pointedly, so keen to change the subject that he was willing to court Luc in order to make it happen.

With his hair still wet from his rain-soaked punishment, Luc sat down heavily. He pulled a tureen of porridge across the table violently, clearly in a black mood. "If you _say_ so," he snapped.

"Anyway," said Maudlin, ignoring Luc's outburst with the porridge bowl, "you spend the whole day tricking people into doing foolish things. Every time you trick someone, you get a point."

" _How_ do you trick them, exactly?" asked Draco snidely, unimpressed.

"There's all kinds of ways," said Maudlin, his mouth twitching with a repressed smirk. "Luc, pass the pudding."

Luc gummed his porridge and eyed Maudlin resentfully, his spoon still hovering near his mouth. Finally, he swallowed and began searching about his elbows.

"Ha!" cried Maudlin. "See, it's breakfast! There _is_ no pudding. That would be a point to me."

Astoria and Maudlin exchanged a look of knowing satisfaction.

" _What_ points?" scowled Luc. "What's this rubbish? _Where_ is the pudding, Maudlin? I don't have all day—"

"Lord," drawled Maudlin excitedly, elbowing Astoria in the side. "Can you even imagine? He'll be the _worst_ at this."

"The worst at _what_?" Luc snapped.

"Don't talk with your mouth full, Luc," shot back Maudlin disparagingly. "Anyway, whoever has the most points at midnight wins the game and they get to punish the other players however they want. They also get to hold the title for a year."

Draco's eyes had narrowed dubiously. "Who _plays_ this game?"

"We do," said Maudlin, expressing the same curiously compulsive pride that Astoria had exhibited in front of Professor Vector.

"You and Astoria have a _holiday_?" asked Malfoy, sneering so openly that it was a wonder Maudlin did not notice.

"And my father," added Maudlin, oblivious to Draco's acidic annoyance. "He was always the best at it. Astoria had a tendency get overly ambitious. That was her weakness."

" _What_?" Astoria scoffed, uncomfortable with the way Draco was scowling but unable to ignore Maudlin's jab. "We always lost because you were _obvious_ , Maudlin. It had nothing to do with _me!_ "

"You're joking, right?" returned Maudlin stubbornly. "Just because my Father thinks you can do no wrong doesn't mean that he couldn't tell when you were trying to pull one over on him. I was a hundred times stealthier than you."

"No you weren't!" Astoria insisted incredulously. " _You_ were the idiot trying to get him to pass you the _pudding_!"

"This!" warned Alec sharply, disgusted in the extreme. "This is what Dionysus Day _really_ is, Draco. Stay out of it."

"I can't believe your father let you call it Dionysus Day," rejoined Luc judgmentally, annoyed by the ruse with the pudding and looking for a way to lash back.

"Dionysus was the Greek patron of the arts," said Maudlin, flustered as to how this could possibly be considered inappropriate.

" _Dionysus_ was the patron of nothing but _wine!"_ countered Luc scathingly.

"Was he?" asked Maudlin cooly. "How about you scoot down a few seats so I don't tell Madame Maxime about all the wine you stole from _her_ in the fall."

"Are you serious?" snapped Luc. " _You_ drank half of that—"

"But _I_ didn't get trapped in a rose bush last night," returned Maudlin pointedly.

Slowly, Luc stood up and moved down two seats, carrying his porridge with him. He was glaring so murderously when he sat back down that Astoria almost feared for Maudlin's safety, all too aware that he would have to sleep in the next bed over from Luc later that night.

"I'm done eating," Alec decided. "We should go back to the carriage."

"You know what I'm thinking?" asked Maudlin carefully, getting up from the table and glancing sidelong at Astoria. Three seats away, Luc was spooning his porridge as fast as he could to avoid being left behind.

"What?" asked Astoria hopefully, standing up as well.

"Well, I mean, what are the odds that we would both be together on New Years at Hogwarts?" asked Maudlin evasively. "Do you think we should give Dionysus Day another shot? It's been _years_ since we've done it properly..."

"We could play in teams!" Astoria burst, privately delighted by this idea but afraid to allow her excitement to run over while Draco continued to look so agitated.

The cold sheets of rain outside drove into their shoulders like icy daggers as they crossed the lawn and by the time they had reached the Beauxbatons carriage, Astoria was out of breath and feeling almost uncomfortably feverish. She had not thought to bring a cloak to breakfast and the damp continued to linger in the fabric of her sweater and the around bottom of her stockings long after she had shaken her hair dry.

Maudlin's room was almost as hot as Astoria's dormitory had been and a dizzying rush of wooziness warned her to sit down and try to collect herself. Draco had thrown himself onto one of the purple couches so Astoria sank down next to him, hoping to somehow coax him out of any moodiness before he could turn their excellent New Years plans into a punishment.

"Why tartan?" Alec was saying, his voice sounding curiously distant. "What an unnecessary detail."

"Well, _that's_ Astoria's fault," Maudlin assured him, betraying his first trace of distaste. "It was her idea at the beginning and my father humored her."

"We needed uniforms," said Astoria, defending herself weakly. "I was eight. I thought tartan was funny."

" _Fitting_ , certainly," remarked Alec dryly.

"Yes, well, it's _tradition_ now, so there's nothing to be done," said Maudlin, accepting the rule that he would have to wear colorful plaid in order to compete in his own made-up competition with the same seriousness that he might have afforded a pure-blood decree from the year the International Statute of Secrecy had been signed.

"You can't expect us to believe that you _don't_ own any, Alec," added Astoria mischievously, glancing at the opposite couch without lifting her head.

Maudlin laughed heartily at this.

One of Astoria's shoes fell off of her foot and hit the carpeted floor with a dull thump. She kicked the other one off after it, hoping that perhaps her stockings would dry out faster without them.

"Are you alright?" asked Maudlin, squinting in the direction of Astoria's face at long last. "You look funny."

"I have a cold," said Astoria, thinking of how quickly Theodore had perceived her illness and wondering how it was that Maudlin had managed to finish an entire meal with Astoria sniffling next to him without noticing.

"Nott had something last week," said Draco lazily, eyeing the side of Astoria's face. If he was thinking fearfully of the saliva they had enthusiastically swapped the night before, his expression did not seem to show it. "He's _always_ sick— you'd almost think there was something wrong with him, wouldn't you?"

"You really do look awful, Astoria," Maudlin frowned. "You should probably see the nurse."

Astoria shrugged, tucking both of her feet up. The fever burning in her face was beginning making her limbs feel sore, as sensitivity similar to the kind she might have earned by falling down an entire flight of steps otherwise.

"We should play cards," suggested Luc. "There's nothing else to do."

Astoria did _not_ want to play cards. In fact, now that her body had come to a rest, she really did not know why she had thought it was such a good idea to follow Maudlin all the way across the grounds in the first place. What Astoria _actually_ wanted to do was sleep, and the vast expanse of rain and ice-slicked lawn that now separated her from her bed suddenly seemed like an insurmountable obstacle.

"Alright," Maudlin agreed, tossing the photograph that Astoria had given him onto an end table. "I think they're in the drawer."

The effort of holding her knees near her chest was becoming a strain. Astoria pressed her face against the plush fabric of the couch and let her legs slide down to rest against Draco's side, too warm and sleepy to think much about what message she might be sending him by doing so. His body was encouragingly solid and even this small point of contact between them was surprisingly comforting.

"You're both _sobbing_ in this photograph," remarked Luc. Astoria's eyes were no longer open but she imagined Luc must have picked up Aston's photo in his search for the playing cards. "Astoria looks like a Dickensian _orphan_."

Across the room, Alec scoffed so loudly that the sound carried over toward them like a dry twig snapping.

"Yes, well," muttered Maudlin evasively. "The game isn't as fun when you _lose_."

Under the guise of reaching for the photograph, Draco leaned back against the couch and shifted so that his leg slid under Astoria's knees. He let out a short, humorless laugh at the sight of the Mendels joyless childhood holiday and then threw the photograph back onto the end table without passing it along to Alec.

Astoria opened one of her eyes and stared along the back of the cushions at Draco's sullen face. Unlike Astoria, he had the foresight to wear a winter cloak and not even the collar of the shirt he was wearing under it appeared to be damp from the rain.

It was a pity that existing in the human form seemed to mean having to abide by so many rules, Astoria thought. If she could have gotten away with pressing her face into Draco's shirt and sleeping there dizzily, she surely would have done it. In real life however, outside the fog of her feverish brain, such simple gratification would always be accompanied by _work_. Maudlin would want to know what Astoria was _doing_ , napping on one of his male friends in his dormitory and Draco would immediately begin clamoring for escape, as surely the idea of a boiling hot and drippy-faced sick person clinging to him would be less than appealing.

Astoria smirked into the fabric beneath her face, amused by her own unfortunateness and by her sudden, magpie-like obsession with Draco's clean and decidedly healthy looking shoulder.

Luc was complaining again but Astoria was no longer listening. She angled her head so that if she _did_ begin to droop, she would be more inclined to slump _away_ from Draco than towards him, and pulled her damp sweater tighter until she was as horizontal on the small couch as she possibly could be without actually falling over. Whatever hesitation Astoria might normally have had about public sloppiness seemed to have evaporated in the furious heat that was burning under her skin. Draco wriggled his arm out from under the weight of her legs and rested it furtively on top of her knees. Astoria found herself focusing softly on the side of his hand that was touching her leg, finding the pressure oddly centering.

It was not enough to draw Maudlin's notice, Astoria decided. Not with her head on the other side of the couch. Exactly what it was that Astoria did not want Maudlin to notice, however, Astoria could not entirely say. The world had receded into a dull presence, with her own physical discomfort taking the center stage of her thoughts.

0o0

When Astoria awoke several hours later, she experienced a brief burst of panic. She could not remember having fallen asleep in the first place and for a long, confused moment, she was not entirely certain where she was. Slowly however, the purple velvet upholstery of the couch and the sound of male voices came together and began to add up. She was in the Beauxbatons carriage and she literally could not remember the last time she had felt so poorly.

Astoria lifted her head in a daze. The sky outside showed that it was still daytime but the clouds had grown darker. Icy rain continued to fall, casting everything into an unnaturally early evening. The boys had dragged one of the tables toward the window for light and they were busy playing cards amongst themselves, their talk a dull rumble against the heavy pounding of water on the roof.

Astoria sat up, feeling distant and removed from her own body. A wave of lightheadedness made her pause, bracing herself with her hands so that she did not fall over. A raw, lung-rattling fit of coughing finally drew the boys' attention away from their game.

"Astoria, you're alive," observed Maudlin, tossing a king from his hand onto the pile of cards in the middle of the table, frowning at her distractedly. "Are you feeling better?"

"No," said Astoria dully, hardly able to recognize her own voice. Somebody had thought to toss a throw blanket over her—Alec, if Astoria had to guess—as he alone struck her as the type with enough common sense to realize that a sick person's vulnerable body ought to be covered. Astoria struggled out from underneath it as though the fabric had been sewn from lead.

"Go see Madam Pomfrey," said Draco, his sharp gaze taking in Astoria's cherry red cheeks and disheveled hair.

Astoria nodded, more to herself than to acknowledge Draco's assessment, and tried to find her footing on the carpeted floor.

"She's _fine_ ," Luc scoffed, trumping Maudlin's king with an ace. "She just needs water."

"She looks like she's going to faint," argued Maudlin clinically, continuing on as though Astoria could not hear him. " _Water_ won't help."

Astoria did not have the energy to listen to them bicker. She located her shoes and rubbed her bleary eyes. "What time is it?"

"Quarter past three," answered Alec.

Astoria shuffled her toes into her shoes until they were sitting properly against her ankles. Spotting the grey-black sweater that Draco had tossed onto the back of the nearest arm chair and thinking of the chilly grounds she would have to cross, Astoria grabbed it and yanked it over her head without asking for permission.

She did not feel bad about this bit of thievery, as she could see Draco's cloak hanging on a hook near the door, but Astoria _was_ thankful that he allowed her to put the sweater on and rearrange her static-trapped hair without complaining about his loss of property in front of an audience.

"Rest up!" called Maudlin. "We'll make plans for New Years tomorrow."

"Ok," Astoria agreed flatly, no longer capable of summoning any excitement about the prospect.

"Breakfast!" Maudlin insisted, continuing to shout after Astoria until she was halfway down the hall.

Astoria knew by the time she had regained the front steps of the castle that she would not be going to breakfast the next morning. Everything around her seemed to be reaching her brain in hot, sick flashes. The debate over going to see Madame Pomfrey ended up the fourth floor. Shaky and desperate to be under her blankets, Astoria sped past the infirmary and headed toward the Fat Lady.

The Gryffindor girls dormitory was empty when Astoria collapsed against her pillows. Water and sleet continued to slid down the glass tower windows well into the night. Astoria listened to it fall, sleeping for long restless fits, only to be jerked awake again by spontaneous and painful periods of coughing.

Around midnight, Astoria was roused for what felt like the dozenth time by a fitful ticking in her chest. Promptly, Astoria rolled over and pressed her face into her sheets, trying to wheeze quietly, conscious of the annoyed huffs that had been coming from direction of Lavender Brown's bed all night.

When the worst of it was over, Astoria lay with her head just under her pillow, gasping for air and wiping forced tears from her eyes with the cuff of Draco's shirt. It occurred to her as she ran the fabric of his sleeve against the skin underneath her eyelashes she was not wearing a standard issue school sweater, no matter how similar the dark coloring of the garment might be to their uniforms. Intrigued by the idea that she had accidentally stolen a personal item, Astoria took greater stock of the sweater's softness and smell .

Silently, because there was no one around to see her, Astoria tucked her nose down into the fabric near her armpit, breathing in slowly through her watery nasal passages. It did not smell like anything that went through the school laundry, Astoria confirmed. The scent that clung to it was private and domestic; a mixture of the soap Narcissa Malfoy liked her house elves to use, and the closet space that Draco's clothes were kept in. There was no trace of either the deodorant or formal cologne that Astoria associated with Malfoy's actual presence; it smelled like his home, a place that Astoria was entirely unfamiliar with.

Astoria rolled over and stared at the top of her bed, careful not to agitate the rhythm of her breathing. Alone in the darkness, Astoria wondered how Draco's mother would feel, if she knew that something she had purchased and ordered her elves to pack in order to keep her son warm at school had ended up on the body of a sick girl who sometimes liked to hit him.

 _Not much,_ Astoria realized, experiencing a niggling lick of shame before sleep reclaimed her. She was sleeping in the borrowed cocoon of an unshakable safety that had been meant for somebody else.

0o0

Lavender Brown was awake and gone from the dormitory before eight o'clock the next morning, exasperated and entirely sick of having to listen to Astoria cough and choke.

Parvati was a bit kinder, bringing Astoria half of a sandwich around dinner time, once it became evident that Astoria would remain bed-ridden, and asking if she needed anything from her trunk before disappearing again. Astoria could not bring herself to eat and it was not until late the following evening that her fever finally broke.

On the second morning, after having slept for nearly forty eight uninterrupted hours, Astoria was up at the sound of the first bird song, purged and almost ravenously hungry.

The temperature of the world seemed to have finally righted itself again. Astoria cranked the creaky metal tap in the ladies tower bathroom toward hot and spent a good twenty minutes working the knots out of sweaty hair in the early morning light. The feeling of bubbles beneath her fingers was almost as satisfying as the idea that all traces of her illness could be washed down the drain, and she made a thorough job of it.

Dry, pale and cleansed, Astoria forced herself to take the time to apply mascara, anxious to hide the signs of the battle she had been fighting from her bed before presenting herself to the world again. Feeling as hollow and light as the birds that were chirping in the eaves, Astoria set off for breakfast.

The rain had receded during the night, taking Astoria's fever haze with it. A feeble, golden light was working its way in through the long windows and puffs of hopeful white clouds were visible against the blue sky that was hanging over the forbidden forest.

The Great Hall smelled wonderful. Astoria sat in the nearest seat, unconcerned by the fact that she was nearly the only person awake, and began to pull everything she could reach toward her, stacking enough food on her plate to satisfy a small hoard of goblins.

Growing up with Belladonna, Astoria had long ago become accustomed to careful consideration and reasonable self regulation when it came to feeding herself. Eating wildly was something that had always been frowned upon as un-ladylike. Delighted to have an excuse to gorge herself, Astoria spread a thick wad of butter across a crumpet and stuffed half of it into her mouth, spooning blueberry jam directly onto the second half in her hand.

"There you are!" called Theodore, as delighted and surprised to see Astoria as Astoria herself felt about with the biscuit she was clutching. "You're up!"

"Mmph," Astoria mumbled through a mouthful of crumbs. "I was sick," Astoria continued, swallowing thickly.

"I know," said Theodore, a flash of something like annoyance crossing his features. "Malfoy told me. He was really smug about it too, like he thought it was excellent that he knew something about you and I didn't."

"I fell asleep on a couch in the Beauxbatons carriage," Astoria explained, hardly able to keep herself from cramming the second half of the crumpet into her mouth before she finished chewing the first. "I don't suppose he could have missed it."

"No, he _wouldn't_ ," Theodore grumbled, pouring out a measure of coffee.

"We should _do_ something today," exclaimed Astoria wistfully, so cheered by the combination of easy breathing, sunshine, butter and company that she could have exploded with happiness. "It's nice out."

"Like what?" demanded Theodore, eyeing the sunny ceiling skeptically.

"Anything," Astoria returned, brushing down her lap and starting in on a bowl of berries. "I don't care."

"I know Tracey is looking for you," said Theodore. "She hasn't seen you since the ball and it's killing her."

Astoria poured herself a steaming mug of tea and tossed a crushed handful of mint from the top of her berry bowl into it. After a moment's hesitation, she fished several lemons out of a nearby pitcher of juice and added them as well, desperate to put everything she liked into her mouth at once.

"We could go to the library, I guess," Theodore mused.

Astoria readily agreed and, after finishing two poached peach pancakes dripping with syrup and several cherry almond biscotti sticks, she stood to follow him, feeling significantly less unsubstantial than she had before.

"I suppose Krum will be here somewhere," Theodore complained, disrupting the delicate swirls of dust in the shafts of sunlight as he moved between the book shelves. Astoria trailed in his wake. "He's _always_ here, rain or shine."

"What section?" asked Astoria curiously, the sound slightly muffled through her mouthful of biscotti

"I dunno, the back hall. Transfiguration?" answered Theodore. "Does it matter? His fan club would follow him to the _moon_ , if they could."

"He's probably getting ready for the Second Task, you know," said Astoria pointedly. "Whatever it is that he's studying might be a good indicator of what the Task will be."

"I don't even _care_ what the Task is," said Theodore, a faint glimmer curiosity betraying his lie.

Before Astoria could suggest a proper scheme for spying on Viktor Krum, she and Theodore were both startled by a loud and slightly accusing shout.

" _Astoria_!"

Tracey had paused near Madame Pince's desk, the book she was returning still clutched tightly in her hand. Astoria quickly hid the biscotti behind her back and attempted to stop chewing.

Tracy abandoned the text and rushed over to them, her eyes darting about nervously.

"Where have you _been_?" she demanded, pushing Astoria back toward the hall. "Come on, let's _go_ -"

"OVERDUE!" boomed Madam Pince, causing the nearest bookend to rattle.

"What the—?" gaped Theodore.

" _Move_!" Tracey hissed.

Thinking of the illegal cookie in her hand and the greater wrath that it would surely inspire, Astoria turned tail and rushed after Tracey.

"NOT A THOUGHT ABOUT ORDER!" Madame Pince's voice echoed behind them. "NOT A THOUGHT ABOUT DECENCY!"

Tracey yanked them both down a short wooden staircase until they came tumbling out near the courtyard by the Transfiguration corridor.

"I can't believe I found you!" declared Tracey triumphantly. "I thought you had _died_."

"That woman is _deeply_ disturbed," muttered Theodore, still staring back in the direction from which they had come.

"Oh, the yelling? She _always_ does that," said Tracey dismissively, rounding on Astoria again.

"No she _doesn't,_ " Theodore argued, properly aghast.

Astoria took from this comment that Theodore was probably not a chronic offender of turning in late books, but Tracey did not want to talk about the librarian and she quickly cut over him.

"We _have_ to talk about the Ball. How was the end of your night? I lost track of you! Did you dance with Alec? Did Maudlin try to kiss you even though he has a girlfriend? Where have you _been_ for days?"

Astoria blinked at this rapid fire succession of inquires, unsure where to start.

"She was sick," said Theodore. "I must have told you that _eight_ times."

"Sick with _what_?" Tracey demanded. "Why couldn't Madame Pomfrey do anything for you? I let Blaise feel me up in the coat room and I've had no one to talk to about it for days!"

Theodore let out a low sound of revulsion.

"I had the flu," said Astoria for the umpteenth time, trying not to pull a face as she thought of Blaise putting his hands anywhere on Tracey's body. "I couldn't make myself get out of bed."

"Where you _really_ phlegmy?" Tracey prompted, as though this reminded her of something. "I mean gobs and _gobs_ of it? Because Daphne had something _nasty_ like that."

Theodore let out a second and highly offended sound of disgust, this time so loudly that he could not be ignored.

Across the courtyard through the windows, Astoria spotted a shock of blonde hair out of the corner of her eye. Malfoy, Crabbe and Goyle appeared to be crossing over the snow-patched patched grass, taking the long way back from the owlery.

"Ugh, incoming," Theodore muttered, following Astoria's line of sight.

Astoria was in too good of a mood to let anything bring her down, however, and even the sight of Draco and his goons commiserating together in low voices could not put a dampener on her spirits.

"Well, I'm going back to the library," Theodore declared, turned off by both Draco and the conversation at hand. "You can talk about groping Blaise Zabini and your misadventures with _phlegm_ in private, how about that?"

"What?" drawled Draco delightedly, coming in at precisely the worst possible moment of this declaration. "Your groped Blaise, Davis?"

"Yup," said Tracey boldly, as unashamed as she was proud.

"And _why_ was there phlegm?" Draco continued, his eyes sparkling malevolently.

"Oh, that wasn't me," began Tracey.

"Morning, Draco!" Astoria beamed, pleased when her unexpected brightness caused him to do a double take, momentarily distracted from all talk of mucus.

"Anyway," Tracey went on, "we made out in the coat room but I haven't seen much of him since."

"What a _surprise_ ," drawled Draco.

"What's that supposed to mean?" demanded Tracey at once, displeased by Draco's tone of voice.

" _Nothing_ , Tracey," said Astoria, not wanting to watch Draco brutalize her friend while she was in a state of such tender hopefulness.

Draco scoffed disinterestedly, the sound hinting at Blaise's suspected ambivalence, but said nothing more.

"It's not like he's ignoring me," Tracey bristled. "He's _definitely_ interested."

Draco raised his eyebrows, unconvinced.

"He is!" Tracey continued, letting Draco get the best of her. "He told me just last night that he was bored and jerked off to my Christmas card."

Theodore gagged.

" _What_?" burst Draco, his face lighting up with with cruel and unexpected delight. "That _stupid_ photo you showed us in Arithmancy?"

Theodore had covered his mouth with his hand and Astoria had a faint suspicion that he had only done so to hide his own immature smirk.

"Yes. Why _shouldn't_ he?" asked Tracey stoutly, unable to see that her best possible recourse was to _stop_ talking immediately. "It was a good picture, wasn't it Astoria?"

"Don't bring me into it!" said Astoria faintly, torn between disgust over Blaise's rudeness and her own gut wrenching desire to laugh until she gagged.

" _You_ think it's gross, too?" demanded Tracey crossly. "You'd be offended?"

Draco's eyes flicked toward Astoria mid-laugh, sobering just enough to betray a furtive, almost guilty interest in her response.

"Your _mother_ was in that photograph," ventured Astoria feebly, biting her lip to keep from snickering before remembering what it was that had bothered her the most about Tracey's comment in the first place. "Not to _mention_ , why would Blaise go out of his way to tell you that he'd _only_ done it because he was _bored?_ That's absolute rubbish, if you ask me."

"Oh," said Tracey blandly, her face falling as she considered this. "I hadn't thought of that."

" _How_?" drawled Malfoy in a clear, cruel voice, hardly able to believe his luck or his ears.

"Well, what do I do _now_?" snapped Tracey.

"Give up on him!" said Theodore scornfully, bringing his laughter under control at last. "Blaise is a wank."

Malfoy chuckled unpleasantly at this choice of wording.

"What do I do, Astoria?" repeated Tracey, turning away from the boys. "Theodore's no help."

" _I_ don't know," Astoria scoffed, feeling uncomfortably put on the spot. "Zabini's always seemed like the type who might strangle puppies for fun. I've _never_ understood what you see in him."

Draco scoffed and leaned against the wall, somehow gratified by Astoria's black opinion of his friend.

"Well, I've got to do _something_ ," Tracey insisted. "The power balance is all off. I can't believe I didn't see it before..."

"Tracey, please don't make me plot your demented games," Astoria begged, wondering how it was that Tracey could be so open about something so easily ridiculed in front of Draco, who quite literally lived for that sort of thing.

"You're so _good_ at games, though," Tracey whined. "You're the best at menacing people. They never even realize you're doing it!"

"Merlin, you're _pathetic_ Davis," sneered Draco.

"Come on," said Astoria, taking Tracey by the arm, intending to lead her away toward the privacy she should have waited for in the first place.

The sound of Draco cracking himself up all over again chased them all the way across the courtyard.

"Do you think he'll mention any of this to Blaise?" Tracey worried, peering back at Draco as though the thought had just occurred to her.

"Yes," said Astoria flatly. "You told Draco Malfoy that Blaise had a wank over a photograph of your mother's face. Of _course_ he will."

"That was _really_ stupid, wasn't it?" Tracey mused, curiously unashamed.

"Completely," Astoria returned honestly, steering them toward the opposing hallway.

"Well, what do you think, then? I'll probably see him on New Years, won't I? Should I flirt with someone else? Oh—or should I give him a photograph that doesn't have the rest of my family in it?"

"No!" Astoria returned hurriedly, coming to a halt in the shadows of a tall suit of armor. "You really want to change the balance of power? Wear the same dress you had on in the Christmas photo and then _don't_ talk to him unless _he_ approaches _you_. Blaise is vain and he thinks he has you under his thumb. Prove him wrong."

"Ooh," said Tracey slowly. "That could actually work!"

"Yeah," Astoria agreed evasively, liking the part of the plan where Tracey _didn't_ talk to Blaise the most. "If he says a thing about your mum though, drop him _immediately_."

Tracey cackled and started off down the hall. Astoria watched nervously as Tracey's sharp, blonde bob bounced out of sight, disliking the hand she had played in this plot.

Whatever chance of convincing Tracey to stay away from Blaise that Astoria might have once had seemed to have faded. It would take something tremendous for Tracey to give up on him now, either Blaise chucking Tracey or the discovery of an even more suitable male for her to fawn over.

Remembering the biscotti she had hidden in her pocket, Astoria withdrew the cookie and took a tense bite.

0o0

* * *

Blaise Zabini. Alias: the last person anyone would want their friend to date.

Alright, I know this was a bit of a bottle episode. Nothing really happened and it was more of a follow-up to the last two chapters, but there were a couple of elements in this that I really enjoyed so I hope you guys can forgive me.

I sometimes take for granted the fact that there is a lot of back-story and history between Maudlin and Astoria. The real goal of the much-maligned 'Dionysus Day' is partially to give the characters something to do for New Years, but also kind of a way to dip into Astoria's childhood. (Alec will get his backstory a little later on). For some reason, Astoria and Maudlin both strike me as the type of people who would probably be considered _cool_ by their peers. I guess the idea that a dumb childhood competition could so easily turn them into a pair of dorky losers really appeals to me. There's nothing like old family stuff to make a person act like a twit, is there?

Anyway, sorry for the frivolousness! The next chapter will finish up the holidays and bring classes, Rita Skeeter and rest back into play. The second task is also on its way so never fear, actual plot will return.

As always, reviews are always an amazing treat! I should have the next chapter up around the weekend.


	45. Myths and Legends

Chapter Forty Five

Myths and Legends

* * *

0o0

The unseasonably warm and sunny weather held for the next few days, as did Astoria's freshly recovered health. On Friday, Astoria found herself in the Room of Portraits with Maudlin, going over the final details of their plans for New Years Eve.

"That makes three teams," said Maudlin, checking something off on a piece of parchment he had brought along with him. "Six players, three teams. Right?"

"Mhmm," Astoria agreed, reclining peacefully with her legs thrown over the arm of a leather couch. The noisy clock on the mantelpiece ticked soothingly.

The last time she had been in this room, Cassandra had been inducting her into the Sisters of the Eastern Star and Astoria was surprised to find that, emptied of catty girls and with the fireplace unlit, she rather liked the lighting and the plush leather seating. Something about the smell spoke to her as well; a mixture of new dust and the binding of official leather books that nobody had read for half a century.

"You and I will be a team, of course," Maudlin was muttering, the point of his eagle feather quill just scraping across the surface of his parchment. "Alec and Draco? They're both blonde, they can play together. But what do we do about Luc?"

"What do you mean?" asked Astoria, straightening up and tearing her eyes off of the merry blue sky that was just visible outside the long windows. "You don't think Madam Maxime will let him leave the carriage?"

"What? No," said Maudlin, frowning at her across the coffee table they had littered with spare 'Potter Stinks' badges. "I hadn't even thought of _that_. I meant that he doesn't have a partner and we'll have to ask someone else to play. What about Zabini? Draco seems to like him."

As much as Astoria did not like the idea of Maudlin taking character references from Draco, the idea of having to spend the entire reenactment of a precious family holiday with Blaise Zabini struck Astoria as the greater of two evils.

"Why don't you ask Emilie?" Astoria prodded, hoping to guilt Maudlin into forgetting about Blaise by mentioning his often overlooked girlfriend.

"We're allowed into Hogsmeade tomorrow and I want to visit the pubs," said Maudlin, dismissing this suggestion at once. "Besides, knowing your luck, she'd bring Cassandra along and that would be all the fun destroyed, wouldn't it?"

Astoria contemplated this, knowing he was right but wishing to avoid Blaise's company just the same. "I could try Theodore?"

"Who?" asked Maudlin, tossing his parchment down onto the highly polished table before plucking up one of Draco's badges.

"Theodore. You've _met_ him," Astoria insisted, a little offended by how little Maudlin seemed to care for any of her friends who did not have highly affluent and influential fathers. "He's usually reading at meals? I'm _always_ talking about him-"

"Oh," said Maudlin, recalling Theodore at last. "That creepy boy who follows you about between classes? No, let's just have Malfoy find somebody. That seems easiest."

Astoria chafed at this description of Theodore but Maudlin had pulled out his wand in order to poke at the badge in his hand. Not wanting to break his concentration, Astoria waited for him to finish before speaking.

"You seem to think pretty highly of Draco's opinions these days," she commented warily, eyeing the newly transformed badge.

"What's that supposed to mean?" asked Maudlin stiffly, not quite able to miss the hint of his implied washiness hidden in Astoria's comment. "Why shouldn't I? I usually agree with him. _You're_ the one who likes to make things difficult."

Privately feeling that there were very few people in the world with a greater capacity for making things more 'difficult' than Draco Malfoy, Astoria fell silent, sensing that an argument on the matter would be pointless.

"You know," remarked Maudlin lightly, "the way you talk about Draco, I almost wouldn't be surprised to find out that you've been running around badmouthing _me_ all over the school." It was a throw-away comment and Astoria could tell at once that he didn't really mean it, but she eyed him with a mixture of pity and irresistible amusement until he had finished transfiguring the badges anyway.

"Colors," Maudlin muttered. "We'll be needing team colors."

0o0

In accordance with the detailed plan that she and Maudlin had laid out the night before, Astoria was out of bed at precisely seven o'clock the next morning. It was earlier than Astoria was accustomed to being awake, as she had allowed herself to slip into a rather leisurely holiday routine of late, and there was something faintly magical about empty hallways. Shadows still clung to the corners of the corridors she sped down, drawing her eye toward the places that the prying fingers of daylight had not yet reached.

A bright, liquid line of sunshine along the distant horizon told Astoria that the clear weather of the past week had held on another day, but the icy puffs of breath that rose from her mouth warned her that the unseasonable heat had not. Everything, from the lake to the sentient suits of armor in the halls, seemed to have been struck by the stillness of a recent frost.

Satisfied that she had worn her warmest clothing, Astoria rearranged the winter cloak she was carrying over her arm and continued on toward breakfast, anxious to meet the day.

It was much warmer in the Great Hall and, if it weren't for the barren blue sky that clung to the vaulted ceiling, it would have been hard to guess what frozen silence awaited them outside.

Maudlin was already sitting at the Slytherin table, red-cheeked from his walk up the path. Beside him, Alec was nursing a mug of tea and staring across the room dully.

"Morning!" called Maudlin brightly, hardly able to contain his enthusiasm.

Astoria strode toward him quickly, incapable of stopping herself from grinning back.

"Filch will start letting people through the gates at eight," said Maudlin, mentally tallying up the forty five minute wait ahead of them. "Just enough time for the mail and a quick debriefing."

"Debriefing?" demanded Draco, his snide voice announcing his presence behind them. "I though this was supposed to be a holiday."

"Well, I mean..." Maudlin trailed off, chuckling darkly.

"Only _technically_ ," Astoria finished for him, trying very hard not to laugh herself.

"Fantastic," muttered Draco sullenly. Trailing in his wake, much to Astoria's surprise, was not Blaise Zabini but Graham Montague from the Slytherin quidditch team.

"What happened to Zabini?" asked Maudlin at once, the smile sliding off his face. "You haven't invited _two_ people, have you?"

"No, I haven't invited _two_ people," returned Draco snappishly. "Montague is Blaise's replacement because I was afraid Davis would trail along after Zabini, if I asked him. Wouldn't want to throw off the _debriefing_ now, would I?"

Astoria clapped her hands together twice, secretly thrilled by this arrangement.

"Right," said Maudlin, patting down his pockets. "So we'll be breaking up into three teams-"

The mail arrived noisily overhead. Muffled by the clamorous swirling of wings, Luc managed to slip in silently and was already buttering a muffin when a large barn owl swooped down to deliver a packet of letters.

Suddenly doused in pumpkin juice, Luc sprang back up again with a snarl.

"Oh, look! Father's written," observed Maudlin, leaving off in his description of the rules in order to unfasten his letter.

"Filthy things!" Luc spat, patting at his damp shirt in a wildly useless attempt to dry it.

"Sit down, Luc," murmured Maudlin unconcernedly, slitting open the envelope with his butter knife. "We were just going over the plan..."

"Well, it doesn't matter _now_. I have to go back to carriage to change!" Luc insisted, but his complaints were met by deaf ears.

"I'll come along for the pub," said Alec evenly, "but I won't be roped into nonsense."

"What are you talking about, Alec?" shot Maudlin, his eyes sliding back and forth across the text of his letter. "You'll play with us and you'll like it."

"Look at me!" Luc insisted, shaking his leg until the juice that had been seeping into his socks splattered the floor.

Maudlin and Alec both glanced at Luc and then looked away again, entirely unconcerned about his drenched outerwear. Because Luc was a _wizard_ and very prone to complaining, Astoria refrained from trying to help.

"Never!" declared Maudlin, discovering a grainy photograph taped to the bottom of his note. "Astoria, it's the very first Dionysus Day!"

Astoria peered at the photograph in his hand, entirely alarmed by the sight that greeted her there. It was, in fact, a well preserved depiction of Astoria and Maudlin around Christmas time, taken at an age before either of them had achieved a full five feet in height. Maudlin was wearing a bonnet and clutching a parasol. Astoria, with her little chin tucked in past her bow-tie, was sobbing nosily.

"Why would he _keep_ this?" exclaimed Maudlin, perhaps experiencing the same stab of horror as Astoria.

"Did you tell him that we were planning to play again this year?" asked Astoria, more than a little disarmed by the visual of Maudlin in lace.

"No," Maudlin insisted. "He must have realized that we would both be together and sent it as a joke."

"He sent _me_ that photo of all three of us in his office," Astoria pointed out. A link between Aston and their sudden, hitherto unconnected, aspirations to rekindle the old holiday began to form in Astoria's mind.

"Did he?" asked Maudlin, frowning slightly. "That's _weird_..."

"For God's sake!" muttered Alec darkly, putting the pieces together with admirable swiftness. "The future Monacan Minister of Magic and he's _prompting_ this madness from overseas."

"Where has he been _keeping_ this picture, though?" Maudlin pressed, disgust tingeing what would otherwise be healthy amusement. "You don't think he has it framed somewhere?"

"His desk drawer, probably," Astoria muttered, eyeing the bow-tie she was wearing with a pang of loathing. "I suppose he pulls it out and has a look at it every time he needs a good laugh."

Maudlin tutted.

"Can either of you be serious _?"_ drawled Draco, hardly able to believe that the river of Aston's Mendel's amusement might flow so closely to waters of the impishly juvenile.

"You know, it wouldn't _entirely_ surprise me..." Maudlin allowed thoughtfully, unable to tear his eyes off his bonnet.

" _Really_. You'd never know it," Astoria mused, "but behind that officious and formidable exterior of his, Aston's actually the worst sort of gleeful scamp."

Draco's blinking staggered, so thrown by this description of Maudlin's father that he did not even seem to be able to offer up a suitable insult.

"An absolute _hobgoblin_ ," Maudlin agreed, distracted enough by the photograph in his hands that it did not occur to him to defend his father's dignity.

Draco turned toward Alec, clearly wanting to see what _his_ reaction to this might be before he decided to take the discussion seriously.

"But no matter," continued Maudlin briskly, remembering himself and dropping the photograph next to his plate. "We'll split into teams-"

" _Merlin,_ you were an ugly baby, Astoria," sneered Luc, staring across the table at the now public photograph. "What's with the bonnet?"

"Thats not me," said Astoria flatly. "That's _Maudlin_."

" _What_?" mouthed Luc, his eyes misting over at this rare opportunity to properly mock his roommate.

"That's _Astoria_ in the bow-tie, _crying_ again!" snapped Maudlin churlishly. He fidgeted uncomfortably, clearly wanting to avoid the topic of Dionysus Day's past.

"What on _earth_ compelled you to dress in drag?" drawled Alec, amused despite himself.

We _didn't_ -" Maudlin broke off to compose himself. "We _aren't_ cross-dressing. We're in _costume_. When we lost Dionysus Day, father made us perform on stage as punishment."

Draco's sneer would have been perfect if it had not been rendered so crooked by the way his mouth seemed to be hanging slightly open of its own accord.

"Three teams," Maudlin went on pointedly, "Astoria and I, Luc and-"

He was cut off again by Luc.

"You and Astoria can't be a team!" Luc insisted. "That's not _fair_. Two winners shouldn't be able to play together."

Maudlin let out a bitter laugh.

"That shouldn't be a problem," said Astoria grimly, trying not to smirk at the look on Maudlin's face. "We've never actually _won_."

"What?" scoffed Luc, so accustomed to being the butt end of Maudlin and Alec's jokes that suspicion seemed to come naturally to him these days. "I thought you said that you'd been playing this game for _years_."

"We have," Astoria sighed.

"We've just never won," burst Maudlin emphatically, clenching his hands around his fork and knife.

" _Never_?" prompted Malfoy, dumbstruck. "How is that even _possible_?"

"My _father_!" exclaimed Maudlin bitterly.

" _Every_ year!" Astoria moaned, surprised to find that the memory of so much defeat was capable of retaining such painful clarity throughout the years. "He was vicious! It's never even been _close_."

"The last year we played was a near miss," attempted Maudlin. "We almost won."

"No we _didn't_ ," Astoria countered waspishly, "he was just toying with us!"

"And he _punished_ you every single year for losing?" sneered Malfoy dully. "Why keep playing, then?"

"It's not like he was going to go easy on us just because we were _children_ ," breathed Maudlin defensively. "No, if we made the mistake of challenging him, he was going to make sure that we _earned_ our victory."

"No handicaps," Astoria agreed, stopping herself just short of adding ' _no survivors_ ', feeling this was the type of petty melodrama she tended to associate with Pansy and Flora.

"This year will be our first victory," Maudlin murmured confidently, as much to himself as the rest of the table. "We should take a picture and send it back to father later, Ria. He tends to appreciate that sort of thing..."

Malfoy's look of incredulousness snapped into one of outright indignation. Somewhere in the distance, a clock chimed.

"It's eight," said Maudlin briskly, cutting off whatever scathing response Draco had been brewing. "Lets start moving toward the courtyard."

The winter day was just as brisk as Astoria had guessed it would be from the temperature in the halls. A bright, almost lunar sunlight seemed to be sapping the grounds of all their color and Astoria's breath rose in cruel clouds of mist in front of her.

"Hang on," Astoria murmured, pausing next to a stone archway to put her cloak on.

"Here," said Maudlin, passing Montague and Luc two enchanted badges. "You're Team Blue."

The badges Maudlin handed them had once born the legend: 'Potter Stinks', but they had since been altered so that they now more closely resembled the kind of gaudy brooches that a very unfashionable grandmother might find positively charming. Both pins were obnoxiously worked over with tartan and, in Luc's case, were a royal blue in hue.

"What are these?" gaped Luc in revulsion.

"Your team badges," explained Maudlin unconcernedly. "Put them on."

Draco's attention seemed to have been caught by the shape of the pin because he was regarding them with narrowed-eyed recognition.

"It's not like anyone is going to forget which team I'm on," Luc argued. "Why do I have to wear this?"

"Did you make those things out of _my_ badges?" demanded Draco irritably, recognizing the bronze metal work.

"You have to wear the badge because you need to wear tartan in order to play," shot Maudlin, growing impatient. "I must have told you ten times already. Pin it on Luc, before I _make_ you."

Draco's eyes flashed toward Astoria, wanting to make his annoyance known but Astoria refused to meet his eye, not wanting to encourage hostility.

"Team Silver," Maudlin went on, producing two more badges. "Come on, be good sports."

Draco snatched the badge out of Maudlin's hand and turned it over, searching for proof of suspected crimes against his handiwork. Alec, however, refused point blank to take his.

"I'm _not_ wearing that," he murmured smoothly. "You're lucky I'm even going into the village with you."

"If you won't wear tartan, I'm leaving you at the school gate!" Maudlin insisted angrily, knowing that his command over Alec was much weaker than Luc.

"I'm already wearing tartan," Alec quirked, smirking crookedly.

"You are _not_ ," Luc jumped in accusingly, so bitter about having to wear the badge himself that the idea of letting Alec get away with cheating was too much for him to bear.

"I am," Alec lied smoothly, "just not in a place that I tend to display."

Maudlin studied Alec's face sternly, sucking on his teeth. "Montague, you're the one who is always going on about wanting a new broomstick, aren't you?" he asked, never looking away from Alec.

"I- yeah, I've mentioned it," responded Montague confusedly, thoroughly thrown by the entire morning's proceedings in a way that made Astoria feel certain that Draco had given him almost no warning about what his day was going to entail.

"I'll give you fifty galleons on the spot to pants Alec," offered Maudlin, his expression one of perfect calm.

For a split second, Montague seemed to weigh the merits of this offer in his head. He was eager for the fifty galleons but hesitant to lay hands on Alec, whose enviable sense of self-possession had the power to make people desperately want to be his friend almost as much as it tended to intimidated them.

After a brief pause, greed won the battle over dignity and Montague made a rushing motion toward Alec. Alec blinked and straightened up out of his lazy slouch, catching Montague by the wrist in a way that seemed to imply that the idea of another man reaching for his belt was not so much startling as it was annoying _._

Alec snapped the badge out of Maudlin's waiting hands and shot Montague a cold look as he released him.

"Perfect," continued Maudlin, ignoring the queer tension he seemed to have provoked in all corners. "Astoria, here's your badge. We're in purple, so Team Mendel."

" _Excuse_ me?" asked Astoria, hardly able to believe her ears. "Team _Mendel_?"

"The game started in _my_ house," said Maudlin, losing all patience at last. " _Team Mendel_!"

"By _both_ of us," Astoria countered fairly. "Why not call it team Greengrass?"

"Are you kidding?" asked Maudlin patronizingly. "What about my father? He played with us. That's two Mendels, one Greengrass. We're Team Mendel and our badges are purple. That's all there is to it."

Astoria took her badge moodily, noticing as she did so that Draco had yet to affix his pin to his shirt. "F _ine,_ " Astoria breathed, pinning the purple tartan swatch just below where the crease of her hood settled against her shoulders.

"It's the most sensible this way," Maudlin insisted.

"Oh, p _lease_. what do you know about sensible?" Astoria snapped back. "You wanted to call Alec and Draco _Team Blonde."_

Maudlin reached out and adjusted Astoria's pin until it lay flat, smirking triumphantly.

Filch was posted up near the gates with his clipboard and secrecy sensor at the ready. A small queue of shivering students had already arrived and were lingering about in the biting cold, waiting for Filch to finish prodding them with his sensor so that they could escape into Hogsmeade.

"We'll go to the Three Broomsticks first and then, after that, we'll see if we can get into the Hogs Head," said Maudlin, pushing toward the front of the line.

"You want to go to the pub before nine in the morning?" sneered Malfoy, looking privately excited by this idea, no matter what he said otherwise. He cut in line to follow Maudlin

The Third Years ahead of Astoria seemed to come to the consensus that they had given up enough turf because they closed the gap between themselves to stop her from moving in front of them.

"We have rank!" snapped Draco over his shoulder, turfing the Third Years aside rudely so that Astoria could slip between them.

Astoria did not see why they couldn't all just simply wait for their turn. The group they were standing in did not appear to consist of more than fifteen people, but Maudlin was in the kind of impatient rush that could not be assuaged by reason. Astoria had to wriggle (and the Third Years protested loudly) but she managed to pop out near the front of the line, staggering slightly.

Both Draco and Maudlin lifted their arms at the exact same moment to make room for her and their hands accidentally touched mid-air. Draco snatched his arm back, looking faintly put-out but Maudlin paused and glanced at Draco in surprise. A frown crossed his features, as though it had never before occurred to him that Draco might be conscious of Astoria's physical space. The look put her teeth on edge immediately.

"The owner of the Hogs Head will kick us out when he sees us," Astoria persisted, wanting to distract Maudlin as quickly as she could, afraid of what conclusions he might draw if he was allowed to study Draco carefully.

"Its bloody cold out," chattered Luc, unrolling the sleeves of his sweater as they started off down the wide track toward the village, passing the iron gates topped with winged boars.

Alec sighed dully. "Take your hat off, then."

"What good would that do?" remarked Luc, pulling his hat off his head doubtfully.

Alec's eyelashes fluttered almost self-punishingly until Luc understood.

"Oh," Luc startled. "Wait- does that count? Is that a point?"

"If we have to play, we may as well make sure that the dream team doesn't win," said Alec calmly, alluding to Astoria and Maudlin. "Put your pin on, Malfoy."

0o0

The evergreen trees that lined the road danced elegantly in the breeze, but by the time they had reached the bustling main street, Astoria was so cold that she could not open and close her hands properly inside her gloves.

Considering it was not yet noon, The Three Broomsticks was holiday-busy, and they all had to squash into a back booth together to avoid having to sit at separate ends of the bar.

Astoria pulled her cloak off the moment she felt the humid strain of so many layers of clothing begin to mount her cheeks in the form of a dull flush. Jittery from the temperature shock and the promise of a competition, everybody paused to dab at watery noses and grin at each other, all signs of the rocky start in the courtyard washed away by the walk.

Astoria slowly allowed her shoulders to relax, fully opening herself up to the concept of having a fun afternoon. Neither Blaise nor Cassandra had been invited, Astoria reflected gleefully. There was no reason that she should have to fake her enjoyment or force herself to be careful about every move she made. They were miles away from the nearest teacher and, with the exception of perhaps Luc, she was capable of finding everyone present to be amusing when she was of a mind to be amused.

When nobody could decide exactly what to order, Maudlin decided that a pitcher of something universally drinkable was the most intelligent compromise. Astoria allowed him to fill her glass with butterbeer whenever if became empty, refusing to be afraid of a slightly loosened tongue. It was only after two pitchers had been ordered and then consumed that she decided to pull her glass away and start refusing top offs until after lunch.

A Christmas tree was still situated nearby, its heavy ornaments glimmering merrily in the bright sunlight streaming in through the bar windows. When Luc, who truly could not hold his liquor, began to giggle and shout sentences at the top of his lungs, Alec charmed the tree so that hovered in the air and dropped back down to strategically block their party from Madam Rosmerta's view. This turned out to be a very good idea when, moments later, Maudlin attempted a prank that Astoria fell for and they both had to leap to their feet in order to do a jig.

"What in the literal _hell_ are you two doing?" bellowed Luc.

Maudlin broke off from his feverish dancing just long enough to inform Luc that, "If we say the name of the prank backwards three times while we do a jig, we don't have to lose a point!"

Nobody seemed to have any response to this logic, so they were able to finish without interruption.

Soon, however, even the thick tree could not hide Luc's boisterousness. Maudlin paid their tab and they all stumbled back out into the white, frigid afternoon together.

"I say we try the Hogs Head," Alec remarked, his aggressive dislike for Dionysus Day softened by the beer and the lack of childish antics thus far. "Luc went in the fall. If he managed it, so can we."

Astoria turned to walk up the hill, her thoughts shifting to the very familiar goblins who were known to frequent that particular bar. Her eyes drifted up and down the street, searching for another idea that might manage to gain traction with the additional benefit of being closer.

"What's in there?" Astoria asked, pointing to burgundy door near the post office. Through the thin crystal slats above the door knocker, Astoria could just make out the sight of several tables laden with cutlery.

"It looks like a lounge," remarked Maudlin. "What's the place called?"

Draco shrugged, a little surprised to find that there could be eatery in Hogsmeade that he had never noticed before.

"It's probably private," said Montague, something cautionary creeping into his voice.

"So?" sneered Draco smugly. Perhaps he was remembering his last experience at the Hogs Head, because he too suddenly looked nearly as eager as Astoria was to avoid the place. "Maudlin's father is the next Minister of Magic in Monaco and _my_ father has given so many donations to Hogwarts that even if the place _is_ private, they'll have to let us in."

There was a touch of snottiness to this statement that Astoria would never learn to savor, but she suspected that Draco was likely very correct in his assumption. No establishment in Hogsmeade was likely to turn away Draco and Maudlin for fear of their greater family influence and Astoria had a faint idea that Alec's father was probably frightening enough to guarantee _his_ entrance without any assistance from his more politically connected friends.

Montague and Astoria were probably the weakest members of their party as far as importance went, and even then, it was not as though their relations were unrecognizable. They simply suffered because Astoria's most prominent family members were all imprisoned and Montague's father was long dead. Montague's mother, to the best of Astoria's knowledge, had allowed herself to become a creature of obscurity but Astoria could not think of a single scandal that she had ever heard involving her name and Belladonna was certainly social enough to be relevant.

"Let's try it," said Maudlin, pausing in the middle of the road in a way that forced foot traffic to funnel around him. "It's closer."

Astoria was a hundred times more willing to face the scorn of a stuffy maitre d' than Ragnuk's gang of goblins and she was the first to step through the burgundy door. Draco and Maudlin followed, looking faintly impressed by her gumption.

They were greeted by a small welcoming desk, but the tiny chair behind it was vacant of any host. Beyond and toward the left, several tables were arranged around a fireplace. The crystal glasses laid out on the white tablecloths winked promisingly at them, reminding Astoria of sparkling teeth behind a coy smile.

On the right, a quaint den faced the street. Several elderly gentlemen were smoking pipes and playing chess amongst one another here, all looking very much the part of the unconcerned members of a local government. A staircase, well kept but old and narrow, served to separate these two rooms like a folding screen.

Alec chuckled under his breath and headed for a glass cabinet in the den that contained a bar. Curiously, perhaps because of Alec's naturally fearless buoyancy, not a single one of the whiskered gentleman batted an eye at him as he passed.

Draco's disbelieving gaze followed Alec across the room. He glanced at Astoria out of the corner of his eye before coming to some kind of decision and he darted out after Alec.

Alec had taken the time to dust off a glass, pouring a measure of something amber into it before dropping in two darkly colored whiskey stones. Draco did not seem to posses Alec's effortless ease, so he simply snatched the whole bottle in one swift motion.

"This isn't bad, you know," said Alec cooly, returning to the place where the rest of them were standing near the bottom of the stairs, savoring the drink in his hand.

"I've got the rest of it," said Draco, his eyes sweeping up the long staircase. "I say we get out of here before the butler comes back."

"What _is_ this place?" demanded Montague tensely. "Why is one else talking?"

"It's a club of some kind," said Maudlin mildly. "Government, maybe? Who runs Hogsmeade?"

"We should explore," said Astoria, gazing upward at the long hall that stretched off the second floor and the twisting stairs that carried on beyond it. Something about the thin, unexpected dimensions of the place made Astoria feel relatively certain that the club housed about a million unexpected nooks and crannies and the three glasses of butterbeer she had consumed seemed to have left her with an urgent desire to see them for herself.

Draco seemed ill at ease with this idea, but not so strongly that he felt the need to say so. Alec laughed, entirely amused.

"No way," scoffed Montague. "If anyone catches us, we'll be packed off back to school."

"No we won't," said Astoria confidently, her eyes still lingering on the upstairs hallway. "The worst they'll do is ask us to leave. Pretend you don't know English, Maudlin. They'll think we're lost."

"We should at least figure out the name of the place," said Maudlin. "It'll be easier to convince the staff that were sent here, if we get stopped."

Alec put his drink down on the front desk and began to rummage about behind it boldly. Finally, he found a stack of dark red business cards with the words ' _The Corner'_ written on them in loopy gold calligraphy.

"What do you think that means?" sneered Malfoy, glancing back toward the front windows. The answer was apparent from the view. The entire establishment seemed to be situated on a very crooked corner and had been built upward, rather than outward, on the smallest margin of land possible.

Alec pocketed one of the cards and retrieved his drink. "Let's have a look around."

They walked softly up the first flight of stairs, growing bolder when it became apparent that nobody was going to come flying out of a back office and scold them. 'The Corner' seemed to function partially as an inn, and most of the doors that led off the second floor appeared to have been given over to visiting guests.

Craving adventure with a side of privacy, Astoria continued up to the third floor, which was markedly thinner yet somehow seemed to contain twice as many sitting rooms and bed chambers.

"This place is _bizarre_ ," remarked Draco, staring into a bathroom that, along with all the usual pieces of furniture that bathrooms were known to contain, also hosted a set of luxurious red couches and a shelf of books dedicated to golf, held up by a tartan duck bookend.

Astoria seized the duck and held it up triumphantly, pleased with its pattern and coloring.

Draco tried to sneer but the unlikelihood of the tartan duck got the better of him and he had to turn away to avoid smirking.

On the fourth floor, Alec gave a sticky door a mighty shove and discovered a long living room with a glistening parquet floor. They were so high up and removed from both the pipe smoking men and the street traffic that making noise seemed safer here than it had anywhere else. Alec wedged the door shut again behind them.

"Only the British!" cried Luc effusively the moment the door had been shut. "This has to be the weirdest building that I have ever been in!"

Maudlin laughed, dropping onto one of the long couches. "Draco, do you still have that bottle? See if you can find glasses."

Maudlin rummaged about in his pocket for the piece of paper he had been working on the night before and flattened it out.

There was a large cabinet full of dishes next to an ebony colored grand piano at the far end of the room. Draco indicated the shelf and then made a motion toward Montague, who promptly went to fetch anything that looked as though it could hold liquid. He returned moments later with six crystal champagne flutes.

The sky outside had darkened while they had been exploring and by the time Draco had filled the last glass with whatever amber colored vintage he had nicked, a soft snow had begun to fall.

"What's that?" asked Astoria, leaning over the couch behind Maudlin, holding the crystal glass carefully.

"The score," he answered, holding it up so that Astoria could have a look. "We're in the lead by six points."

This was mostly thanks to Luc's intoxication and Montague's ignorance of the rules, but Astoria and Maudlin smiled at each other like greedy children anyway.

"Of _course_ you have a score sheet," sneered Draco, coming to stand next to Astoria, eyeing the back of Maudlin's head in a way that was as contemptuous as it was calculating. "It's enchanted, I suppose?"

"Of course," said Maudlin. "I haven't needed to keep a tally, have I?"

"You haven't got Montague's name on the roster," Draco pointed out flatly.

"I didn't know that he would be playing," Maudlin answered, annoyed by Draco's tone.

"Lend me your quill," said Draco.

Maudlin shuffled about in his pockets before coming to the obvious realization that he did not have one because he had charmed the score sheet instead. Another black line inked itself into being next to Team Silver's second place tally. Maudlin swore.

Draco let out a low, scathing sound under his breath and walked over to where Alec was fiddling with the piano keys.

Astoria smacked Maudlin on the shoulder. He turned around at once and threw both of his hands up in the air resentfully.

"Don't get cocky," Astoria hissed, certain that nothing would incite Draco and Alec more than smugness on Maudlin's part.

"Why shouldn't I?" Maudlin hissed back. "It's not my fault if Draco's a sore loser. What's wrong with _him_ , anyway? He can sneer at me all he likes, it's just a bloody game."

Astoria was not insensible to the hypocrisy of Maudlin calling Dionysus Day 'just a game' but the fact that he had noticed something faintly hostile in Draco's behavior toward himself was far more worrisome to Astoria.

Truthfully, Astoria had more than once before spotted this same undercurrent of confrontational bitterness on Draco's part, but Maudlin had always seemed to be blissfully in the dark about it. The fact that he had finally caught a whiff of this latent displeasure did nothing for Astoria's sense of well being.

Astoria turned to peer at Draco, who was plunking out the most miserable version of a Chopin waltz that she had ever heard in her life on the piano, and thought carefully.

"He's always been competitive," Astoria suggested smoothly, sensing something of a lie in her forced detachment. "We are too. It's the nature of the game."

"Yes, but it's _our_ game," insisted Maudlin, buying Astoria's explanation wholeheartedly. "He should mind his manners!"

Astoria smiled soothingly and made her way over toward the piano, feeling the need to attempt some sort of damage control, although how peace might be achieved, she did not know.

"I didn't know you could play piano, Malfoy," remarked Montague.

"He clearly can't," commented Alec, wincing at Draco's musical butchery.

"Let Alec play," Astoria suggested, wanting to free Draco from his distraction. "He plays beautifully."

Draco paused and shot Astoria a snide look. "Yeah right. I'm not falling for it, Greengrass."

"Falling for what?" Astoria laughed lightly. "That's why he went to Beuxbatons instead of Durmstrang, you know. He was practically a child prodigy."

"Never!" Montague joined. "Don't get up Malfoy, she's already in the lead."

"It's true, actually," remarked Alec, polishing off his drink. "The old headmaster—this was before Maxime's tenure—was such a covetous _pompiste_ that he agreed to take me all the way from Russia without a single complaint about my lengthy commute. I think he just wanted to make sure that Igor couldn't have me. Maxime couldn't care less, it seems."

It took Astoria a moment to realize that by 'Igor", Alec had probably meant Karkoroff. _Whose left arm had been hurting him lately..._

Draco eyed Alec appraisingly, perhaps sensing that he was the type of person who could easily be hiding a savant-like artistic talent. Still, Draco seemed quite unwilling to hand Maudlin any points if he could help it.

"I'll get up if you can tell me what I'm playing," Draco decided, eyeing Alec's empty glass and remembering his own near the sofa.

"You're _trying_ to play Chopin's waltz number eleven in G flat," said Alec, smirking repressively. "Although Lord knows it was nearly impossible to tell."

Draco plonked the keys under his fingers and stood up, not even bothering to acquit himself rudely. " _You_ play it, then."

Alec put his empty glass down and sat. He spread his fingers and the moment he touched them to the keys it became obvious that his hitherto hinted talents had actually been understated.

It had occurred to Astoria before that it was not so much Alec's memory for the notes that made him so remarkable to listen to; it was his fluid, staggeringly impressive grasp of timing. Nothing lurched and Astoria's ear never sensed the crooked tremor of a flightless flaw. It was as though Alec dreamed songs into audible melody. For a moment, even Draco, who probably could not actually care less about playing piano, fell silent to watch Alec's hands.

Lulled by the song and her champagne glass full of ill-gotten drink, Astoria reflected that everything about Alec, from his salmon pink linen shirt to the rather affected way that he was able to twist his hands, spoke of unattainable beauty. Everything except his actual face, at least. Draco had described Alec with a rare truthfulness when he had first met him at the Quidditch World Cup, before Alec's strange and inimitable glamour had had the chance to get the best of him.

Astoria strained to remember what exactly Draco had said and his words came floating back to her like a ghost: _'He almost looks like me. Of course, I don't wear pink and I've never run headfirst into a wall with my face...'_

Astoria choked on a laugh and glanced at Draco. Draco's eyes flicked reflexively toward her the moment he realized that she was staring at him. He flushed, perhaps thinking that she had been laughing at his concentration on Alec's nimble fingering.

The music stopped abruptly. Alec had been distracted by Montague, who was rolling a loose-leaf cigarette of the same sort that he occasionally sold Theodore. "Roll me one of those and I'll make you the winner of Dionysus Day," he declared.

"What will you turn me into if I say no?" asked Montague, trying for a weak joke.

" _Mittens_ ," murmured Alec, smirking to himself as he poured another half measure from the bottle.

By the time they began climbing back down the flights of seemingly endless stairs, Astoria knew that she had drunk exactly as much as she was going to allow herself. Each floor seemed to be an exact imitation of the last, the details merging together like a narrow, strangely shaped mirage.

The front desk was no longer unmanned when they reached the ground floor. The receptionist cast them a very startled look as they slipped down through the front parlor. He called out after them but, with Maudlin leading the charge, they were all out of the door before the poor man could get up from his chair.

"Around here," called Luc, red in the face from laughter. "There's an alleyway."

They ducked down it and continued to run until they came out near the river, which was transformed by a layer of frothy looking ice. The soft snow seemed to be picking up. They all huddled together under the branches of a nearby tree, seeking shelter. Although it was only the late afternoon, darkness was creeping along the horizon. Their curfew would not be for several hours, but an early winter night was nearly upon them.

"Absolute madhouse," said Luc. "It's no wonder you lot have never heard of it. Who would _stay_ there?"

Astoria shivered violently, watching as the smoke from Alec's hand rolled cigarette disappeared into the navy blue twilight.

"I thought it was hilarious," she chattered, thinking fondly of the bathroom sofa.

"You've always had an odd sympathy for the eclectic," mused Maudlin indulgently.

"More like for the _crooked_ ," said Draco coldly, somehow annoyed by Maudlin's amusement at Astoria's unique sense of taste. "Between old Nott Sr. and that weird room near the Astronomy tower, I'm not even surprised. You _would_ enjoy the aesthetic of _The Corner_."

Something about the name of the ridiculous establishment they had just abandoned being used so formally provoked a jolt of laugher from everybody present.

Almost thankful that Draco had insulted her, Astoria ducked under the loose corner of his cloak for additional warmth, certain that nobody would think she had done so because he was especially fond of her. Draco let out a weird, nasal sound of annoyance but did not jerk away from her.

"Say, Maudlin, could I borrow your lighter?" asked Montague, his voice strained with unnatural coyness. Astoria blinked, prepared to shout out a warning but Maudlin had already reached for the lighter he did not own. Montague let out a whoop of triumph.

"The _worst_ game," muttered Alec, shaking his head at the gathering darkness.

A particularly vengeful burst of wind parted the spiny branches of the tree and Astoria shuffled further into Draco's cloak, gazing enviously at Luc's barely visible hat.

"Do we go back to the castle?" asked Montague, finally taking stock of the intense chill.

"And do what?" wondered Maudlin, shuffling his feet to keep the cold from making them numb.

Draco leaned back against the tree trunk behind him, casting a wary look at Maudlin before tugging Astoria toward him again. Astoria readily tucked back under the corner of his cloak. Behind her, Draco's hand found her arm and lingered there, unseen.

Suddenly, it took everything Astoria had to focus on the conversation _and_ Draco's hand at the same time. The fact that he was touching her underneath his cloak could easily be explained away by the chill or convenience, but Astoria had a sneaking suspicion that he had left it _there_ because he had known Astoria would have shrugged him off if he had allowed the gesture to be visible. This bit of subtle awareness on Draco's part, no matter how trivial, was enough to make Astoria go still.

Not for the first time, Astoria reflected that the game she and Draco so often played was only fun for Astoria if she was the one refereeing it. The idea that Draco might have learned the rules so well that he had become capable of facilitating her weirdness was a little startling. On the one hand, it made her feel like a fraud, and she did not like the fact that this was something Malfoy knew how to provoke. On the other, it was almost fascinating that anyone could have observed her highly varied behavior with such devotion as to have been able to pick out a pattern in it.

Against better logic, and because she knew that they were about to move anyway, Astoria nudged back against Draco's chest. It was the only test she could think of that would help her decipher between an accidental gesture and an act of motivated cunning.

After a moment's pause that Luc filled with noise, Draco's shifted slightly to the side and his arm slid down so that she was tucked into the nook below his shoulder.

Draco laughed shortly at something Alec said but Astoria's chest was surging with a mixture of triumph and dread, and she did not hear the joke.

Immediately, Astoria found herself challenging the logic of what she was experiencing. Draco and Astoria barely even claimed to be good friends with each other around mixed company. How far did this willingness to touch her stretch? She had slept next to him after the Quidditch World Cup, but he had _known_ that Astoria had no other place to go. She had essentially been a refugee and his actions could be chalked up as an act of kindness. At what point would obviousness make Draco recoil for fear of exposing himself? Or perhaps he wasn't thinking about his actions at all and Astoria's proximity to his body meant nothing to him? An explainable action triggered by the winter temperature?

Emboldened by the butterbeer, the cover of the falling darkness and Draco's relative inability to ask her what she was doing, Astoria felt about until she located his wrist and quietly slipped her fingers inside his sleeve. If he had been unconscious of what he was doing before, Astoria felt certain that this would be too pointed to miss.

Draco let out a weird breath, the only sign of recognition on his part, but said nothing about Astoria's reaching hand. After a lengthy pause, during which Astoria observed him like a master-brewer waiting to see what color her potion would turn, Draco subtly turned his arm over. Suddenly, Astoria's fingers did not have to fight to warm up against his skin. A second adjustment on Draco's part and her hand curled softly against the pulse just below his palm.

 _What are you doing?_ Astoria's mind seemed to demand slyly. _Bad ideas don't even need time to gain a foothold around you, do they?_

"We'll go back to the carriage, then," said Maudlin, nodding in agreement with Alec, who must have made the suggestion in the first place. Astoria followed them back out into the halo of streetlight, thankful for a reason to move out of the shadows.

It was a long, stiff walk back to the grounds. The evergreens that lined the road continued to sway, but their boughs had turned an inky emerald color and the dark spaces between the tree trunks sent shivers up Astoria's spine that had nothing to do with the climate.

She was very thankful indeed when they reached the carriage, although it seemed possible that the cold had seeped into Astoria's bones so many times throughout the day that she would never be able to properly warm up again.

Early evening arrived, maturing into a proper moonless void outside Maudlin's only dormitory window. Their pranks, such as they were, grew lazier and most of the efforts seemed to be made on Luc's part. Secure in her six point lead, Astoria tried to make herself comfortable in a chair until midnight.

"When my father becomes Minister, I might ask him to make Dionysus Day a national holiday," Maudlin drawled, glancing across the room at Astoria for support.

"Yes!" Astoria trilled gleefully. "We'll go around to all the Heads of Office and plead our case!"

Maudlin tipped his head back and laughed. "In the summer, though! We'd have to go in the summer, otherwise all of the blind old men would mistake you for father's accountant."

"What's _that_ supposed to mean?" Astoria demanded, entirely taken aback.

"Just that you'd have more luck campaigning if you weren't wearing three sweaters, a cloak and a blanket," Maudlin scoffed, surveying the nest Astoria had created for herself in one of his purple armchairs.

"I'm _cold_ ," Astoria returned, stunned.

"So am I, but I'm not dressed like a groundhog," Maudlin scoffed. His eyes darted away, perhaps sensing that he had phrased himself poorly.

"Groundhogs don't _dress_ ," said Astoria coldly. "I'm a girl. Unlike you, I'll always be pretty, no matter _what_ I'm wearing."

"You think you're prettier than me?" Maudlin demanded, ruffling slightly.

"Can you _hear_ yourself right now?" Astoria asked, counting Draco's snide laughter as a vote of support.

"Yes, well," Maudlin blustered, fiddling with his tie. "I'm more _symmetrical_ than you are, you know."

"That's not even a _thing_ ," Astoria argued.

" _God_ ," Luc groaned. "Is there anything worse than listening to two good looking people argue about who's _prettier_?"

"I'm _not_ arguing," said Astoria, adjusting her blanket with as much dignity as she could muster, feeling very annoyed with herself. "It's not my fault Maudlin is so vain."

"That's ridiculous," Maudlin huffed, crossing his legs at the ankle.

"You're wearing _velvet_ shoes!" Astoria snapped, unable to stop herself.

"You get angry whenever I'm better than you at something," said Maudlin haltingly, a mask of forced calm disguising the childish annoyance he could not seem to rise above.

"Better than me?" commented Astoria scathingly. "At what? Being _symmetrical_?"

"I'm good at plenty things. You just don't like to admit it," snapped Maudlin, actual color rising in his cheeks.

"Such as?" Astoria sneered, still feeling the comparison that had been drawn between herself and a groundhog rather keenly.

"I'm not going to _list_ my skills for you," Maudlin sniffed.

"If this carriage was suddenly transported by Portkey to a barren wilderness, you would be the first person I would _eat_ ," Astoria decided, giving her blanket another rough flourish.

Plainly cheered, Draco slouched back in his seat, eyes bright with a glittering delight that he could not be bothered to conceal.

"Well, that would be a _mistake_ ," Maudlin sneered, losing his careful composure at last. "People would actually look for _me_. Nobody would _care_ if you disappeared."

"The search party wouldn't know we'd eaten you," Astoria reasoned nastily. "You'd probably find a way to accidentally murder us before help could arrive, anyway. Killing you early would practically count as a public service. Wort case scenario, there's _four_ other boys here. We could repopulate without you."

Luc howled with mirth.

" _Who_ would you repopulate with?" demanded Maudlin sharply, thoroughly distracted by this notion.

"Alec," chose Astoria unhesitatingly, entirely certain that Alec would live the longest in any survival scenario if only because he did not _need_ to rely on a house-elf to tie his shoes.

Draco sneered but Alec grinned at her from behind Montague's flailing, hysterical limbs.

"You'd _kill_ me and have _babies_ with my best friend?" demanded Maudlin, his lip curling as though Astoria had actually attempted to do just that. "It's nice to know that our entire _childhood_ counted for so much, Astoria. What if I pulled a coup and had _Alec_ butchered first?"

"Of course," drawled Alec wryly, "butcher the _survivor_ first. That seems reasonable."

"You'd be _stuck_ with my useless, velvet wearing stock then, wouldn't you?" Maudlin continued bitterly, more upset by this than he should be, even if the conversation _had_ been calculated to annoy him.

"Or Malfoy's, more likely," Astoria shrugged, feeling that even Draco made for a smarter second choice than Maudlin.

"What kind of _conversation_ is this?" demanded Luc, wiping actual tears of mirth from his eyes. "What's wrong with Montague and I?"

"He's hairy and you're _stupid_ ," Maudlin snapped, shooting Astoria a sour look.

Somewhere in the hallway, a clock began to chime for midnight, distracting Luc before he could respond.

"What's the score?" asked Montague at once. "How much did we lose by?"

"Pour everyone a nightcap, Alec," said Maudlin, heaving himself out of his chair. "I was _going_ to let you choose the punishment, Astoria, but since you seem to keen on _breeding_ with Team Silver—" Maudlin froze, his eyes arrested by something on the score sheet.

"What?" asked Astoria sharply, disliking the look on Maudlin's face immensely.

Maudlin opened his mouth and then closed it again.

" _What_?" Astoria repeated shrilly.

"You lost," remarked Alec pitilessly, not even needing to read the sheet over Maudlin's shoulder.

Astoria turned toward Maudlin, drowning in self-loathing for having become so distracted that she had lost track of the score.

" _Alec won_?" Astoria exclaimed, climbing out of her blankets.

"Luc and Montague did!" exploded Maudlin, positively beside himself. "They must have snuck up on us in the carriage! It shouldn't even count! That was some of the weakest mischief that I've ever seen!"

Luc leapt off the couch with both hands over his head, hollering his disbelief. For a moment, Astoria contemplated murdering him.

"Wait, do we get to punish everybody, then?" asked Montague, fighting to keep up with this unexpected turn of events.

"Just the losers," said Astoria quickly. "The middle team should be neutral."

"Works for me," said Alec, who had obviously been keeping a mental tally because he was smirking repressively. " _You_ came in last."

"We should make them stand outside in the rain for three hours!" suggested Luc, taking to his new position of power with a trace of long-repressed cruelty. "How about I make you two sit alone in the Great Hall for the rest of the year? How would you like that?"

"They had to perform on stage as punishment for their first defeat," suggested Alec mildly, a strange glimmer in his eye. "Why not have them reenact the show for us? This is the last Dionysus Day, after all. It's almost poetic."

"Don't be childish, Alec," sniffed Maudlin feebly.

Astoria felt as though she had been plunged into a nightmare. She had been so certain of their inevitable triumph that defeat seemed to have struck her dumb.

"It was an _opera_ ," Maudlin spluttered. "You can't expect us to just _sing_ an opera!"

"I'm not singing _anything_ from H.M.S Pinafore!" Astoria sneered. The group fallen in to form a circle around herself and Maudlin. None of them looked at all sorry about watching them suffer.

"As luck would have it," Alec murmured, triumphant glee pulling on the corners of his mouth, "I've seen all the works of Gilbert and Sullivan. I do have such an ear for melody..."

"There's a camera in Cassandra's room," said Luc, "and a Kazoo in my trunk, if you want to play for them, Alec."

0o0

* * *

Well, I had real plans to dedicate the first half of this chapter to Dionysus Day and the second half to the start of spring term, but somewhere along the way I became too long winded for that. (I blame 'The Corner' and its amusing interior decoration for keeping everyone in Hogsmeade longer than they needed to be).

These types of chapters always make me nervous, though. They're super fun to write, but they tend to end up being removed from familiar settings and lack the full cast. We'll wade back into classes with the next chapter (and Rita Skeeter's article about Hagrid). The second task is approaching, so the goblins may make a reappearance as well. I'm toying with the idea of having Belladonna come to watch. I think it's high time she met the twins and it might be hard to contrive a scenario where they would formally visit Astoria at home.

SIDEBAR: I know some of you don't tend to like the drinking chapters, but as it was New Years Eve and at least half of the group is technically above the legal age (17), I had a hard time imagining that they would abstain. Apologies to anyone who was annoyed.

As always, reviews are an amazing treat. :)


	46. Egg And Giant

Chapter Forty Six

Egg and Giant

* * *

0o0

It was a dark, moonless walk back up to the school. Conscious of the fact that they were out of bed after curfew, Astoria was particularly inclined to move as quickly as possible. Draco and Montague however, who had only to sneak as far as the entrance to the dungeons, did not seem to share her urgency.

A stiff wind was picking up, howling across the hill. Astoria's cheeks, which were already burning from the embarrassment of her impromptu musical number, took on a deeper crimson hue.

"When the breezes blow, I generally go below!" Montague mock-sang, imitating Astoria's sailor inspired solo in what would have been an impressive baritone if Astoria had only been able to listen to him without cringing. Montague broke off because he had cracked himself up again, swaying forward to lean against the front door of the castle for a hearty belly-laugh.

"Yeah, right," Astoria bit back a little unforgivingly. "Night."

"Mendel trying to sing soprano!" drawled Malfoy, his high voice carrying all the way to the marble staircase. "It really is a pity nobody wears bonnets anymore."

Their derisive laughter chased Astoria all the way to the second floor, where she slowed down to a silent crawl, afraid of drawing unwanted attention from the staff room.

Normally, Astoria would not have even bothered at such an hour but as it _was_ New Years Eve, she did not feel that it would be wise to assume the room would be vacant. As luck would have it, this bit of foresight paid off almost immediately. Halfway down the hall, Astoria perceived the sound of a pair of voices that did not belong to either Draco or Montague.

"...It goes against everything I've always said about vigilance, Minerva! The boy shouldn't be competing at all! He got by on luck and nerve, last time. There's every chance he won't be so lucky twice!"

At the sound of Professor Moody's voice, Astoria froze guiltily, feeling as though she had been caught out of bed red handed.

"I have expressed some of my own doubts about the matter, Alastor," admitted Professor Mcgonagall. He voice sounded so unsure that it struck Astoria as being nearly as frightening as Moody's was because of its lack of usual, crisp command. "Albus doesn't seem to feel that there is any other way. Crouch and the International Delegation might have been furious, but surely it might have been better to cancel the Tournament than _subject_ the boy-"

"Ay, and who was the last person to lay eyes on old Crouch, Minerva? Because the way I hear it, it's been quite some time since he's been seen at work!" growled Moody. "Strange doings, these days. Ministry workers disappearing left and right and now Albus wants to toss the boy into the bloody lake!"

Astoria had begun creeping again but at these words she stiffened a second time. Was it possible that Moody and Mcgonagall, thinking themselves to be quite alone after hours, were talking openly about the Second Task? What had Professor Moody just said about the lake? Astoria strained to hear until the curious sound of silence began hum in her ears.

"Have they picked Potter's hostage yet?" Moody continued, the dull thunk of his leg telling Astoria that he was pacing back and forth in the parlor beyond the door she was crouching next to.

"To the best of my knowledge, Filius has decided to enchant Mr. Weasley," answered Professor Mcgonagall, sounding very tired and- dare Astoria even think it?- perhaps a little tipsy.

"Expecting a fourth year to learn how to breathe underwater at a moment's notice!" Moody scoffed, his voice like a sack of bricks being dragged across cement. "You'd think Fudge _wanted_ the boy dead!"

"Heaven forbid!" said Mcgonagall somberly. "I shudder to hear you say it, Alastor."

"Human transfiguration will be N.E.W.T material, will it?" asked Moody. Professor Mcgonagall must have nodded, because he went on: "With any luck, Potter has a working knowledge of plants. Gillyweed might last long enough if he was quick and that'd be right in his wheelhouse..."

Astoria had heard enough. Not only was she out of bed and wandering the halls hours after hours, but she was now eavesdropping on a highly private conversation between two teachers through a keyhole. The idea of being caught was suddenly more than she could bear so, quiet as a church mouse, Astoria began to ease her way backwards toward the end of the hall. When her heels hit the staircase, she turned and sped up them as fast as she could.

It was one o'clock in the morning when Astoria reached Gryffindor Tower and a small party had not quite tired themselves out yet near the common room fire. Spotting Astoria by the portrait hole, Fred and George signaled enthusiastically for her to come join them but Astoria waved them off by faking an expression of great fatigue. She had had enough fun (or lack thereof) already for one evening and what she really wanted was to be by herself in order to contemplate what it was that she had just overheard.

Lavender and Parvati were gossiping on Lavender's bed with the hangings drawn, so Astoria kicked off her shoes and pulled the drapery of her own four poster shut. For a long while she lay perfectly still, blinking in the darkness until her eyes adjusted, trying not to listen to what Lavender Brown had to say about every boy in their year.

The sound of the brutal wind battering the castle was muffled by the fabric of her pillows, but it gave Astoria something else to focus on. By the time the dormitory fell silent and sleep started to threaten carrying her off until morning, Astoria had come to two important conclusions.

The first was that the Second Task was likely to mean a journey underwater to the bottom of the lake. The second was that this new danger did not seem to be a test of Harry's daring as much as it was a test of his magical prowess. To Astoria, who was betting a small fortune on Harry Potter whether she liked it or not, this was a bit of a sobering realization indeed.

0o0

Sunday morning dawned just as chilly and windswept as the night before. Astoria had something new to to think about however; something even more immediately pressing than the inclement weather or the threat of goblins.

All of the homework Astoria had been putting off during break seemed to have piled up to an unmanageable height while she had been busy elsewhere. The eleventh hour had officially arrived and Astoria would need to crack down if she wanted the essays that were due on Monday to be finished before dinner. She did not seem to be the only one who had been neglecting her educational responsibilities, either. Indeed, now that the holidays had come to a finish, the atmosphere of the entire castle seemed to have flatlined and the sight of so many heads in the library again struck Astoria as particularly bleak.

"You're absolutely certain he mentioned gillyweed?" asked Theodore around noontime, reclining thoughtfully in a library chair while Astoria worked feverishly around him.

"Mhmm," Astoria sighed, crossing out a misspelled word in her text. "I'm certain of it. I don't know what it is, though. A potion ingredient?"

"It can be," said Theodore, "but has potent magical abilities raw. If Potter ate it straight, he'd still be able to breathe underwater for a few hours, I'd wager."

Astoria had already surmised as much but it was good to hear her suspicions confirmed.

"What do you think Moody meant by ' _hostage_ ', though?" wondered Theodore, a crease forming between his eyes. "The staff can't mean to abduct anyone, can they? What am I talking about? Of _course_ they can."

Astoria shot Theodore a wry smile, uncorking a bottle of scarlet editing ink.

"Sounds like the most boring sporting event ever," continued Theodore, seeming to find a strange satisfaction in this idea. "What are the rest of us going to do? Sit out there in the cold and stare at the lake?"

"Presumably," Astoria shrugged, not really caring how enjoyable the Second Task would be to watch, as she was sure to spend its entire duration suffering from a fit of painful anxiety either way.

"Bit weird, though, don't you think?" Theodore mused pensively.

"Who?" Astoria asked, running her hand down her textbook's index.

"Moody and Mcgonagall," Theodore clarified, sitting up a little straighter. "They _know_ the Tasks are suppose to be kept secret. Why would they have been talking about the Tournament so loudly where you could overhear them?"

"It was one o'clock in the morning," Astoria shrugged. A smirk tugged at her lips as she remembered the thickness of Mcgonagall's voice behind the staff room door. "If you ask me, they'd been into some holiday drinks."

"Absolutely _classless_ ," Theodore snickered. "It's a wonder the actual champions haven't managed to hear about the Task by now."

This was Astoria's fear, but to say so would mean having to discuss Ranguk and the goblins, so she held her tongue and loaded her quill.

0o0

It was almost a relief when classes finally recommenced the next day. There was something chaotic about staying on at Hogwarts over the holidays, Astoria had decided, and she was not sorry to see the return of order.

Outside, the grounds continued to be held hostage by the icy fist of winter, but from inside the humid greenhouses, Astoria was able to spend most of first period in comfort, unearthing Gurdyroots from deep pots filled with warm soil. The tropical condensation of the greenhouses did not carry over as pleasantly on her walk down the Care of Magical Creatures class however, and the misty sweat clinging to her skin and hair froze long before she managed to reach Hagrid's cabin.

Shivering and uncomfortable, Astoria located Tracey and Theodore near the back of the crowd before sliding across the frozen path toward them.

"Heads up," cautioned Theodore under his breath, inclining his head toward a militaristic looking witch with a tightly cropped helmut of grey hair who was standing in front of Hagrid's cabin. This witch had a very square jaw; a trait made even more pronounced by the way she seemed to be chewing on her lip as she waited for the students to assemble.

"Who's that?" Astoria asked, rearranging her scarf against her clammy skin. "Is Hagrid having a guest speaker?"

"Don't think so," Theodore muttered grimly.

Soft and unpleasant laughter drew Astoria's eyes toward Draco, who was watching Harry Potter make his way down the frozen lawn. Alerted to the presence of mischief, Astoria let out a long breath and ceased fidgeting with her outerwear.

"My name is Professor Grubbly-Plank," the woman began, once the entire class had finished shuffling in. "I am your temporary Care of Magical Creatures instructor."

"What do you mean?" demanded Harry at once. "Where's Hagrid?"

"He is not well," returned Grubbly-Plank firmly. "If you'll follow me this way, our lesson begins at the paddock."

Harry dogged the heels of their strange new professor, his tone growing steadily more accusing. Astoria, by contrast, fell toward the back of the line as they walked around the Beauxbatons carriage, not wanting to be anywhere near Malfoy, who was following everything Harry said with a rapt and malevolent degree of attention.

"What happened to Hagrid, then?" Astoria whispered out of the corner of her mouth.

"Did you see the paper this morning?' Theodore asked quietly.

Astoria had not, as she had skipped breakfast to finish her Arithmancy worksheets. If she had to guess by Draco's unkind smile, however, Astoria would have wagered that Rita Skeeter had struck again. Suddenly afraid that Draco Malfoy had finally discovered a way to have Hagrid sacked, Astoria turned her eyes toward the trees evasively.

"Ohh!" squealed Lavender Brown, pointing eagerly past Grubbly-Plank's solidly built shoulders.

They had reached the edge of the forest. Tethered to the nearest oak, and somehow managing to stand out against the snow despite being pure white itself, a unicorn was tossing its graceful head and pawing the ground nervously.

"Boys stay near the back!" barked Grubbly-Plank. "Ladies can move forward- easy does it, you there! No need to frighten the poor thing."

Pansy Parkinson and Flora had moved forward with such ungainly haste that the unicorn had startled. Even as Astoria watched, Pansy pulled back an attempt to look uninterested.

Tracey seized Astoria's sleeve excitedly and they both tip-toed forward. The unicorn was skittish and it was obvious that the tether around its neck was causing it no small amount of distress. Seeing this, Professor Grubbly-Plank pulled a few sugar cubes from her pocket and began to hand them around as extra inducement.

"Look at it!" Tracey breathed after Astoria had finally managed to tempt the unicorn into taking a few sly licks of their sugar cube. "Aren't unicorns supposed to be impossible to catch?"

"Unicorns have a very keen understanding of human intent," called Professor Grubbly-Plank, overhearing Tracey's whispered confusion. "If I had wanted anything more than to give you a demonstration, the creature that stands before you could have easily evaded capture."

The unicorn's tongue was an incredible candy-pink, but Astoria's eyes kept flitting back up the lawn toward where Harry and Draco were standing. Draco appeared to be laughing and Harry's entire body had gone rigid.

"Why don't they like boys?" asked Parvati, moving in to pat the unicorn's soft head.

"A keen understanding of human intent," repeated Grubbly-Plank a little stiffly. "That should tell you all that you need to know, girls."

Tracey raised a gleeful eyebrow at Astoria, beyond delighted to have discovered a secret man-hater on staff.

"Are you paying attention over there?" barked Professor Grubbly-Plank, narrowing her eyes in the direction of the distant male forms at the bottom of the hill.

From a hundred feet away, Astoria could see that Harry had gone splotchy with anger and she would have been willing to bet that he had not heard so much as one word of the instruction. Unbidden, Astoria's gaze drifted onto the side of Draco's face. When he turned, his eyes darted toward Astoria. She made up her mind on the spot to meet his gaze unsmilingly.

A flash of nervousness crept into Draco's pale expression but then he squared his shoulders stubbornly and rejoined Crabbe and Goyle.

"Lord, I hope that woman stays for good!" exclaimed Tracey as they climbed back up the hill a half hour later. "You do realize that was the first _real_ Care of Magical Creatures lesson that we've ever had, don't you?"

Astoria knew in her heart of hearts that this was quite true, but she couldn't quite seem to reconcile Grubbly-Plank's sturdy competence with the fact that it would take Hagrid being sacked for her to be hired on.

"You _don't_ think it was good lesson?" demanded Tracey, mistaking Astoria's silence for disagreement.

"No, it was," Astoria admitted warily. "I just wish I knew why Grubby-Plank was there in the first place..."

"I'm sure _I_ couldn't care less," declared Tracey truthfully, tugging playfully on Astoria's hood before breaking off for the Slytherin table after Theodore.

Fred, George and Lee Jordan were all sitting at the very end of the Gryffindor bench with their heads close together, commiserating over the morning newspaper. When they spotted Astoria, Lee whistled loudly and motioned toward her with his hand.

"What's that?" Astoria breathed, peeling out of her snowy cloak.

"Daily Prophet," said George darkly. "Did you just have Care of Magical Creatures?"

"Mhmm," said Astoria, seizing the ladle for the crock of chicken soup.

"Was Hagrid there?" demanded Fred.

"No," said Astoria. "We had a stand in. She said Hagrid was ill."

" _Ill_?" repeated Fred, looking faintly disgusted. "Well, he's not ill. Have a look at this!"

Astoria's hand froze around her spoon as she peered down at the article Fred was brandishing at her. An angry, bold-faced headline read: 'Dumbledore's Giant Mistake'. A picture above the article leapt out at her; an old photograph of Hagrid in a massive overcoat, peering shiftily over his high collar like a cartoon villain about to press a red button.

It was a long moment before Astoria reached for the newspaper. She knew that its contents were likely to upset her, but she recognized the she would never do-away with her curiosity until she knew the worst of it.

" _Rubeus Hagrid, who admits to being expelled in his third year..._ " Astoria read aloud, trying to skim over the least applicable parts of the article as quickly as possible so as to minimize the time spent actually reading Rita Skeeter's prose.

"And whose business is that, anyway?" snarled George. "Hagrid's already settled that with Dumbledore, otherwise he never would have been hired!"

Astoria wished the twins wouldn't react so violently, as their vitriol seemed to provoking something within herself that made her want to flinch and crawl away from them.

"Look what your scummy pal, Malfoy said!" snapped George accusingly, pointing toward a paragraph lower down the column.

" _I was attacked by a Hippogriff, and my friend Vincent Crabbe got a bad bite off of a flobberworm_ ," read Astoria flatly, thoroughly unimpressed.

"Flobberworms don't even bite!" Lee groaned.

" _We all hate Hagrid_ ," Astoria continued dully, following Draco's quote with her finger. " _We're just too scared to say anything..._ "

"What a piece of work!" George bit out.

"Yeah, really _nice_ ," agreed Fred hatefully. "That's good taste, right there, Astoria. If you see him with Mendel later, be sure to tell him to go fu—"

"What's the point of any of this?" asked Astoria, cutting Fred off. Her skin was prickling and Astoria could not help but be a little angry with Fred because he seemed to be asking her to account for Maudlin's friendship with Draco (and by extension, Astoria's friendship with Maudlin). "It's not like Hagrid'll be fired over this kind of weak rubbish. I don't see what the big deal is."

"Oh!" said Lee, backtracking slightly. "It also says that Hagrid's mum was a giantess."

Astoria's mouth sagged. Even Fred and George seemed to know better than to be as unaffected by this information as Lee seemingly was.

"Well," said Fred, shifting uncomfortably, "that's what the _rest_ of the article goes into, at any rate."

"The Slytherins found out and told Rita Skeeter?" Astoria breathed, desperately hoping that this was not the case.

"No," grumbled George, tugging the paper back. "We reckon Hagrid must have told her himself, the bloody fool."

" _Honestly_ ," Fred muttered, rubbing the base of his neck. "I don't know _what_ he was thinking. Hagrid'll be really lucky to keep his job."

The bell rang overhead, signaling the end of lunch. Astoria's attention had been so thoroughly absorbed by Hagrid's scandal that she had barely even touched her soup.

"What makes you think Hagrid told her?" she demanded, dropping her spoon against the inside of her bowl with a wet plop. "You never know. Maybe Rita Skeeter's been eavesdropping?"

Astoria reflected briefly on the sensitive conversation that she herself had overheard on New Years, unwilling to rule this sort of treachery out.

"Nah," said George, gathering up his bag. "Rita's not even allowed inside the grounds anymore and her article had _loads_ of personal information in it. She knew the _name_ of his mother, for Merlin's sake! Hagrid _told_ her. She wormed it out of him somehow, the cow!"

"Speaking of people with big mouths," whispered Fred cautiously as they waded through the crowded entrance hall. "Bagman certainly got hold of you at the ball. He didn't threaten you, did he?"

"No," Astoria mouthed back. "He was nervous at first but once he realized that were weren't trying to blackmail him, he seemed grateful enough. He won't say anything about us."

"Good," Fred nodded, eyeing Astoria regretfully, perhaps already slightly ashamed for having been so uncivil to her the moment she had sat down for lunch. "Er, dinner tonight?"

"Sure," Astoria agreed, still preoccupied by the memory of her conversation with Ludo over Christmas. "You know, Bagman _did_ say something I thought was weird," she continued hesitantly. Astoria was still not sure if she should even mention the matter but her words had already pulled Fred back to her side, so it seemed that now she would have to.

"What?" Fred asked, frowning at her.

"He said something about Karkoroff's arm," Astoria began delicately, searching Fred's face for the spark of understanding that would tell her he had cracked her code. "Karkoroff's left arm's been bothering him. That's what Bagman said."

"Huh," said Fred, frowning deeper still. "That's weird. Why would he think you wanted to know about Karkoroff's arthritis?"

"I don't know," said Astoria, chickening out with a shake of her head. Whatever tales Fred had heard about Death Eaters as a child, the knowledge that all true members were branded on the left forearm with a Dark Mark seemed to have been left out of his education. Astoria, for her part, was wild to avoid being the one who finally enlightened him. "I"m sure it was nothing."

It was a long climb up toward the Arithmancy classroom and Astoria made her way slowly, already exhausted from her lack of lunch.

On the one hand, she hated the Slytherin's obvious glee and sense of triumph over Hagrid's misfortune but on the other, what on earth did the man mean by telling Rita Skeeter that his mother had been a giantess? The entire situation seemed too foolishly preventable to even comprehend and all Astoria wanted to do was put the entire incident out of her mind: to banish thoughts of Hagrid and Draco and Karkoroff's Dark Mark from her head completely.

Astoria could hear Draco voice before she even reached the seventh floor landing.

"He's _ashamed_ , I suppose," Draco drawled loudly. Here and there around him were members of a listening crowd that seemed to contain not only Tracey and Theodore, but Anthony Goldstein and Padma Patil, as well. "It's only a matter of time. They _have_ to sack him now. The man must be getting more hate mail than he knows how to keep up with. That's assuming he actually _can_ read it, of course."

Astoria paused on the top step and leaned against the bannister for support, taking in the sight of Draco Malfoy performing for Anthony Goldstein with a sick, startling swoop of wrath.

"My parents sent the headmaster a letter this morning," added Anthony, apparently of one mind with Malfoy where the topic of Hagrid's dismissal was concerned. "They're convinced that Professor Dumbledore was tricked."

Draco scoffed, doubting this with every fiber of his being. Lazily, he leaned back against the wall, about to say something to that effect when he spotted Astoria. For a second, Astoria could have sworn she saw him flinch but then, much as he had earlier, he seemed to forcefully rally himself.

"What about you, Greengrass?" he called to her, steeling himself. "Think your aunt will send Hagrid a curse in a box?"

For the first time in a long time, Astoria found herself curiously wounded by Draco's cruelty. To make matters worse, Theodore, who could usually be counted upon to step in and help Astoria at a time like this, was so busy staring at Padma Patil that he did not even seem to notice that she had joined them. A faint sense of bewilderment settled around Astoria's shoulders, making her brain go slightly fuzzy.

"I doubt she cares one way or the other," Astoria finally retorted, more by instinct than anything else. There was a loose jitteriness spreading through her limbs; a fluid warning from her body of her own discomfort. Dimly, Astoria realized that there was a motive behind Draco's forced calm, but it was eluding her and her mouth had gone dry as a result.

"Well, that certainly doesn't surprise _me_ ," scoffed Anthony, shooting Astoria a very patronizing look. "I suppose the rest of your family doesn't give one whit about the safety of the other students, either. Let's face it, everyone knows how _you_ feel about the rules, Astoria. I don't know why your aunt would be any different."

Draco watched Astoria from below punishing eyelashes, not quite willing to make eye contact while he sneered unconvincingly.

When he made no move to either stand up for her or re-seize the conversation, Astoria's unexpected sense of betrayal finally began to sharpen. All of a sudden, she was not confused and foolish, she was venomously _angry_ , propelled by the jelly in her legs and the anxious tick of her pulse.

"Seriously?" Astoria snapped, determined not to let Draco off the hook.

" _What_?" demanded Malfoy sharply, his feverish gaze never once leaving her face.

The door to the Arithmancy classroom creaked open.

"Hng!" said Theodore, reacting either to the sound of the ancient hinges or the way Anthony had taken hold of Padma's arm in order to lead her around Malfoy.

Astoria made for one of the desks at once, certain she would say something terrible if she did not get out of the hallway as fast as possible.

Exhibiting a curious lack of self preservation however, Malfoy quickly moved to block her before she could slip by.

"Just because _you_ don't like him doesn't mean _I_ have to avoid him _,_ you know," Draco sneered defensively, his eyes losing some of their careful indifference. "It's not _my_ fault if you're mad."

"Who?" Astoria spat, surprised at herself. "Goldstein? Go ahead and be friends with the tit, see if I care! You'll just be another bloke in a sad click that girls like me make fun of."

Astoria shouldered him out of her way and stormed toward the bench. She could hear Tracey laughing behind her but she was too far gone to care whether this amusement was directed at herself or Draco. Blood was pounding in her ears and her vision was swimming with an almost unreasonable potential for violence.

Astoria had intentionally avoided saying _anything_ bad about Draco in front of the twins earlier. Why had she even _bothered_? They had been perfectly right to call him scum, maybe that was what he actually _was._ Draco wanted to be friends with Anthony? Perhaps Astoria would have to take up with Harry Potter. Surely _then_ he would see what a mistake that had been... Out of the corner of her eye, Astoria saw Draco drop his book onto the desk.

"It's not like _I'm_ the one who told the newspaper," snapped Draco in a low, rapid voice. "I always figured Hagrid had just gotten himself into a vat of skele-grow as a toddler. The great, stupid oaf did it to _himself._ "

Astoria reached out and shoved Draco's textbook so hard that it slid off the end of the table with a satisfying thump.

Draco stopped talking. He eyed the book, flushing slightly and it occurred to Astoria that he was going to have to reach down and pick it up again. Normally, Draco would have used Crabbe or Goyle for this purposes. They were certainly large enough to force anyone who dared to throw his things to fetch them back again. But in this case both Crabbe and Goyle were too stupid for Arithmancy and Astoria seriously doubted that Malfoy had the stones to demand that Astoria pick the book back up.

"Ohoo!" Tracey tittered in disbelief, watching their exchange from around Theodore, who was still examining Anthony and Padma's body language closely.

Draco snagged the book back off the floor with as much dignity as he could muster but Astoria sensed a queer shift of power as he did so. For a sickening moment, Astoria flirted with the idea of shoving the book again just to see if she could get away with making him dive to retrieve it twice. A part of her was almost sure that she probably could. It was only a strange sadness underneath the anger in the pit of her stomach that made her hands remain where they were on her bag.

Beside her, Draco let out an uncomfortable breath. Perhaps against his better judgment, he launched into the effort of backtracking.

"It's not even like I was the one who broke the news to _you_ ," he sneered bitterly, far less sure of himself than he had been moments before. "I never even showed you the newspaper! I don't know why you're making this _my_ fault!"

The only thing worse than Draco behaving like a monster on purpose, it seemed, was Draco actively trying to appease her in front of _people_.

"What else was I supposed to say to Goldstein?" he continued twitchily. "Were you expecting me to defend your _insane_ aunt, because—"

" _Shut up_!" Astoria hissed desperately, surprised by the tone of her own voice. At last, perhaps because he had expected anything but a dismissal, Draco flinched.

Whatever he had been trying to provoke by ruffling her in from of Anthony, Draco had exceeded boyond his expectations and Astoria was very glad when Professor Vector entered the room.

"Books to page three hundred and five," Professor Vector called, tapping his wand on the blackboard.

Astoria complied robotically, determined to fade away from herself into the text.

"So," said Theodore weakly, speaking for the first time all afternoon. "Goldstein and Patil are friends now?"

Draco made a sound of disgust under his breath.

0o0

Astoria would have stormed off to dinner by herself but Tracey made a great effort of catching up with her on the staircase.

" _Wait_!" Tracey breathed gleefully, dragging Astoria toward the fourth floor girls lavatory.

"I'm hungry, Tracey!" said Astoria waspishly, not wanting to be trapped into a lengthy chat by the sinks. "I missed lunch over that _stupid_ article—stop pulling!"

Tracey did not let up on her grip but, perhaps because they were still within distant view of Draco and Theodore, she did not say anything until she had shoved the bathroom door shut again behind them.

"Are you kidding?" Tracey demanded, leaning against the door, her body becoming loose. "I'm not letting you slip off. What _was_ that?"

"What do you mean?" Astoria snapped. "I'm hungry and I'm tired and all you want to do is pick at a fight with Malfoy?"

"Pick at a fight with Malfoy?" Tracey echoed weakly. "Astoria, I've seen Draco do a hundred different weird things around you, but that was _beyond_."

"I don't know what you're talking about," Astoria insisted cooly, determined to get to the great hall and enjoy a hearty slab of meatloaf in peace. "Tracey, you're blocking the door!"

" _Just tell me that you like me_!" Tracey whined nasally, obviously imitating something she felt that she had seen in class.

"I _never_ said that!" said Astoria shrilly, her stomach twisting with shame.

"Not you!" Tracey scoffed, pulling a face. "Malfoy! Can you seriously have missed how pathetic that was? I swear, it's like he threw Goldstein at you hoping it would keep the heat off of him and then the whole thing blew up in his face!"

"Does it matter?" Astoria snapped, not wanting to delve too deeply into the method behind Malfoy's madness, as she was sure to infuriate herself by doing so. "All he ever does is bully first years or laugh at people for being poor. I don't know why we even bother _talking_ about him!"

"Oh my God!" Tracey gasped, her eyes misting over as a new and incredible thought came to her. "You're _his_ bully! _That's_ what makes it so funny!"

"No, I'm not," Astoria stuttered, highly aggrieved by this notion. "I'm nice unless he makes it impossible!"

"Yes, yes," said Tracey, flagging this thought aside. "But when you _are_ mean to him, he _always_ lets you get away with it. When you ever shoved his book off the desk!" Tracey collapsed into new fit of giggles. "Lord, I wish Millicent had been there to see it! He's just _awful_ to her. I bet it would have made her week!"

Tracey mimed Draco having to pick his book back up and Astoria was suddenly fighting a mad desire to cry and laugh all at once.

"I know right?" said Tracey, mistaking the sound that had escaped Astoria's lips for one of amusement.

Astoria had to cover her mouth with her hand to hide her wobbling chin and nodded, feeling more alone than she ever had in her life.

0o0

 _You'll catch more flies with honey than with vinegar._

This was a funny old saying, and Astoria could not think where it was that she had originally heard it. Astoria was certain that the words had never been uttered by her father, who was not prone to adages—or _wisdom_ for that matter. When it came to Belladonna, the phrase struck Astoria as being even more ill fitting. She was certain that her aunt was very fond of verbal vinegar and probably cared a great deal more for the stinging bees producing the metaphorical honey than for sweetness itself.

Still, Astoria had clearly heard the saying before (most likely shrieked by her stepmother during one of her self-pitying meltdowns) and she found herself contemplating the meaning behind the words later that night with a rather embarrassing earnestness.

One thing seemed certain; Astoria was slightly unhappy in almost all of her relationships lately. With the exception of perhaps Theodore, who she nearly always felt that she could be herself around, Astoria was beginning to see that she had committed to a certain type of facade within the last year.

It was possible that she had been playing her part longer than that, but it seemed to Astoria that she was able to place the beginning of this heightened and duplicitous behavior sometime around the arrival of the delegations from Durmstrang and Beauxbatons.

Since the Autumn, Astoria had committed herself to so many games that the effort of playing had started to become exhausting.

She was playing a game with the goblins, certainly, but there was no shame in this arrangement. It had started by her own design and Astoria's need to be calculating around Ragnuk could not be helped. But what about Maudlin? How much effort did she put into hiding herself from Aston Mendel's son on a daily basis? Astoria disguised her childhood affection for him at every turn and, consequently, she found herself disguising all of her _other_ interests in order to keep Maudlin from gaining a foothold that might let him properly be her friend.

And Draco. Something had changed drastically in her dealings with Draco, to the point that she could no longer even reflect upon him comfortably. As long as Astoria had known Draco, there had always been something charged and a little bizarre about the way she treated him. Lately, however, it was as though one of the wheels had come loose. At any moment, she had to be prepared for a catastrophic crash.

The manner that Tracey had used to describe him in the bathroom had managed to strike Astoria in a powerful way. Tracey had been so confident in her opinions, so _sure_ of her analysis. Was this because she possessed a kind of fool's confidence or was Tracey simply able to see the matter more clearly than Astoria did? Astoria had been wearing blinders around Draco for a very long time, it seemed, afraid of what she might see or have to admit if she allowed herself to look at him objectively

This was not the type of thing Astoria could easily live with once she had realized it however, no matter how much she might want to. Over the next several days, Astoria began to watch Draco without permitting herself the easy fallback of flinching away from his unpleasantness.

It could _not_ be said that her eyes were turned on him any more than they had been before, but the clear-headedness behind her approach was something new. _This is how Theodore sees everything,_ Astoria thought to herself, wondering how it was that Theodore managed to remain sane.

There were several rabbit holes that Astoria knew herself to be guilty of avoiding, so she started by dedicating herself to the simplest of observations.

For instance, Astoria had never before appreciated what a creature of habit Draco was. He never ate his bread toasted at breakfast, choosing to butter it cold instead. Every morning for a week, with the exception of the day that the elves produced blood-orange pancakes, he ate the same exact thing in almost the exact same order. A little disheartened that she had never noticed this propensity for routine—as surely it was not a new habit of his and was actually quite a striking trait now that she had realized it—Astoria allowed her eyes to search further.

Draco never did his school work during study periods. Astoria never knew him to fail at turning in assignments however, so she concluded that he must do his homework in the evenings, most likely because Crabbe and Goyle were such poor common room companions.

The more aware of him that she let herself become, the more she began to see. Tracey had been quite right to say that he was cruel to Millicent. In fact, if Astoria thought that Draco was frequently rude to _her_ , it was almost nothing to the way he seemed to treat nearly everyone else that he came into contact with, especially those who did not have the ability to punish him for it.

After all, Draco had never once commanded Crabbe to push Astoria into a loo or steal her letters from home. Nor had he ever loudly insinuated that she was hideous or suggested that she jump out of one of the towers to spare the world of her uselessness (at this point, Astoria had broken her own rule and intervened on Millicent's behalf).

In fact, if the way Draco treated even certain members of his own house was anything to go on, it was an actual wonder that she had ever become friends with him in the first place. Draco was, quite literally, an absolutely miserable asshole almost everywhere he went. He was by far the most unpleasant person she had ever taken a liking to and by general comparison, he treated Astoria the way a nervous child might treat a favorite kitten while sitting on a bed of eggshells; a fact that she had never before fully appreciated.

Most interesting of all and perhaps the most redeeming, was the deep silence he tended to fall into when he was not in a crowded hall or classroom, as though, by the release of a phantom pressure point, he greeted any moment when he did not feel like he had to be the loudest and most commanding presence in a room with a private eagerness.

While Astoria was certain that most of Draco's cruelty was _not_ an act and most certainly stemmed from a deep-rooted lack of sympathy for other human beings, some of it did seem to be a means of projecting himself as a more intimidating figure. Astoria could not decide if this made her disapprove of him more or less than she already did.

Which brought her to the final and most uncomfortable truth: the fact that Draco seemed to secretly care what she thought of him very much and not only craved her approval, but went so far out of his way seeking it that, if a person happened to be watching carefully, they might be able to spot his motive.

How or when this had first begun, Astoria was not sure. What she did know was that she had been aware of it for some time and had, for the most part, tended to chalk this desire up to the fact that Astoria so infrequently gave him any sense of approval that the idea had become something of a 'white whale' for him.

Under the lens of heightened inspection however, Astoria was no longer sure if this was true. Anybody who was capable of eating the same breakfast almost every day of their life was likely entirely capable of sustaining a singular preference. It was possible that, even if Astoria caved and gave Draco every bit praise he had ever dreamed of, Draco would only alter his behavior as much as it took to sustain her newfound fondness.

For some reason, like his Father, Snape, and Lord Voldemort before her, Draco seemed to have conceded Astoria the power of having an almost unhealthy level of influence over him. What was more, Astoria could not help but suspect that it was possible he actually _resented_ her for it.

Rather than feeling warm and a little shaky about this, as a part of her wanted to, Astoria could not help but obsess over what company she was in. She shuddered to think what unifying factor might link Draco's persons of interest. What could Astoria possibly have in common wit Snape and Lucius, after all?

By the weekend, Astoria could not take much more. She pulled at least halfway back into the cocoon of ignorance she had created for herself. It took a steady and emotionless eye to see the world as she had been forcing herself to, and it was not in Astoria's nature to be unfeeling or to repress her own sense of reaction.

Her take away, if there was one, was that so many wrongs did not seem add up to a right and it was time to consider using honey instead of vinegar when it came to the way she offered herself up to her acquaintances.

It might not make any difference in the end, but Astoria had a feeling that she would sleep easier knowing she had done her best not to cause any unnecessary harm, no matter how unpleasant the people she seemed to attract and attempt to please might be.

0o0

On Saturday, Astoria was called in to a meeting for the Sisters of the Easter Star.

Cassandra, ever the snob, had wanted the Room of Portraits again but the Gobstones team had claimed it long in advance for an inter-house competition. Thwarted, Cassandra settled for her second best option and told the rest of the girls to meet her in the library's Room of Atlas's. As always, despite the fact that they were punctually on time, Astoria and Tracey were the last to arrive.

"Now then," said Cassandra, heaving her heavy binder onto a bound collection of bird migration maps, "the Second Task is approaching."

In truth, the Second Task was still about three weeks away, but to Cassandra's meticulous and order worshiping mind, Astoria imagined this must seem like the blink of an over-scheduled eye.

"Ooh," cooed Katherine Macdougal slyly, "do you know _where_ it is going to be?"

"No, Kitty," snapped Cassandra, her voice utterly devoid of indulgence. " _Nobody_ knows that because it's a _secret_."

Astoria folded her hands across the front of her white dress and tried very hard not to smirk.

"As for our part," Cassandra continued, ignoring Catherine's wounded look, "we have been asked to receive any visiting guests in the entrance hall and to provide them with hot cider for their walk down to the stadium. _Wherever_ that might be."

"What kind of visiting guests?" asked Tracey, keen as always for a spot of high-brow intrigue.

"I don't know," said Cassandra, flipping open her binder as though she hoped to find a ready-made guest list waiting there. "Parents, government, high-paying donors? Lord knows the Tournament will be expensive enough to merit that..."

Tracey peered at Astoria mischievously.

"I expect everybody to be in the Entrance Hall before nine o'clock on February the twenty-fourth," Cassandra clipped. "Lateness will not be appreciated. The run-through should be fast and painless. I promise that nobody will miss their chance to spectate."

Astoria reflected on the fact that this would very likely mean that she and Tracey would find themselves watching the Tournament next to the semi-frozen lake while wearing starched white dresses but she wisely held her tongue.

"Will we also get cider?" asked Katherine, her dull eyes swooping toward Cassandra's binder covetously, suspecting that it held the answers to all of her rather dense questions.

For a moment, Astoria thought Cassandra would snap but at the last second she seemed to pull back into herself and her expression hardened over with restraint. "If you like, Kitty," she cooed.

0o0

On Monday morning, Astoria awoke from restless dreams, unable to shake the feeling that she had forgotten something important. The dreary grey clouds outside did nothing to soothe her sense of unease and it was not until breakfast that she realized what it was that had slipped her mind.

A dark, indignant owl was perched near Theodore's seat, resolutely refusing the bacon that Theo was trying to feed it. It hooted sharply as Astoria approached and held out its leg, snapping its beak in the direction of Theo's fingers so that he would retract them. Recognizing the animal as Belladonna's owl, Astoria made quick work of detaching the note so that it could fly off at once.

"Oh," Astoria realized softly, triggered by the sight of the letter. "It's my birthday!"

Theo blinked guiltily and it was obvious at once that he had forgotten the date, as well. He cleared his throat. "You can have the last bagel," he offered weakly, trying to pass her the bread basket.

"Don't worry about it," Astoria smiled, waving off the bread as she tore open the red envelope. "I hardly remembered it myself. You know, I've never been so busy that I forgot a birthday before..."

"I never do anything for mine," Theodore insisted, relieved to find that Astoria was not offended. "It's a useless tradition, if you ask me."

Astoria was unfolding two sheets of her aunt's stationary when a terrible thought occurred to her and she let them both sag. "Theodore," Astoria began tremulously, feeling absolutely wretched, "when _is_ your birthday? I'm not sure you've ever told me..."

"No bother," said Theodore hurriedly, going slightly red. "They're not _real_ holidays, birthdays..."

"Theo!" Astoria gasped, unable to believe that she had gone four years without ever attempting to give Theodore a birthday present.

"Oh, what!" Theodore burst uncomfortably. "It's in early March but I'm not giving you the date! The last thing I need is for you to try to press cakes on me or sing to me in class."

Astoria's mouth parted, uncertain if she more was amused or offended.

"Who's singing in class?" drawled Draco's snidely. "Not _you_ , Nott? That _must_ be illegal."

"Happy birthday, _Astoria_!" said Theodore rather suddenly, his voice so loud that it caused her to jump.

"Yeah?" Astoria muttered, working to unclench her fingers so that she could read her aunt's note, baffled by Theodore's outburst. "There's no need to shout."

"That's from your aunt, then?" demanded Draco, poking about distractedly in one of the baskets for his usual breakfast of un-toasted bread, which Astoria _knew_ he would he would chase with about a half a glass of juice.

 _Astoria,_

 _Happy birthday, darling! It's hard to imagine that in just two short years, you will be a legal witch and I will be the aging dowager of dubious morality that you call 'aunt'. What a merry day that will be, I'm sure. Until then, however, I hope you will not be angry with me for keeping my pleasantries short. It has been far too long since I last wrote._

 _It is my understanding that you have seen Roland Yaxley twice without my knowing of it; once in the fall and once at Christmas. Foolish girl, why do you not think to tell me these things? Especially as you seem to have spent these meetings as unproductively as possible! From Alistair Yaxley, I am told (and I have been forced to translate some, insufferable man!) that his son is much impressed with your chapter of the Sisters of the Eastern Star- most particularly with its young president. This is your doing, I suppose? Your idea of an excellent mutiny? I will not hear of it, Astoria! Are the Rowles to invade England twice?_

 _We will discuss the matter further at the earliest convenience. You will be seeing me soon._

 _All my love,_

 _Aunt Belladonna_

"Why does she say that she'll be 'seeing me soon'?" repeated Astoria in horror. "What can she mean by _that_? We don't have another holiday for months."

Draco shrugged disinterestedly, nosily peering down at her letter anyway. Astoria quickly folded it, hiding the incriminating passage Belladonna had penned about the Yaxleys from view.

"She's probably coming to watch the Second Task," Draco shot, perhaps a little annoyed that Astoria had covered the contents of her letter so quickly. "What do you care? You already _live_ with her over the holidays."

Astoria let her eyes fall closed, absorbing this perilous idea from each of its many sharp angles. Draco was undoubtedly right; of _course_ Belladonna would come to the Second Task. She would present herself in the Entrance Hall on the twenty-fourth, as keen to watch the school champions face the unknown as she would be to observe Cassandra pouring cider.

Not only would Astoria have to account for Roland's newly evident interest in Cassandra, Astoria realized, she would also have to artfully conceal the fact that she and the twins were betting a small fortune against a hoard of goblins at the same time. To say nothing of the effort Astoria would have to expend turfing Belladonna as far away from Maudlin she could because, for reasons Astoria had never been able to understand, Belladonna had always treated the Mendels with a particularly zesty disdain.

Astoria grit her teeth and opened her eyes again, certain that _this_ was the worst birthday gift that her aunt had ever given her.

0o0

* * *

Well, I know things dipped into a lengthy spell of observation for a few paragraphs in this one (I try not to do that super often) but I felt like the plot called for it to help clarify Draco a little bit. It's funny, because when I originally started this story, I seriously toyed with the idea of giving Draco POV chapter chunks. So much so, that I tried writing a few of them back in Second Year but it just didn't work for me. I think Draco's head-space needs to be a little bit nebulous because it's really Astoria's tale and knowing what he's thinking all the time defeats her take on things a bit. So observation it is!

Next post will span the Second Task! I just couldn't resist tossing Belladonna into the crowd, so she'll be there and there's a possibility I may let Lucius breeze in for a scene or two as well.

I've got big plans for the Easter Holidays, so that's where I keep excitedly waiting to get to at the moment. As always, reviews are a wonderful treat!


	47. Lake Rocks And Other Things

Chapter Forty Seven

Lake Rocks And Other Things

* * *

0o0

As suddenly as Hagrid had disappeared, he was back again. On the following Monday, looking only slightly paler than he once had, Astoria spied the groundskeeper eating breakfast at the staff table in the Great Hall.

"Oh, _fantastic_ ," Tracey had sighed unwelcomely, but to Astoria, Hagrid was a sight for sore eyes. The return of Hagrid's bearded face meant that his situation with Rita Skeeter was salvageable; that he had not been sacked and that no irreparable damage had been done. In point of fact, Hagrid's reappearance meant that Astoria could go back to scarcely thinking about him at all, which was a good thing because the Second Task was now rapidly approaching.

Unlike the First Task, which half of the student body seemed to have kept a daily countdown toward, the Second Task was creeping nearer on stealthy tip-toes. This lack of suspense probably had something to do with the fact that it was snowing heavily outside and, if the rest of the school was suffering the same way Astoria was, their homework load was nearly as thick as the frost coating all of the windows.

Despite the busy and insulated environment, Astoria and the twins opened their betting pool on the first of February.

"No advertising," said Fred carefully, his eyes scanning Astoria's ledger of numbers from over her shoulder. "It's like we are back at square one."

Indeed, it really was. The common room fire crackled hearteningly but it was hard for Astoria to feel optimistic. Nearly all of the money they had won during the first task had been leveraged; sunk into paying off Bagman's debts to Hodrod in order to keep Hodrod from extracting the same funds from them through more dastardly means. While it could not be said that Astoria and the twins _owed_ anyone money, their decided lack of savings was very worrisome indeed. Once again, their personal safety depended upon whether or not they won their bet against Ragnuk. Just as it had been during the First Task, it would be up to Harry Potter to prevent Astoria and the twins from dangerously bankrupting themselves.

"It's no great loss," said George bracingly. "The Third Task is when things will get really mad. As it is, everyone is still broke from Christmas. We might be able to count on _that_ hangover to keep the sum low."

This was the most reassuring thing that Astoria had heard in days.

"Wish we knew what the task _was_ ," Fred muttered, stirring the fireplace coals with a long poker. "It's the suspense that's really getting to me."

Astoria watched the gleaming embers uncomfortably. Thanks to the whispered conversation she had overheard between Moody and Mcgonagall on New Years, Astoria had a very good idea what of what was coming on the Twenty Fourth. As tempting as it was to tell the twins all she knew, however, Astoria did not think that she could bear to see the look of grief on both of their faces when they found out how impossible the Task was going to be.

 _Because how in the world was Harry going to make himself breathe underwater?_

For the first time all Tournament, Astoria was very seriously contemplating action as opposed to reaction. She had had the strange luck to discover the fact that the champions would be competing underwater weeks ahead of time, hadn't she? Wasn't it possible that she could _use_ that knowledge to avoid spending the Second Task in a fit of terror? There was another option after all, her had begun to whispered. She could always _cheat_.

Unfortunately, as soon as this thought had occurred to her, a myriad of other fears zoomed in to accompany it. Even as Astoria sat, pen poised over the open ledger, her mind worked to better understand the problem.

One thing was absolutely certain; if Astoria did so much as lift a finger to help Harry through the Second Task, she had to be dead certain that the Goblins never found out about it. 'Dead' being the operative word, as any involvement on her part would surely be punished most severely. If Astoria did any meddling, she would have to operate without leaving a trace; to be a ghost hand that Harry himself would chalk up to the presence of luck rather than manipulation by a second party.

In short, Astoria was just as likely to succeed in helping Harry as _he_ was to succeed at accomplishing his Task alone.

"It probably won't be another creature this time," Fred mused, putting the poker back into its metal holder. "We know that much, at least. They wouldn't repeat the same thing twice, would they?"

"Yeah, I doubt it," George agreed, hoisting his feet up onto a cluttered ottoman. "Which is too bad, really. Harry's good at that sort of thing."

For a moment, Fred stood in silence, facing the fire with his back to the room. He cut an impressive silhouette these days, Astoria decided, more man than boy. At last, the fire he had been prodding to life flared up and became too hot to stand near so Fred unclasped his hands and sunk into a nearby armchair.

"We'll have to advertise a little," Fred muttered, pulling an uncomfortable-looking woolen ball out of from underneath him. "The goblins will know that something is up if we don't take enough bets." Fred tossed the knot of wool onto the coffee table.

"Been knitting again, have you?" asked Astoria suspiciously, eyeing the misshapen ball of yarn.

"What?" asked George. "Oh, Merlin no. Hermione's been making hats and leaving them about for the house elves to pick up."

"Why would she _do_ that?" asked Astoria, surprised by this bit of cruelness from Hermione, who was normally the soul of fairness.

"She thinks it's what they want," Fred pressed, clearly uncomfortable with the idea of painting Hermione as a bad guy. "She's been obsessed with elves all year. She thinks they _want_ to be free."

Astoria eyed the twins skeptically, having never personally met a house-elf to whom the idea of being released from servitude would be considered anything other than the sharpest of punishments.

"I doesn't matter anyway," George muttered. "Harry's pal Dobby is the only one who's been picking them up. Mental that one. Dumbledore actually _hired_ him on, so the hats aren't dangerous. None of the other elves will come in here anymore. Haven't you noticed the mess?"

"Dobby?" Astoria repeated, blinking at the cluttered ottoman while struggling to understand more of this narrative. "Since when does Harry have a house elf? I didn't know students were allowed to _bring_ their elves to school."

"They're not," said Fred quickly. "It's not like that. Dobby's this weird elf that Harry helped escape from an awful family in second year. The little guy is mad about Harry, he'd do anything for him. Now he works at Hogwarts. He did the Christmas decorations in the shape of Harry's face..."

"Oh," said Astoria slowly, her eyes on the hideous woolen nub. "I thought that must have been the Creevey brothers."

Fred snorted but the portrait hole behind them opened to admit Dean and Seamus, putting an end to all talk of gambling and elves.

Astoria continued to sit where she was long after the fire had fed itself into a hellish blaze and then gone down again. Fred and George, distracted by Lee Jordan, eventually wandered off to help him enchant a hat box, leaving Astoria alone by the hearth as the night grew steadily more mature.

It was possible that Astoria could use Ludo Bagman to help her, she mused, thinking of the unsettled debt that Bagman sill owed her. Perhaps _he_ could feed the idea of using Gillyweed to Harry without anyone ever being the wiser? But no, Astoria realized, dismissing this idea almost as quickly as it had occurred to her. The goblins knew that Astoria had helped Bagman and therefore they were very likely to think of him as her ally. Anything Bagman did might lead back to herself and the twins.

What about Karkoroff and his sore left arm, she wondered? Surely he could be prevailed upon if they approached him carefully? But no, this too led nowhere, as Karkoroff's loyalty was so decidedly behind Viktor Krum that trifling with him in the first place seemed more dangerous than helpful.

By one o'clock in the morning, Astoria was alone in the common room, staring hard at the misshapen hat that Hermione had concealed in Fred's chair while contemplating the impossible.

' _The little guy is mad about Harry'_ , Fred had said. _'He'd do anything for him.'_

Thick snow continued to pile up on the windowsills, obscuring the dark night sky as Astoria dithered, trying to make up her mind. If Dobby was the only elf still servicing Gryffindor Tower, then surely he would have to come at some point during the early morning to tidy things up before the students woke for breakfast? If Astoria wanted to contrive a meeting with Dobby, it was very likely that all she needed to do was wait. When the fire had burned down so low that Astoria could no longer read from her notebooks, she knew it could not be much longer.

A scratchy, scuttling sound startled her out of a sleepy revery an hour or so later. Blinking in the half-darkness, Astoria felt about for her wand. Her first excited instinct was to call out, but fear that a loud noise would cause Dobby to Disapparate silenced her tongue.

"Dobby?" Astoria tried softly, hoping it would not be enough to drive the elf away.

The scuttling sound stopped abruptly, followed by a very pregnant pause during which Astoria's ears strained for the familiar _crack!_ of an elf vanishing.

"I is begging your pardon, Miss!" pleaded a squeaky voice coming from the direction of the shadowy fireplace. "I is thinking you was asleep! Bad Dobby! Oh, very _bad_ Dobby!"

A dull thunk made Astoria jump. Had the elf fallen over something in the dark?

"It's alright," said Astoria hurriedly, getting to her feet. "Please don't go! I was hoping for a world with you."

"A- a word with Dobby?" the elf squeaked, rallying slightly. "If Miss is needing anything, _anything_ at all, Dobby is at her assistance!"

"Well, I wanted to talk about your friend," began Astoria lamely, realizing that her plan to speak with Dobby had not extended past the logistics of actually managing to place herself in a room with him.

"My friend?" he asked warily. The outline of Dobby's ears drooped in the dim light. "If you is meaning _Winky_ , Miss-"

"No," said Astoria quickly, confused and unwilling to linger on a wayward topic, " _not_ Winky. I wanted to have a word with you about Harry Potter."

Astoria's pulse surged as she said Harry's name, suddenly frightfully- almost mortally- aware of how much she was risking by exposing herself to Dobby. The darkness seemed to be engulfing the corners of the room and Astoria began to wish that the elf would relight the fireplace, if only for her peace of mind.

" _Harry Potter_ , Miss?" squeaked Dobby tremulously, his voice raising a full octave in shock.

"Yes," said Astoria, wanting more than anything for Dobby's voice to go back to the near whisper it had started at. "He's- that is _Harry-_ is my friend too and he's going to be competing in the Second Task soon."

"Oh!" the elf wailed. "Dobby is knowing all about the Second Task and the Wheezy Harry Potter will lose!"

"Right," Astoria continued, wondering what on earth a 'Wheezy' could be. "Well, the thing is, the Task is going to take place under the lake, Dobby. So Harry is in real danger."

"No!" the elf moaned, clutching his drooping ears to comfort himself. "What will Harry Potter do without his _Wheezy_ , Miss?"

"He could die," Astoria answered, assuming that by 'Wheezy', Dobby must surely mean Harry's ability to breathe underwater.

At these words, Dobby let out a low cry of misery and moved very suddenly, in a way that was so obviously destined to be self-harmful that Astoria attempted to seize him without thinking first.

"Listen, Dobby!" said Astoria shrilly, trying not to panic over the amount of noise that they were making. "Everything is going to be just _fine._ We can _help_ Harry!" Dobby's bony shoulders softened under her hands but Astoria did not wait for him to respond before continuing. "I overheard the teachers talking. Harry just needs some Gillyweed- _that_ will keep him safe. You can't tell anyone we talked about this, though, or we'll _all_ get into loads of trouble. Do you understand?"

The elf nodded. Astoria gently released her grip, feeling that the danger of Dobby's intentionally running headlong into a coffee table had finally passed.

"Dobby is already hearing this from Professor Moody," said Dobby grimly. "Dobby will get Harry Potter his Gillyweed even if it is the last thing Dobby does!"

"You must have heard the same conversation I did, then," Astoria realized quietly. A queer pang of guilt began to squeeze at her insides as she took in the earnest look on Dobby's face. "You know that we are breaking the rules, right Dobby? You can't _tell_ Professor Moody that we helped-"

Astoria could not stress this point strongly enough but Dobby seemed to understand her.

"No, Miss! Dobby won't say a word! But he _will_ take the Gillyweed from Professor Snape and give it to Harry Potter, no matter what rules he is breaking!"

"Thank you, Dobby," said Astoria quietly.

"You is too good, Miss!" the elf choked and for a horrible moment, Astoria thought he might cry.

"I'm not," said Astoria quickly, the idea of being thanked for such selfishly motivated meddling causing the fist of guilt to contract still harder. "Just make sure he gets the Gillyweed, alright?"

"Dobby promises!" the elf vowed. "Professor Moody will never know. Tis the curse of a house elf's lot, Miss. They is never noticed, no matter what they is doing or how near they might be."

Astoria reflected upon this idea uncomfortably. Dobby stooped over to collect the woolen hat that Astoria had knocked onto the ground when she had leapt up to restrain him and Astoria found herself cringing at the sight. Thinking it was time to give him privacy, Astoria broke off for the dormitory stairs, blissfully relieved and somehow even more wretched for her success.

It was much later, after she was already in bed, that Astoria finally began to understand some of the discomfort that Dobby's words had caused her.

Even with a magical eye, Alastor Moody had not had had the sense to notice Dobby collecting cloaks in the teacher's lounge on New Years, or perhaps even taking out the trash underneath his very nose. Constant vigilance, it seemed, did not apply to thankless elves.

What this did _not_ explain however, was why Moody had not noticed _Astoria_ on the other side of the staff room door. For Astoria had entirely forgotten that wood would not have prevented him from laying magically-enhanced eyes on _her_.

0o0

On the morning of the Second Task, Astoria woke early, taking her time to organize by the light of the flat grey sky outside. Conscious of the fact that she was dressing for Belladonna as much as Cassandra, Astoria laid out all of her white dresses for careful consideration.

The fact that she was serving cider for the Sisters of the Eastern Star before the Second Task took away much of her ability to creatively express herself through dress. For the first time ever, Astoria was almost thankful for her pressed white uniform, privately feeling that it was much harder to be disappointing when her options were so limited. Astoria would look just like everyone else, which meant that Belladonna would have a hard time subjecting her to scrutiny without criticizing the entire organization.

After selecting the garment with the longest sleeves, (a soft cotton number of middle-length that her aunt would loath for its lack of a defined waist) Astoria tossed the rest of her choices back into her trunk and slammed the lid.

The first painful decision came when, moments later, she was forced to open her trunk back up in order to put away her warmest pair of thickly lined tights. They were too bulky, Astoria decided, too fond of collecting lint from the rest of the winter-wear in storage. Her aunt would deplore them, perhaps loudly and in front of people. They would not do. It would be less painful to spend the morning shivering.

Astoria yanked on some sheer, expensive hosiery in their place, cursing the cold of the dormitory floor and her lot in life for having such rude and forceful relations.

With her dark hair combed out into softness and her face carefully washed, Astoria brushed a hint of Parvati's blush onto her cheeks to hide all traces her winter fatigue and then worked on her eyelashes, coaxing out the most violent aspects of her eye color on purpose as she did so. Feeling suitably armored, Astoria set out to meet her opposers, flinching at the shock of cold from her pearl necklace with each staircase she bounded down.

Cassandra was already in the entrance hall when Astoria arrived. Both of the great double doors that led into the courtyard had been thrust open and a wet chill pervaded the room from end to end. The smell of apples and spices that floated on the breeze struck Astoria as the false promise of a warmth that did not seem to exist.

"Astoria!" said Cassandra, looking up from the tray of porcelain china she was arranging. "Arrange the napkins, please."

It occurred to Astoria that there must already be people in the courtyard, because Cassandra had made no comment about the fact that Astoria was technically three minutes late. Locating the stack of cocktail-sized napkins Cassandra had spoken of, Astoria set about artfully fanning them next to the spoons.

"Sugar bowls go next to the _coffee_ , Kitty!" shot Cassandra quickly, stopping Katherine Macdougal from placing a porcelain pot next to her elbow. "This is _cider_. No, _stop_. Astoria, just _take_ the sugar from her please!"

Astoria took the sugar bowl and placed it behind the spoons.

"It's _cold_ in here," Katherine complained, folding her arms across her chest now that she no longer had anything to hold.

"It'll warm up when people arrive," Cassandra snapped. "Stop lolly-gagging! See if Pansy needs help finding the trays."

Katherine wandered off toward the Room of Portraits resentfully because the visiting silver must be stored there. Feeling that there was nothing left to do with the napkins, Astoria quietly acquitted herself of Cassandra's presence and began searching the room for Tracey.

Pansy and Emilie came banging out of the Room of Portraits together seconds later, teetering uneasily under the weight of a large silver serving tray. "Ouch!" Pansy wailed, shifting the weight toward Emilie's end. "I'm walking backwards!"

Smirking at Cassandra's audacity in sending even Emilie, her best friend, to do the heavy lifting while she arranged cups, Astoria darted around the path of the silver service and made her way toward the open doors. Outside, Tracey was lingering next to the eaves with Flora Carrow. They both turned to glimpse at Astoria fearfully when she appeared on the doorstep.

"Oh!" cried Tracey in delight, moving away from the wall. "It's you! I was afraid that you might be Cassandra..."

"She's manning the tea service," said Astoria. "Why are you hiding out here? It's freezing."

"We're supposed to warn everyone when guests arrive," answered Tracey, shivering violently in one of Astoria's borrowed dresses. "There's an old witch chatting with a warlock next to the columns down there, but they haven't moved in _ages_."

Astoria gazed out across the courtyard and spotted Augusta Longbottom's signature stuffed-vulture topped hat. "Warn her anyway," Astoria suggested. "It'll get you out of this cold."

"The cold is better," Tracey muttered. "Cassandra's in high dudgeon. D'you know if the Yaxleys are coming today?"

Flora craned her head, at last interested in what Astoria had to say but Astoria could do no more than shrug. It would never have occurred to her to ask Belladonna what the Yaxleys were doing and it caused her no pain to deprive Flora of the gossip.

At that moment, new voices sounded out across the stone yard. More people were arriving and they did not look as though they were keen to stand about in the cold.

"I'll go get Cassandra!" said Flora, diving around Astoria at once for the warmer entrance hall.

"Filthy little suck up," Tracey muttered, falling into step with Astoria. "Have you heard? The Task is going to be down by the lake!"

Astoria thought briefly of the bursting ledger that was currently in Fred's possession and of Dobby the house elf, whom Astoria had not seen again after their first and only meeting.

"No," Astoria lied, following Tracey back up the steps. "A water task, then?"

"Seems like!" Tracey whispered back excitedly, remembering to hold the door open for Ernie Macmillian's father. "Do you realize that means we'll have to watch the champions compete in our _dresses_?"

The entrance hall was impressively altered from only moments before. Large silver servers now gleamed beneath both the coffee and cider urns and several students seemed to have found their way down early, anticipating the arrival of relatives.

"Have you ever noticed how unfair this Tournament is?" asked Tracey, wrinkling her nose as she surveyed the gathering crowd. "People without families get left out of this sort of thing. If I weren't a Sister, I'd have no idea that this was even happening."

Astoria glanced at Tracey, who was perhaps thinking of her dead father and quiet, unsociable mother. A stab of something almost depressive worked its way in between Astoria's ribs at the thought. She herself had woken up dreading the arrival of her own relatives with such gusto that Astoria had never stopped to consider how it would feel to be left out of the loop entirely. A funny thing to overlook really, as Astoria was only one aunt and an absent father away from suffering Tracey's plight for herself.

"But you _are_ a Sister," Astoria insisted bracingly, threading her arm through Tracey's. "Just think! Someday, you'll be able to threaten all of your relations with a visit to these sort of parties yourself."

Tracey laughed heartily, not one to linger overlong on any topic that could be considered morbidly dull. "Alright," she sighed, "let's go receive our orders."

Cassandra was standing behind the cider urn, chatting pleasantly with a man in a long overcoat. When she spotted Tracey and Astoria however, her eyes flashed a clear sign that they should hurry. Nearby, Maudlin, Alec and Draco were all congregated near the coffee table and at the sight of them, Astoria had to fight the sudden urge to dig in her heels.

"Here!" said Cassandra the moment they drew near, thrusting two porcelain cups at Astoria. "Take these to the woman in the hat and the man with the overbite."

"You mean Augusta Longbottom?" asked Astoria, recognizing the stuffed vulture once again, disguised only by the greatest of distances. Astoria reached for the cups absently when, to her surprise, Cassandra withdrew the cider and studied her face intently.

"Tracey, _you_ take these," Cassandra decided, passing off the drinks. Tracey blinked her annoyance but moved to carry the teacups across the room anyway.

"That woman in green asked for decaf," Cassandra continued. "Do you know her?"

Astoria followed Cassandra's finger until she was able to spot the witch in question. "That's Mafalda Hopkirk."

"How many of you girls would know that sort of thing?" asked Cassandra sharply, not wishing to be overheard by the man in the overcoat.

"I don't know," said Astoria, slightly thrown, conscious of the fact that she seemed to have drawn Draco and Maudlin's attention near the coffee table because they had both turned about to glance at her, perhaps waiting for an ideal moment to pounce. "Pansy and Flora would. I'm not sure about the rest."

"Right," said Cassandra briskly, wiping her hands on one of the cocktail napkins. "If you see Pansy, send her to me. Go bring Mrs. Hopkirk her decaf and then take orders on your way back. If you see Kitty, tell her to do as you say. I don't want any _stupid_ mistakes."

This seemed like more effort than a morning tea service really merited but Astoria went to fetch Mafalda Hopkirk her decaf just the same.

"Poor Ria! Always the drinks girl!" remarked Maudlin gleefully, moving aside so that Astoria could reach the coffee spigot. "When do you finish? We'll wait so you can walk down to the lake with us."

"I'm not sure," said Astoria, conscious of the promise she had made to herself to stop being so hard on Maudlin, especially when he meant her no particular harm.

"Is your father here, Draco?" Maudlin asked, leaning against the table in a way that made the flow of coffee wobble.

"No," Draco drawled lazily, playing with one of the china saucers, "but he will be. No need to rush, I suppose. It's _only_ coffee."

Trying not to make eye-contact with Draco, Astoria turned about, balancing her tea cup gingerly on its saucer and almost ran headlong into Mafalda Hopkirk herself. "Goodness!" Mafalda trilled, taking a step back.

"Darling!" beamed the man next to her and it took Astoria far longer than it should have to realize that the man in question was her father.

"I don't—" Astoria stuttered, so taken aback by this that she was not certain how to arrange her features.

"Look, there's the decaf, George!" said Mafalda, pointing to the nearest table.

Hearing this, Astoria finally seemed to snap back into herself.

"I'm so sorry! I think _this_ must be for you. I was just about to walk it over," Astoria offered Mafalda the cup, amazed that her hands weren't shaking. _Like a soldier hardened by battle_. "Father!" Astoria exclaimed warmly, kissing George's cheek. "What _are_ you doing here?"

"Was there anywhere else to be?" George asked, flashing her his most winning smile. "Those pearls are stunning on you! From your aunt, of course?"

"George!" interrupted Maudlin, recognizing Astoria's father and unable to hide his enthusiasm.

Unlike Aston Mendel, Astoria's father had never been _afraid_ of Maudlin and had therefore always treated him to the displays of charming easiness that he was so famous for. Maudlin, in turn, had always been secretly impressed by George's natty dress sense and fondness for scotch. If the world were a perfect place and there was no fortune to be lost or gained, Astoria should have been Aston's child and Maudlin, George's.

"If it isn't young Mr. Mendel!" returned George joyfully, grasping Maudlin's eager arm. "It's been an age!"

Astoria watched as they both patted each other on the back, struck for the first time by how by how very similarly they both seemed to posture themselves.

Annoyed for reasons she could not entirely explain to herself, Astoria turned her scowling face toward the coffee service and then jumped, because Draco was watching her rather sharply out of the corner of his eye, still fidgeting idly with the saucer. Afraid that he had seen her look of irritation, Astoria directed her scowl at Draco instead. By way of response, Draco scoffed and ceased his fiddling with the china.

"How have you been, sir?" asked Maudlin, moving out of the way so that several old ladies could reach the cider. "I heard that you were at the Quidditch World Cup, but it was _such_ a madhouse..."

What motivated Maudlin to call her father 'sir', when he himself was in line to inherit a minor lordship in Monaco and George was in line for nothing more than decaf coffee, Astoria would never know.

"Excellent, of course," George rattled, moving Mafalda gently aside so that the same ladies could proceed down the line.

Astoria missed what he said next because she was so preoccupied with the way George's hand seemed to linger on Mafalda's arm. The last time Astoria had checked, her father had been preoccupied with Cormac MacLaggen's mother and while she had not expected the affair to last, it _was_ good to know that his attentions had shifted elsewhere. Forewarned, after all, was forearmed.

Astoria probed the side of Mafalda's face searchingly, trying to decide if she seemed foolish enough to fall for George Greengrass. As a woman of about forty with a rather stern expression and an intelligent job, Mafalda did not immediately strike Astoria as her father's type. George had a way of seeking silly, controllable companions. What on Earth was he doing with a high level ministry worker?

Then, Mafalda turned toward George and her expression softened for an instant, causing Astoria to reconsider her first impression. Mafalda was older than Mrs. MacLaggen perhaps, but rather more sensibly stylish. She had a lithe figure and her hair—all of it— seemed to have retained its natural ebony coloring. Why not? Perhaps she was a secret laugh...

"Don't you think, Ria?" asked Maudlin. Astoria jumped, realizing that she had hardly been listening to a word of the conversation.

"I'm sorry," Astoria breezed, collected a full cup of coffee. "What am I thinking? I'm supposed to be minding the drinks!"

Astoria smiled as pleasingly as she dared and slipped out into the room, anxious about leaving her father, Mafalda and Maudlin alone together with Draco watching, but even more afraid of lingering where she was until Lucius or Belladonna waltzed in and officially turned their party into something from a case study.

"Excuse me," said Astoria, stopping the first witch she saw, "would you like a coffee?"

The woman took the drink gratefully. Astoria waited until she had walked off before taking the long way around the room to the cider urn, avoiding the coffee table altogether.

Cassandra barely spared Astoria a second look as she very slowly refilled two more teacups.

"Astoria!" bounced Tracey, taking one of Astoria's drinks so that she could walk more easily. "Is that your dad over there, talking to Maudlin and Draco?"

"Yes," Astoria clipped, offering Professor Flitwick a second glass of cider. "If you've ever cared for me, go and break it up. Fake a fainting spell if you have to!"

"Lord, can you imagine?" Tracey laughed, eyes sparkling. "Your aunt is in the courtyard, you know. It's like the perfect storm coming together from the East and West!"

Astoria promptly deposited her empty teacup on the cider table and seized another, eager to head Belladonna off. In her haste, Astoria swiveled about and nearly ran smack into yet another chest; this time rather wider and more imposingly dressed.

"Miss Greengrass," quirked Lucius Malfoy, all cold amusement. His eyes flicked down to the scalding drink that Astoria had just spilled all over her own wrists in an attempt to over-correct herself and spare his freshly-shined shoes. "How agile."

"Mr. Malfoy," Astoria returned, breathless with surprise and pain.

"Would you like a cider, sir?" asked Tracey, rushing back to Astoria's side at once.

"A full one, perhaps," Lucius returned smoothly, as uninterested in Astoria's sopping cup as he was in Tracey, who he had probably never once heard mentioned and whose name he had likely forgotten.

"Oh," Tracey went on, wondrously undeterred by the lick of scorn with which they had both just been rather cruelly caressed, "that's right, of course! Are you looking for Draco? You _must_ be. He's near Astoria's father by the coffee table."

"How helpful," Lucius murmured, his cold eyes sweeping across the room with an expression of sharpness that seemed rather at odds with his lazy drawl. "Excuse me."

Astoria grit her teeth and shot Tracey a look of such pure wrath that the smile slipped right off her friend's overeager face. "What?" Tracey hissed, startled.

"Excuse _me_!" Astoria snapped, darting toward the door, trying so hard not to imagine her father and Lucius taking tea together that she very nearly bounced off the door frame.

Belladonna, Astoria reflected painfully, could at least be counted upon to remain dignified in Lucius's company, even if she was _supremely_ rude. If Astoria's sneaking suspicion held any merit however, George was likely to play the part of the suck-up around Draco's father and Astoria did not want to be anywhere near him when he did.

The windless chill outside had not conceded any ground to the rising sun. Steam swirled from the top of Astoria's teacup and the hot porcelain bit at her fingers but it was nothing to the sting of the cruel winter air and the ache of the fresh burn on her arm. Focusing on these unpleasant sensations, Astoria searched the yard and attempted to clear her head.

Belladonna, well tailored as always, had never looked more sorcerous than she did against the dismal grey and white backdrop of the castle courtyard. A short, rather stocky witch was hopping up and down in front of Belladonna as Astoria approached them, muttering angrily in a voice that was too low for her to hear.

"Again, Alectra, I don't know what to say," said Belladonna, raising her fingers to her forehead in exasperation. Her nails were painted a murderous, glossy red. "Write to him again, if you must. It's really none of my concern." Belladonna broke off when she caught sight of Astoria. "There you are, darling! I thought I might have to look for you."

Flora's mother Alectra shot Astoria a hard look and stormed off toward the castle, unwilling to continue her conversation with Belladonna if Astoria was also present.

"That was _rude_ ," Astoria snapped, having had about enough of being made to feel awkward about herself for one morning.

"She really _is_ , darling," said Belladonna consolingly, "but don't take it to heart. Alectra's known for that sort of thing."

"What are you _doing_ here, auntie?" Astoria demanded, releasing some of her discomfort as she passed off the half-full offending cider. "You could have just _written_ to me, you know!"

For a moment, Belladonna was just perceptibly affronted but she regained her balance swiftly. "Hospitality doesn't suit you, I see. Neither does that necklace, but its no matter. "

They both turned to face the castle. Untouched, Belladonna's drink continued to produce steam.

"Father's here," Astoria admitted tersely, stunning even herself as the words tumbled out of her mouth.

"Oh?" remarked Belladonna, arching an eyebrow, clearly as surprised to hear this as Astoria had been to see it. " _Is_ he?"

"With Mafalda Hopkirk," Astoria added. "I think Mr. Malfoy's just gone off toward them as well. Please _don't_ be rude, for once in your life!"

Belladonna's mauve lips tugged up in the corner rather sardonically. "Goodness, since when have you cared about anyone else's opinion? I hope you aren't striving for reform?"

People were beginning to exit the entrance hall now, following the courtyard toward the path that led to the lake.

Astoria cleared her throat awkwardly and let out a shivery breath. "Where are you sitting?"

"Wherever it is that the _grownups_ are sitting, darling," Belladonna sighed, positively reeking of passive sarcasm. "I promise not to follow you into the _stands_."

Astoria's father and Mafalda Hopkirk came down the front steps, followed several feet away by Draco and Lucius Malfoy. Belladonna's smile deepened, perhaps struck by the queerness of this grouping herself, but somehow more obviously tempted to laugh at it than Astoria could be.

"Hurry along," Belladonna insisted, her eyes trained carefully on George. "You don't want to be late. Don't worry about a thing, I'll find you later."

Tracey was in the crowd of people surging toward the lake. Assuming that this meant Cassandra had given the junior Sisters permission to abandon the entrance hall, Astoria began to wade across the courtyard, wanting to reach Tracey before she lost sight of her blonde bob in the sea of limbs and flapping coats.

The cold was extreme and Astoria found herself proceeding hesitantly, her fragile limbs skittishly sidestepping any heavy feet that might trod on her. She had _intentionally_ not brought a cloak down with her to serve cider, afraid that by doing so she would be revealing how much she knew about the Second Task's location ahead of time. In retrospect, Astoria could not believe what a moronic oversight this had been.

Making eye contact at last, Tracey reached out to seize Astoria and they both shoved themselves into a cranny between several benches, waiting for a gap in the flow of bodies while shivering together desperately.

"Should have worn a coat," Tracey gasped, rubbing her hands together. "Do you think we have time to go back for one? You can borrow something from _my_ common room. It's closer."

The crowd was thinning but it seemed to Astoria that she would rather miss the beginning of the task altogether than attempt to watch it in a haze of discomfort. "Yeah, let's go back,"

"Ria!" called Maudlin brightly, catching sight of both girls around the fountain. "I thought we had lost you!" Alec lopped along behind him, still clutching a Hogwarts crested teacup and somehow managing to look very bored despite the commotion. "What happened to Draco?" Maudlin continued, swiveling about searchingly. "The Task is going to start soon!"

"No idea, he was behind you in the hall," Astoria chattered. "Maudlin, lend me your cloak."

Maudlin tuned his eyes onto Astoria appraisingly, but she must have looked cold enough to merit coddling because he parted ways with his outer-most layer almost kindly. Astoria ducked under a corner and tugged Tracey toward her so that they might share in the warmth together.

"You're so tall, Maudlin!" cooed Tracey, all thankful mischievousness and elbows as she snuggled into Astoria's side, " _we_ can practically use your cloak as a blanket!"

A look of something irresistibly self-satisfied flickered across Maudlin's face and Astoria had to choke down a snicker at his expense.

It was amazing what a difference that the warmth of another layer made to Astoria's mood. For the first time all day, she was rallying, no longer shivering and able to look upon the afternoon with something like anticipation. One sight of Fred and George (or any reminder of the goblins) would surely be enough to dash this flickering happiness to pieces, but for the moment, Astoria was just cheerful enough to fake true enthusiasm.

"We should head toward the lake," she suggested, linking arms with Tracey comfortably. "We'll have a better chance of finding Draco that way."

They fell into a choppy stride together, carried forward by the current of the crowd until they reached the pebble-strewn lake bank. On a distant shore, the same seats that had been erected around the dragon's rocky turf last fall had been built up again, towering precariously over the still surface of the water.

A second funnel of people containing mostly adults seemed to be looping around the left side of the lake rather than the right, passing by the judges table at the water's edge. Students, it seemed, were being directed around the long way. Astoria and Tracey led the way along the embankment, stopping only when they reached a series of floating walkways. These long ramps of wood stretched out toward the aquatic stadium like unsteady fingers, swaying on a non-existent tide.

"There's Draco," said Alec, pointing back across the water's icy-flat surface. A hundred feet or so away, Astoria was able to spot Draco's brilliant shock of pale hair near the fork in the path, bidding goodbye to his father, who was bound for Ministry seating in the opposite direction.

"Let's wait for him, shall we?" said Astoria, mindful of her recent promise to be a more pleasant influence in the world. Truthfully, the idea of Draco and Maudlin being safely distanced from her aunt and her father was very pleasing and Astoria could hardly wait until both boys were on her side of the lake. What her relatives did in front of Lucius in the stands was out of Astoria's control, of course. She could only do so much.

It occurred to Astoria as Draco came into sight alone that she probably should not care at all whether Lucius and Belladonna ended up sharing a bench together, but somehow she could not entirely force herself to regard the idea impartially.

"Draco!" Alec called, gaining his attention before he charged past them toward the stadium.

With the group finally together, Astoria followed Alec out onto the bobbing platforms, trying not to think about the thin band of ice clinging to the wood and the cold water that had created it.

Across the lake, most of the spectators seemed to have cleared off the distant bank. Karkoroff and Krum had arrived behind the judges table and Astoria assumed it must be getting close to eleven o'clock.

The stands, which were already packed to near capacity, seemed to prove this. There was no space left near water-level for five people together, so they were obligated to climb upward.

A small brass band had struck up on the opposite shore, marking the arrival of the champions but nothing was quite enough to distract Astoria from her thoughts. Even if Dobby managed to sneak Harry the Gillyweed, would it be enough to protect him from the sub-zero temperatures at the bottom of the lake?

"There's got to be somewhere," Maudlin insisted, dragging them all up another narrow wooden staircase. At the very top, all the way along near the wall, Alec spotted a single barren bench.

"We're miles away," Draco sneered, gazing out over the water at the distant judges table. Fleur Delacour and Cedric Diggory had joined the Durmstrang delegation but there was still no sign of Harry. "We won't be able to _see_ anything."

"What time is it?" asked Astoria, interrupting Draco, who had begun sneaking peevish glances at Maudlin's cloak around Tracey and Astoria's shoulders by glancing at his wrist watch.

"Five of," answered Maudlin before Draco could speak, bracing his feet against the stairway bannister.

By way of response, Draco flipped his arm over, childishly hiding his watch face from view. Astoria peeked at his face, trying to understand this aggression but Draco made an irritated sound and shifted further back in his seat. He turned to glare sullenly at Maudlin's propped-up feet as though, for some reason, he would have dearly loved to kick them.

"If the rest of the champions are here, where's Harry?" Astoria asked, unable to understand the prolonged absence of such a pivotal player. "He hasn't forfeited, has he?"

"Who _cares_?" Malfoy sneered coldly.

"Where's your father sitting, Draco?" asked Tracey eagerly, eying the stands, clearly wanting to catch another glimpse of him. "I'd never noticed how much you two look alike before-"

"Yeah," snapped Malfoy distractedly, "people say that all the time. I'm surprised _your_ father isn't sitting with us, Astoria," he added waspishly. "I thought for _sure_ he and Maudlin would be giving each other hand jobs by now."

Tracey squealed with delight, wanting to know exactly what George Greengrass had done to give such an impression, but at that moment, Harry Potter came sprinting across the frozen lawn below and the crowd began to react loudly at the sight of him.

"Of _course_ ," spat Malfoy bitterly. "It's not enough without a _dramatic_ entrance."

"Attention!" boomed Bagman's magically magnified voice. "Our champions are ready to begin their Second Task! At the sound of my whistle, they will have precisely one hour to recover what has been taken from them- to reclaim their hostages, as it were- from the bottom of the lake. One... Two... Three!"

A shrill blast from Bagman's whistle was all it took for Krum to slice like a knife into the water with his wand held tight in his hand. When he did not return to the surface, Astoria assumed a transformation must have taken place below the gently rippling waves.

Cedric meanwhile had tapped his head and as the crowd watched, a transparent dome resembling a giant un-popped soap bubble began to form over the top of his golden hair. He too slipped below the freezing water with Fleur close behind him, having done a similar sort of enchantment over her long mane of veela-bright cornsilk.

Suddenly, no one was left but Harry, who was still only waist deep in the icy lake water. He was chewing something (Gillyweed, Astoria prayed) rather thickly, and shivering like a kite in the slight breeze.

The longer that Harry gave the appearance of doing nothing, the more laughter began to break out in the audience. Astoria dug her fingers into the palms of her hands, waiting on tenterhooks. Somewhere not very far away, Montague hollered out a cat call. Draco's eye's flicked toward Astoria triumphantly. _I told you so_ , they seemed to say.

"What's he _doing_?" groaned Alec. "Trying to freeze his actual balls off? Someone pull him out! This is _painful_."

All of a sudden, Harry was choking. His hands flew to his throat, grasping at an invisible fist.

"What the hell?" drawled Draco, eyes narrowing malevolently in Harry's direction, perhaps hoping that Harry would do him the favor of throwing up in front of a crowd of nearly a thousand people.

Then, Harry was no longer reaching for his throat with hands; he was reaching with a set of _fins_. Gracelessly, Harry flailed forward into the slushy surf and sank out of sight. Astoria unclenched her fists and rearranged Maudlin's cloak over her knees. _Second place or better,_ she chanted to herself, trying to infuse the idea with the kind of power that might be able to find Harry in the murky depths below. _Second place or better._

Bagman had gone wild on the megaphone but Astoria was no longer listening. If she and the twins somehow managed to win this bet, they would be ahead for the first time all year. Every sleepless night Astoria had suffered through would finally be worth something...

"Scoot over, Davis," demanded a cold voice near the end of the row.

It was Cassandra and Emilie, finished with putting away the silver service in the Entrance Hall.

Tracey's jaw worked soundlessly for a moment. Then, she hastily shoved into Astoria's side, trying to make room for two more on their already tight bench. Astoria jostled into Draco's arm, unprepared for the shove. "Not enough," intoned Cassandra gleefully and Astoria was pushed into Draco so firmly that he had to actually straighten up out of his slouch in order to avoid sliding onto the floor.

"Have you cleaned up, already?" asked Tracey hopefully.

"Yes, no thanks to any of you," said Cassandra, settling in with more than enough space to share, reminding Astoria of a smug cat claiming an entire couch for a kingdom. "What am I supposed to be looking at, anyway. There's nothing on the lake."

"They're _under_ it, Cassandra," answered Alec a trifle witheringly. "There won't _be_ anything to see until the champions resurface. You've _missed_ it." Alec did not look at all sorry about this. On the contrary, he seemed rather pleased.

Cramped and fetched up in Maudlin's overlong cloak, which was now trapped beneath her, Astoria wriggled, trying to rearrange herself into a position that was not painful to sustain. Using a single hand to hold her weight, Astoria rearranged the fabric, realizing too late that she was using Malfoy's knee as a brace.

Astoria recoiled and the burn on her wrist rubbed against the cuff of her dress. Biting her lip against the uncomfortable sting of the burn and Draco's suddenly confusing proximity, Astoria pulled into herself until she was as compact as she could be, feeling vulnerable and inconsistent.

 _You should have just burned Lucius_ , Astoria's mind hissed. _What did it really matter, anyway?_

Astoria pressed into Tracey, hoping to somehow pull away a trace of the warmth and unshakable boldness that Tracey always possessed.

Since when had the Malfoys started turning up _everywhere_ , Astoria wondered, leaning her head against Tracey's shoulder and settling in to watch the lake exhaustedly. One moment she was tossing teacups onto the the father, the next she was sitting practically on top of the son. Surely they were the type of people that one really only ever _had_ to see from a great distance? Didn't they have better things to with their precious time than sweep in and out of Astoria's space? Mr. Malfoy hadn't even remembered Tracey's _name_. Why would he _want_ to spend any time near Astoria's father?

It suddenly seemed to Astoria that she would not be able to relax properly again until she knew that both her herself and her family were as far away from Draco and his looming figure of a father as possible. If the break did not occur soon, Astoria feared, she was suddenly certain that both halves might somehow become joined.

Astoria's family was already somewhat under the patronage of the Mendels thanks to her long imprisoned mother's influence. What would Astoria do if her father suddenly started scrambling for invitations to Mr. Malfoy's dinner parties? _Succeed and drag her along to suffer,_ Astoria decided miserably. Astoria glanced at Draco again, this time very carefully. His posture was lazy and cocky, half-inclined toward Astoria in the same way that Tracey was. If Astoria had wanted to swap Tracey's shoulder for his, she had a feeling that he might let her. In private she was certain he would, but in public, perhaps not. _Did it really matter either way?_

A commotion was taking place below. Two medi-wizards and Madame Maxime were wading into the lake toward a limp, trembling figure. It was Fleur and she had returned alone. _Fourth place._

 _"_ Our _champion_ ," commented Cassandra disdainfully. "It should have been you, Maudlin. Or failing that, _me_."

Like a seal breaching the surface of the sea, Cedric Diggory's head popped up next between the murky ripples of lake water and the stands went wild.

On either side of Astoria, a smattering of polite but unenthusiastic applause broke out.

"Is that Chang?" demanded Malfoy snidely, the first to notice that a second head had appeared next to Cedric's.

"I think so," Astoria laughed, forcing herself to sit back up and face the threatening world bravely. _One champion successfully returned._ "They _did_ go to the ball together."

"He really is the prettier of the two, isn't he?" mused Alec wryly. "What a burden for her. _Always_ second best."

" _You_ went to the ball with Maudlin, though, didn't you Astoria?" remarked Cassandra. "Will he be fishing _you_ out of the lake later in the week?"

Emilie blushed and looked down at her hands, not wanting to hear this kind of talk any more than Astoria did.

"I shouldn't think so," Astoria responded firmly, "they chose limp Fleur over him as champion."

Maudlin made a disgruntled little sound and moved his feet back onto the ground. "I didn't _want_ to be champion-"

He was cut off by another burst of applause. Astoria stood up in order to peer over the railing, anxious to see which champion had come back to the surface after Cedric.

"Who is it?" asked Tracey, trying to peer around Astoria, who had pulled the cloak off of both of them in her in her haste.

"It's Krum," said Astoria dully, feeling as though her insides had been been laced with lead, "and Granger."

" _What_?" scoffed Malfoy, torn between disgust and cruel delight. "No wonder he's back so soon. The merpeople didn't _want_ his buck-toothed girlfriend."

Astoria sat back down, shrugging away the corner of the cloak because she was not entirely sure that she wouldn't just throw up. If Krum had come back second, surely he would _place_ in second. That would put Harry Potter in _third_ and Astoria in a world of danger. With every moment that ticked by, Astoria's sense of panic grew more acidic until it was bubbling rawly in the back of her throat.

"How much time did they have?" asked Astoria.

"An hour," drawled Malfoy, consulting his watch with an expression of maddening satisfaction. Astoria attempted to check the time herself but Draco turned his wrist away from her again, apparently taking some sort of perverse delight in Harry's failure and unwilling to let her obvious discomfort ruin it for him.

"How long has Harry been underwater, Malfoy?" Astoria snapped. "Why do you have to _make_ me fight for it?"

"Eighty minutes," Draco snapped back, flushing slightly.

 _Eighty minutes._

"This task is _boring_ compared to the last one," sighed Tracey. "I hope Potter comes back up soon. I want lunch."

" _I'd_ be fine if he never came up at all," Draco sneered, "but suit yourself, Davis."

At that moment, three different colored heads broke the icy surface of the lake near the far away bank and the stands exploded. The task was over. Harry had, at the very least, survived but it was surprising how little comfort this idea seemed to give her.

Were the goblins at Hogwarts now? Surely they would not expect Astoria to pay them on the spot? Wild flashes of violence that somehow incorporated her aunt Belladonna and loss of limb (most likely her own) flitted through Astoria's mind like lightning. So destitute was her state of affairs, Astoria could not even take a moment to appreciate the sight of twenty or so merpeople rising out of their watery home to consult with the judges.

"Astoria, you're sitting on the cloak!" whined Tracey. "Eugh! I thought mermaids were supposed to be pretty!"

Astoria budged forward then sunk back again, numb with horror because of her own terrible life choices. Betting against the goblins was the worst decision she had ever made and the time to pay for that foolishness had finally come. Fred and George wouldn't be able to offer her any assistance. It was Astoria who would be left to to fix this mess.

"Testing!" boomed Ludo Bagman's voice, so loud and near that it might have originated from inside Astoria's ear canals. "Testing! Alright- Alright, Igor! I'm live- Ladies and gentlemen, we have reached our decision!"

Bagman awarded Fleur Delacour twenty five points for her Bubble-Head charm. Cedric, who had used the same magic but had managed to successfully collect his hostage, received forty seven points.

"Forty _seven_?" demanded Draco snidely, provoking Maudlin to chuckle with him. "What kind of number is that? Were they afraid to round down?"

"Viktor Krum used an incomplete form of Transfiguration which was, nevertheless, effective and was second to return," Bagman declared. "We award him forty points."

It was Harry's turn now. Karkoroff shot Bagman a nasty look.

"Lost a bet, have you?" demanded Malfoy in a low, resentful voice. It took Astoria a full moment to realize that his words and his tone had been meant for her. "Figured Potter would get lucky twice?"

"Does it matter?" Astoria bit back.

"Its your gold, I suppose. Even if it is _wasted_ on Potter," Draco persisted, unable to let the matter go. "I warned you, didn't I? I said-"

" _Stop_ it," Astoria hissed, suddenly very certain she was going to be ill. Draco might not have any way of knowing how _much_ money Astoria was going to owe for her lapse of judgment, but he certainly must realize that he was being cruel.

"Harry Potter used Gillyweed to great effect," continued Bagman. "While he may have returned last, the Merchieftainess informs us that he was the first to reach the hostages and the delay in returning to the surface was owed to his determination to return all hostages to safety, not merely his own."

" _Why_ should I?" Draco hissed back, this time more loudly. "Just _admit_ it!"

"I'm still _losing_ , aren't I?" Astoria snapped back, nearly as loud as he was now. "You don't need to be so _smug._ "

"Who's smug?" asked Tracey, distracted from Bagman by the bite in Astoria's voice.

"Betting high, too, I see," Draco guessed, his lip curling in a way that bespoke of an almost dangerous disgust. " _That's_ rich- or not, rather. If I were you, when I crawled to Maudlin for the gold, I'd probably lie and say I'd bet it on Fleur instead. Seems like a _better_ laugh."

"If _I_ didn't know any better, I'd almost think it sounded like you wanted me to crawl to _you_ instead," Astoria shot back, knowing she was playing with fire but beyond the point of being able to reasonably care. While Astoria was fairly certain that Draco did not know how much Maudlin had done to help her out of her bind at Christmas, there was enough truth in this comment to cut her like a knife.

" _Yeah_?" Draco's already pink cheeks turned a rather brilliant shade of red as he struggled to save face. "Tell you what, stop talking to Scarface in courtyards or polishing his bloody wand for magazine articles and I'll fork up the sad hundred galleons you owe to that gremlin the Weasleys were crouching with during the First Task. Seems like _more_ than a fair deal to me. Lord knows _they_ won't be able to help you."

At a loss over whether to succumb to anger or to cry, Astoria tipped her head back and laughed hollowly.

A hundred galleons to avoid Harry for life. That was the fresh hell that her life had now become. For the full eight thousand she _actually_ owed against a horde of very real and very dangerous goblins, Astoria supposed she need only murder Harry in his bed instead? Her own demise at the hands of Ragnuk and his cohorts seemed more dignified. And she had _cheated,_ Astoria realized, had as much as put the Gillweed in Harry's mouth. If Ragnuk ever found out...

"Most of the judges feel that this shows moral fiber and merits full marks," Bagman went on, taking a step away from Karkoroff, who looked like he was about one poor choice of phrasing on Bagman's part away from chucking him into the lake. "However... we award Harry Potter forty-five points."

Astoria's hollow laughter tumbled over itself like rocks in jar, taking on a manic edge.

"Never!" Tracey cried. "They've tied _Potter_ in first place? How is that even _fair_ if he came up _last?_ "

Astoria had to put her head between her knees to keep from sobbing. People were standing up all around her but nothing seemed to reach her through the haze of wondrous relief that was coursing through her body. Never again, Astoria vowed. Never again would she bet gold against goblins or put her own personal safety at risk to satisfy a daring urge. She would stop being foolhardy; she had learned her lesson. Astoria would study from her textbooks and willingly join clubs like a normal teenager, keeping her head down, where it was at almost no risk of being cut off.

"Astoria!" chuckled Maudlin. "No one was ever actually going to drown!"

0o0

* * *

Well, this was... long? You know, sometimes I can crank out a chapter in two nights (and then take as long as I want editing) but other chapters turn into stubborn menaces with no sense of compassion for my poor nerves. This one fell firmly into the latter category, to the point that I actually ended up cutting out great gobs of paragraphs in order to keep in under eleven thousand (literally, whhhhat?) words. There were just so many details for later plots that had to be added!

My goal for the last few posts has been to work on shifting Astoria's mindset just enough for her to kind of come to terms with the fact that she is sort of really interested in a person that she knows is deeply flawed in all of the worst ways. The end result: confusion of the highest order. Which I am not sure is always fun reading. Honestly, it had to happen because the plot is going to shift pretty radically in the next ten or so chapters, but I think the worst of it is mostly over for now.

Yeeks, it took me about nine days to get this post up so I'll try to do the next one in less than a week, shall I? As always, reviews are a fantastic treat and always make my day!


	48. Harry Potter's Secret Heartache

Chapter Forty Eight

Harry Potter's Secret Heartache

* * *

0o0

Astoria staggered to her feet, still laughing madly. Tracey and Maudlin had pushed into the line of students surging down the narrow stairway and Cassandra had already disappeared. Wrapping her arms around her shaking shoulders, Astoria made to follow them.

" _Seriously_?"

Draco had lingered behind and was now leaning against the banister. His body was inclined toward the steps, but his frustrated face was turned towards Astoria and she knew immediately that he was going to be difficult to shake.

"Oh, _what_?" Astoria tried, anxious to avoid a fight while adrenaline was still stuttering through her veins like the flapping of anxious wings.

"Granger, I get," Draco sneered, pushing out in front of her. Even as Astoria watched, his shoulder twitched as though he were shaking off an irksome pest. " _She_ has nothing else to compare Potter to, but I never expect it from _you_ , " he finished contemptuously. "Why don't you just _throw_ yourself on him now and spare us all the wait? Get the hero worship out of your system early-"

"You're talking about Harry?" Astoria scoffed. "Draco, his hostage was Ron Weasley. Something tells me that I wouldn't do much for him."

It was a mark of how desperate Astoria was to elude the argument that she found herself entirely willing to take a swing at Harry. Instead of glowing with faint gratification, however, Draco seemed, if anything, even more irritated.

"That's _cute_ ," Draco sneered, finally forced to move aside by the jostling flow of foot traffic.

Astoria seized her opportunity to gain the steps, but Draco cut off a curly haired Hufflepuff and continued to dog her. "How much did you bet on him, anyway?" he demanded.

"Does it _matter_?" Astoria sighed, searching the crowd eagerly for Maudlin, whose presence was usually enough to check Draco's cruel sense of urgency when he was worked up.

"Yeah," Malfoy sneered, "it _does_ when _I_ have to sit next to you and listen to you simper!"

" _Don't_ sit next to me, then," suggested Astoria tartly, standing on tip-toes in order to scan the crowd with more accuracy.

"I _mean_ it, Greengrass!" Draco snarled, perhaps just as annoyed by his lack of ability to command Astoria's full attention as he was by her apparently unshakable confidence in Harry. "If you take _another_ bet on Potter for the Third Task, I'll—"

"You'll _what_?" Astoria snapped, sensing a threat and prickling almost immediately. "Tell the teachers on me? You're good at that, aren't you? Playing the snitch?"

It was a very tense moment. Draco's already red face flushed anew and his twitchy shoulders went very still.

A tiny voice in the back of Astoria's head—the one belonging to her worried inner child, who wanted nothing more than for the people she cared about to unconditionally love her—urged her to stop speaking. She was only going to provoke Malfoy into saying something really nasty—something that would stick to her for her bones for days. But, perhaps because of the painful awkwardness that just sitting next to him seemed to have tainted her with, Astoria was suddenly fighting a powerful urge to make him do just that.

"It wouldn't work," Astoria went on stubbornly. "Goldstein already tired, remember?"

" _I'm_ not Goldstein," Draco retaliated dangerously.

"No," Astoria scoffed, "only you've been on an annual quest to have Hagrid fired for nearly half a decade and the last time I checked, he _still_ works here!"

"Because of _Dumbledore_ ," Draco snarled defensively. A lick of the deep rooted ugliness that Astoria _knew_ him to possess flickered up behind his features. "You think that daft madman cares about seeing _you_ go? All I'd have to do is _mention_ the goblins to my father—"

"Ooh!" Astoria leered, greatly resenting the turn of the argument. "Big man. Let your father do the dirty work!"

Draco blinked rapidly. Obviously he had not expected such a low blow, even if he _was_ going out of his way to very nearly threaten her.

"Where's Maudlin?" Astoria snapped, deciding she had had enough, pushing back up onto the tips of her feet again. A bizarre tremor of fury that had little to do with Harry Potter and much more to do with the burn Astoria had sustained on her wrist while trying not to make a fool of herself in front of Lucius seemed to be obscuring her vision.

Draco did not answer her; his expression narrow-eyed and withdrawn.

"It's not like your stunt with the Weasleys is the _only_ target on your back, you know," he said at last, employing a tone that was far too even to be entirely natural and almost frighteningly resentful.

"What does _that_ even mean?" Astoria sniped. "You're going to take out a hit on me if I keep cheering for Gryffindor's champion?"

"I wouldn't need to," Draco insisted unpleasantly, hesitating. "You've already got a mother whose name you wont even say. Not to mention a sister who spends half of her time alone in _my_ common room these days. I don't _need_ my father to make your life a living hell—"

He stopped talking, perhaps because the look on Astoria's face seemed to promise that an injury might transpire if he didn't. It once again occurred to Astoria that Draco was the only person she had ever physically hit before and in that moment, she remembered exactly why.

 _Not to mention a sister who spends half of her time alone in my common room these days._

"Draco," said Astoria very quietly, almost dizzy with anger, all because of a fight that had never needed to happen in the first place, "if you _ever_ touched my sister—"

"You'd _what_?" Draco hissed rawly, pulling up and squaring himself stubbornly. "Slap me? Spend half your time fawning over people that I hate? Tell everyone how much you already don't like me anyway? Go ahead—it's not like it would make any difference!"

"I swear to _God_ ," Astoria gasped, her mind sharper in Draco's presence than it had been in months, guided by a shiny, cold sense of purpose, "the first thing I'd do would be to find Harry Potter and polish his wand for real. The second would be to come find you and _never_ say a thing about it."

Draco froze, stunned into shivery silence by this bit of painted fiction.

"Then," Astoria continued, clinging to the new hatred in her chest, amazed by how much she preferred its brutal simplicity over the insecure madness she had felt in the stands, "I would just _bide_ my time. Whenever I saw you, I'd think about it and when the opportunity finally came, I would push you off the top of the North Tower. Do you _understand_ me?"

It was perhaps the most outrageous utterance that had ever passed Astoria's lips. But, instead of laughing at her for being embarrassingly dramatic or even scowling his disgust, Draco seemed to have forgotten how to blink. He continued to stare at her, half transfixed; a reaction Astoria had rarely ever seen anybody other than her aunt Belladonna manage to provoke in another human being.

"Forget it!" said Astoria savagely, finding a gap in the crowd. "I'll find Maudlin myself!"

Astoria's sense of scalpel-sharp righteousness lasted about as far as the floating walkways. By the time she had her feet on solid ground again, reason and regret threatened to consume her.

 _Why had she just said that?_

Astoria's mind hissed and writhed as she pounded up the frozen, sandy path. Four years of trying to convince Draco to stop obsessing over Harry and she had just spoiled her own credibility with a single comment. She kicked the pebbly beach beneath her feet, furious with herself _and_ Draco, who should have known so much better than to mention her sister in the first place.

'... _a sister who spends half of her time alone in my common room these days.'_ What could he have possibly meant? That Daphne was outside of Astoria's realm of protection? That he only _didn't_ cause Daphne distress because of how Astoria might react if he did—and that he was more than willing to change his tune if Astoria displeased him? She kicked at the ground again, this time picturing Draco's face.

 _Stupid, stupid, stupid!_ She had once again let her temper get the better of her. Instead of walking away from a fight that she could have won— a fight based entirely on someone else's insecurities—she was practically running up the lawn like a naughty child.

Astoria's feet continued to slam out a jarring rhythm until she reached the courtyard. Here, she was finally forced to stop and look around. In her disconnected hurry, she had not so much as bothered to keep a single eye out for anyone that she knew and it now seemed possible that she had beaten everyone back up toward the castle. Denied even the simple comfort of having a task to keep her busy, Astoria took a seat on one of the stone benches. Her fury had driven away the cold, but she knew that she did not have long to wait before she would begin to tremble and shake again.

Astoria stood up and stared at the bench. Then she stared at the front doors of the castle. Then at the bench again.

It was a bit like being out of her mind. For a moment, she actually wondered if, given the right provocation, she might not have it in her to strangle another human being. Feeling wild and more than a little ill, Astoria decided to head back into the hall.

The coffee and cider services had been cleared away, but there were still people milling about here and there. The door to the Room of Portraits had been left open, perhaps by Emilie and Cassandra. Astoria peered inside, hoping desperately that it would be empty so that she could take a seat on one of the couches until her feeling of partial insanity passed.

She was disappointed at once. Lucius Malfoy was leaning against the mantle of the unlit fireplace and Walden Macnair was sitting on one of the couches. Most disconcerting of all, however, was the sight of her father and Professor Vector, who were both near at hand and clearly somehow involved in Mr. Malfoy's conversation.

"There she is!" said a voice behind her. "Astoria!"

It was Maudlin, accompanied by Alec and Draco who, Astoria noticed, was carefully avoiding making any eye contact with her.

"Draco said he lost you," said Maudlin jauntily, unbothered by remorse or rage. The only thing on his mind seemed to be the mundane Task that he had just watched. Astoria recoiled instinctively, suspecting that any time she spent in Maudlin's company at the moment would be nothing short of a karmic punishment.

"Did he?" Astoria managed at last, earning a brief, deeply resentful glance from Draco.

"We were just talking about the after-party," Maudlin rattled on, missing the cold tension surrounding him. "I think we should meet up at the carriage and then see what we want to do from there. Draco has to say goodbye to his father. Do you want to find a cloak and come with us now?"

Astoria opened her mouth, trying to think of a way to escape when Maudlin supplied her with a ready-made answer.

"Oh," Maudlin started, " _your_ father is here too. You can walk back with Draco, then. Come on, Alec! Let's see if we can uproot Cassandra—drinking with her is such a bore."

Alec peeled away from the wall and stooped to pick something up off the floor. Grinning, he handed over the paper to Astoria: it was a pamphlet listing the various charities sponsored by the Sisters of the Eastern Star.

"In case your father didn't get one," Alec insisted, smirking crookedly.

Astoria watched them both go, painfully aware of the fact that she was alone with Draco again. She wanted nothing more than to slip away, but she was too afraid to do so without bidding at least one of her relatives goodbye. An arctic silence descended. Draco continued to stare straight ahead, his expression tight and outside of himself.

The sound of the clock ticking in the Room of Portraits became audible, even where they were standing some thirty feet away. Astoria tried to lean back against the suit of armor behind her but the metal pricked her side and she stood up again sharply.

In response to her discomfort, Draco let out a low, snide scoff. The sound was enough to press Astoria back toward the tipping point. Before she even knew what she was doing, Astoria had balled up the pamphlet in her hands and thrown it at him.

Draco had not been expecting this, but he took the impact without so much as flinching. The small, compact ball hit his chest and bounced off. Draco's eyelashes fluttered—as though he wanted to squeeze them closed—and a muscle worked tensely in his jaw, but he said nothing, cowering away from her wave of anger by sullenly refusing to look at her. The more Astoria looked at _him_ , the less convinced she was that he was even breathing.

"If you see my father," Astoria sneered, breaking the silence as she pushed away from the suit of armor, "tell him I'm sorry that I missed him."

With that, Astoria crossed the room, forcing herself not to look back and register the shock and anger surely playing itself out on Draco's face.

Her father had left _her_ in a vast plethora of bizarre places throughout her lifetime, Astoria reasoned as she stormed down corridors and up steps. Well, now it was time for him to taste a dose of his own medicine. Belladonna would be offended and would surely send her an irate owl the following morning, but this was something Astoria could live with. Standing next to Malfoy for a even minute longer _wasn't_.

The common room was completely deserted when she reached it. The stillness of the chairs and empty hearthrug had a forlorn, uncomfortable quality. Desperate to outrun her guilt, Astoria went upstairs, drew a bath and kicked off her dress. She sat with her head pressed against her wet knees until the sun began to turn an amber-orange, watching steam condensate against the chilly window panes. When the bathwater turned cold, she pulled the plug and went to bed.

0o0

Either because of the early hour at which she had retired or because of the way Malfoy's face had crumpled when she hit him with the pamphlet, rest eluded Astoria for hours. The common room gradually filled up again around dinner time and, if the noise below was anything to go by, it was a rambunctious crew holding down the fort.

A part of Astoria knew that getting up and joining her housemates in their fun was probably a healthier, less embarrassing way to spend her evening, but she could not seem to summon the energy, no matter how hard she tried. Instead, she continued to lay under her comforter, staring at the fabric of her four poster's bed hangings in the gloomy darkness.

Astoria had fought with Draco more times than she knew how to count, but their arguments were generally short lived and quickly made up for. Leaving him alone in the entrance hall, wincing and bitter was unprecedented; and the violent cloud she had stormed off under had been unmistakable.

This fresh, pointless argument now seemed destined to join the ranks of the very few fights they had had which had gone on to have lasting repercussions. The most maddening part, Astoria mused, was the fact that there was almost no way for her to apologize for her _own_ actions without somehow insinuating that his threatening Daphne was a forgettable offense. She was trapped in an annoying maze of her own making and she would have to suffer the consequences for Merlin knew how long before the incident was forgotten.

The optimistic part of Astoria's mind clamored to insist that she was overreacting; that perhaps the entire affair had meant more to her and that Draco would soon forget about the whole thing. Maybe Draco would go out with Alec and Maudlin, get drunk and laugh his way toward midnight? Perhaps he would not allow the fact that Astoria had as good as threatened to sleep with his mortal enemy and then murder him disturb his sense of well being, (why, _why_ had she even said it?) but the more realistic part of her brain cried folly.

Despite the fact that it was the kind of offense that Draco would cling to long after the corpse was cold, Astoria could not help but hope that he might manage to view her threat as an opportunity to act like less of a scumbag. Like a deflating life raft in a stiff current, Astoria curled up against this idea until she was finally able to fall asleep.

0o0

Theodore was forking smoked salmon onto a bagel in the Great Hall the next morning, his normally pale face the very unusual color of soured milk.

As though Astoria had timed her arrival on purpose, the second she sat down beside him, Theodore gave an almighty sneeze and the fish he had just forked took flight toward the center of the tabletop.

Astoria eyed the limp curtain of sneezed-on lox, trying very hard not to laugh.

"Sorry," Theo muttered thickly, "M' sick again. Sitting outside by the lake for _three_ hours. Honestly..."

"I know," Astoria agreed soothingly, using her own knife to find Theo a fresh slice of fish for his bagel. "It was freezing! Tracey and I didn't even have a cloak. Try not to sneeze on that—"

Theodore opened his mouth for a bite, but was forced to take a suffocating, baited pause first. He directed his next sneeze into his elbow. "I hate everything," he moaned wetly, "and everyone."

Astoria poured Theodore a mug of tea and gently swapped it for his coffee, privately feeling that she understood completely. "Go to Madam Pomfrey."

"Oh, you're one to talk!" choked Theodore. " _You_ stayed in your dormitory for four days the last time you were sick!"

"That was during vacation," Astoria countered evasively.

" _That_ was because you were too vain to let the nurse give you anything that would make your ears steam!" countered Theodore petulantly. "We've got Care of Magical Creatures today. I'll be lucky if I _survive_!"

"Don't be so dramatic," Astoria pressed, catching Malfoy's entrance into the hall out of the corner of her eye. "You'll be fine, just dress in layers..."

"Everything!" Theodore insisted under his breath. "All of it. I _hate_ it."

Astoria followed Draco's progression down the table until he found a seat next to Blaise Zabini, relived that he hadn't sneered at her or attempted to goad Theodore. In fact, unless she was very much mistaken, it was possible that Draco didn't even look angry at all...

"Are you listening to me?" Theodore complained. " _What_? What about Malfoy? Why are you staring at him? Is his face leaking, too?"

"Huh?" Astoria blinked, flustered. " _No._ He isn't _leaking_ anywhere. It's _just_ you."

"It always is," Theodore muttered darkly.

"Did Malfoy come back late last night?" asked Astoria. Perhaps he was simply hungover from Maudlin's party and did not have enough motivation to glare at her properly?

"What are you talking about?" Theodore scoffed. "He spent all night on the couch with Zabini and Pansy's pack of wild dogs plotting something to do with Rita Skeeter."

"Oh," remarked Astoria, surprised by this. "He didn't go out at all?"

"No," frowned Theodore slowly, narrowing his red-rimmed eyes at her. "Since when do you keep tabs on Malfoy?"

"I _don't_ ," Astoria stuttered, trying not to blush. "You know I don't. It's just—" she reached for an explanation that would satisfy Theodore's suspicions without making her sound desperate, "—I was really nasty to him yesterday and I'm trying to understand if I should be expecting some kind of payback."

"Ah," said Theo, mercifully seeming to decide that this made perfect sense. "Well, _that's_ nothing new. He didn't say anything about it to Blaise— and I was sitting near them. I suppose he's used to that sort of thing from you by now."

"He _threatened_ Daphne," Astoria responded dully, somehow annoyed that Theodore did not seem to understand the seriousness of her predicament—or worse—that Malfoy himself showed no signs of caring.

"Seriously?" Theodore raised an eyebrow. "Did you hit him?"

"No," Astoria sighed. "I mean, I chucked a wadded up pamphlet at him, but mostly I threatened to fuck Harry Potter and _think_ about it every time I looked at him..."

To Astoria's immense surprise, Theodore burst into peals of sickly laughter. The sound of his amusement was horribly lubricated by a phlegmy rattle deep within his rib cage.

" _What_?" he wheezed, closer to a spurt of joyful squealing than she had ever witnessed.

Astoria eyed Draco (who looked decidedly composed) and frowned.

"Ew," joined Tracey, coming up behind Astoria. "Theo, cover you _mouth_ when you do that!"

Theodore stopped laughing, but his eyes continued to shine with glee. Astoria could not bring herself to smile. What was it exactly that he found so amusing—it _wasn't_ a good story, why did he look so satisfied by it?

"Is Theodore sick _again_?" Tracey moaned, eyeing the forlorn lox in the middle of the table, somehow understanding that it was connected. "Seriously, what is wrong with you? Why can't you go three months without catching plague? Maybe smoke less of that rubbish Montague sells you, why don't you?"

"Oh, go sit with Blaise!" declared Theodore unconcernedly, wiping tears of mirth from his eyes. "That poncy git has never had a cold in his life!"

"He _is_ practically perfect, isn't he?" Tracey sighed, snagging a muffin to go when bell began to ring overhead.

The walk down to Care of Magical Creature was exceedingly icy, but a hint of something sensuously green and reminiscent of spring pervaded the air, filling Astoria's lungs like a waft of well-being.

Hagrid was still continuing the course on unicorns. When they reached the bottom of the hill and found several golden fawns, the girls already knew to move toward the front of the pack. This segregation suited Astoria just fine, because it meant that she did not have to stand anywhere near Draco—postponing the inevitable moment when she would have to speak to him again until third period.

"Look at its weeny eyelashes!" cooed Flora, moving closer to the baby unicorn.

"I _know_ ," simpered Pansy without looking. "It's a good thing Hagrid decided to stick with Grubbly-plank's lesson-plan, isn't it? _Draco_ says he's only doing it because the School Governors threatened to sack him."

" _Draco_ has been saying that for years," returned Astoria archly, replicating Pansy's superior tone. "Yet _every_ term there seems to be a new monster afoot."

Tracey paused mid-stroke down the unicorns's back; her gaze flickered curiously toward Astoria.

"It's different now, though, isn't it?" insisted Pansy coldly. "Everyone's found out that Hagrid's half-savage, so something will _have_ to be done about him."

Astoria said nothing, biting her lip tight against a flow of bile. She had already caused enough trouble for one week, but the urge to put Pansy in her place was almost too great a force to contend with.

"At least, _we_ know something will be done about it," continued Pansy, her tone suddenly much more smug. "Don't we Flora?"

Pansy elbowed Flora in the side.

"Huh?" Flora startled. She stared at Pansy for a long, stupid moment before a knowing smirk finally flickered across her face. "Ohh, that's _right_!"

"What?" demanded Tracey, unable to resist a secret mini-drama. "How do you _know_ something will be done about Hagrid?"

"Never mind," insisted Pansy primly, smoothing out her skirt. "We've probably already said too much. It's not _my_ fault if Draco hasn't told you. I'm sure he had his reasons."

She spoke to Tracey, but her eyes were planted firmly on Astoria. They blazed with quiet triumph.

"We don't care, anyway," Astoria bit back roughly, pulling Tracey away from the unicorn so that Pansy and Flora could have a chance to pet it. "No plan of Malfoy's is worth our time."

"What are you doing?" hissed Tracey. She stumbed over a root as Astoria dragged her toward the tree-line. "I wanted to know!"

"What does it matter?" Astoria snapped, careful to avoid looking at Pansy, who was still watching Astoria and Tracey from afar. "She's just trying to egg us on."

"Egg us on with _what_?" asked Tracey exasperatedly. "Draco's probably got some secret scheme going!"

This was exactly the problem. Draco undoubtedly had something nefarious up his sleeve, but he had chosen to tell Pansy and Flora about it first. Astoria had no disillusions that _this_ was the point that Pansy was taunt them with and she wanted nothing to do with it.

"Fine, go back to them," Astoria muttered. "They'll only make you beg. Just ask Draco—he's never been able to resist bragging."

"To _you_ , maybe," Tracey scoffed. "He won't say anything to me."

0o0

Astoria was the first person to reach the seventh floor landing after lunch. Several minutes later, Tracey arrived, bringing news of Theodore's defection.

"He had a coughing fit into his tuna-noodle casserole," Tracey panted near the top of the steps. "It was _disgusting_ —you're _so_ lucky you weren't there. Anyway, I shamed him into going to the hospital wing, so he won't be in class."

"Probably for the best," remarked Astoria slyly, indicating toward Padma and Anthony Goldstein, who were embracing against the still-locked Arithmancy classroom doors.

"Lord, he probably would have hurled himself off the North Tower!" cried Tracey loudly.

" _Who's_ being hurled off the North Tower?" demanded a cold, snide voice. It was Draco Malfoy, last to arrive. "Or should ask, who _else_?" he finished darkly, leaning against a patch of wall several feet away, wary of standing too close.

Remembering that this was precisely the same location that Astoria had threatened to push _Draco_ off of the day before, Astoria cursed Tracey's choice of words and ground her teeth together silently.

"Theodore!" answered Tracey cheerfully. "If he saw Padma licking Goldstein's face, that is."

Draco cast a disinterested look at Padma and Anthony, sneered, and then looked away. Normally, his refusal to jump at a subject pertaining to Theo's misery would have been heartening, but Draco's chilly silence struck Astoria as being slightly ominous.

" _Ugh_!" drawled Tracey, as appalled as she was entertained. "It's like he doesn't even know where her mouth _is_!"

Padma, perhaps thinking the same thing, tried to twitch away from the suffocating lip-lock, but Anthony was too fast. He pulled her back again by the sleeve, preventing her from making a proper escape.

"Charming," Astoria agreed, disliking the rough way that Anthony's hand was still grasping Padma's wrist. "She'd be better off with Theo, I say."

"Hah," laughed Draco snidely. His mouth twisted with such deep disgust that Astoria wondered how it had never gotten stuck that way.

"She _would_ ," insisted Astoria firmly. "Theo isn't a pompous _ass_."

"Yeah," agreed Draco, sneering sharply, "he's just a dirty lunatic, but who's keeping track?"

The classroom doors opened and Draco shouldered his way in, leaving Astoria and Tracey in his wake.

"What's _his_ problem?" asked Tracey merrily.

"Nothing," Astoria muttered. She took the window seat that nobody ever wanted, secretly thankful that it afforded her the greatest distance from Draco's irritably bouncing knee.

Arithmancy classes on a Monday were always lecture based—meaning the fourth years would have to turn in their classwork at the end of the period. In theory, this was a simple task, but the prospect of completing a set of number problems without Theodore (or even Draco, who was blocking his work with his hand so that she couldn't cheat) was nothing short of Astoria's worst nightmare. By the time she turned in her six inches of botched numerical theory and regained the stairway, she was exhausted to the point of frustration.

Making no secret of how little he wanted to hang around, Draco cut an eager path toward dinner. For her part, Astoria could not help but notice that he was eating with Blaise and Montague again—not Maudlin and Alec.

0o0

Clinging to the hope that his moodiness might still dissipate over over the next several days, Astoria spent the better part of the week in a state of disappointment.

Rather than lashing out or yelling at her, Draco seemed to have brutally curtailed himself. He no longer went out of his way to go anywhere near her, dedicated himself to looking at her as infrequently as possible (to the point of occasional and unnatural staring contests with walls) and whenever he was forced into her company for any sizable amount of time, he seized the first opportunity of making an exit with almost remarkable swiftness. He ate his meals with native Slytherins again and began to bypass all invitations from foreign parties where Astoria had a high likelihood of turning up—either in person or in conversation.

By Wednesday, she was forced to conclude that Draco had _not_ taken her threat as an invitation to behave less cruelly. Rather, he had seen Astoria's angry response as a command to thoroughly and irrevocably piss off and he was doing his best not to disappoint her.

Maudlin hardly seemed to have noticed the change but Cassandra and Pansy _had_. They now occasionally shifted down the table to join Draco and just the sound their shrill laughter at breakfast was enough to put Astoria entirely off her meal.

This reaction took her somewhat by surprise; while Astoria ostensibly knew that she _should_ be happy Draco had finally given up harassing her, she could not quite wrap her head around the sudden and unexpected nature of his absence. By neglecting to be mad, it was as though Draco was trying to tell her that he did not care enough to become riled up—and this, more than anything else, gnawed at her. Somehow, despite all higher logic, Astoria recognized that had _wanted_ rather than expected Draco to be hostile and the fact that he did not _seem_ to be was beyond frustrating.

Every time Draco's eyes slid meaninglessly over Astoria during class, she felt a new lick of shame swoop her insides. Every time Tracey and Theodore failed to even notice that something was wrong, that same shame morphed into a source of private fury. Apologizing would obviously be the easiest thing to do—but wasn't it _always_ Astoria who ended up keeping the peace? She was sick to death of it and the way that Draco had been sauntering about lately did nothing to soften her agitation.

In this state of heightened tension, another thought—one that she was surprised to find that she was even capable of—began to creep into her mind. Suppose Astoria actually _did_ try flirting with Harry? Perhaps _that_ would not be so easy to ignore? It was not an urge that Astoria necessarily knew how to stomach: it was catty—she liked to think she was a too proud to degrade herself for attention—but the thought remained. For surely _this_ , of all things, would be enough to make Draco call his bluff?

Then, before Astoria could do anything unfathomably stupid, a fresh drama arose and shook up the new order before it could settle into permanence.

0o0

Her last class on Friday was a double Potions block—the final hurdle at the end of a long week. Thinking fondly of the stack of new fashion editorials waiting in her dormitory, Astoria descended the steps to the dungeon in the best mood she could manage, ready to buckle down for two hours in order to get to the weekend.

The moment she reached the stretch of bare, damp hallway that led to Snape's classroom, however, she began to observe that something was not quite right.

The fourth years were not standing in their usual queue. A huddle of Slytherin girls broke apart to stare excitedly at Astoria as she approached.

"What?" grunted Astoria, already certain that they'd been whispering about her.

As if to confirm this suspicion, Flora began to giggle and Daphne shot her a pitying glance.

"She doesn't know!" Pansy cackled, yanking a magazine out of Daphne's hands. "You must not get _Witch Weekly_."

 _Witch Weekly_ was a regular and very popular periodical, but it was largely dedicated to recipes and clever cleaning tips. Astoria doubted very much that she had ever held a copy outside of her father's office waiting room.

"So?" Astoria retorted, unable to understand what had caused Pansy's sudden fascination with sponge cakes.

" _So_ ," continued Pansy, real hatred blazing behind her brown eyes, "you're in an actual magazine article!"

Astoria's skin prickled. "Why?"

"Your boyfriend, of course!" she sang, still clutching the magazine like a grenade."Draco!" she trilled delightedly, spotting him over Astoria's shoulder. "Draco, come here! You'll never believe this!"

Draco, Crabbe, Goyle and Theodore had just come down the stairs. No longer certain what to do with herself—but certain that any form of retreat would mean showing weakness—Astoria held her ground, feeling cornered.

"S'going on?" asked Theo, frowning in the direction of Pansy's gang of girls.

"I'm in _Witch Weekly_ , apparently," Astoria whispered, trying not to let Pansy's obvious glee make her nervous.

"For what?" Theodore scoffed. "Baking prowess?"

" _Harry Potter's Secret Heartache_ ," read Blaise Zabini, shifting in to have a better view over Pansy's shoulder. Astoria's stomach plummeted toward her feet.

"Here," said Pansy triumphantly, pointedly foisting the magazine onto Malfoy instead of Blaise. "Take it. I've already read the whole thing!"

" _A boy like no other, perhaps_ — _yet a boy suffering all the usual pangs of adolescence, writes Rita Skeeter_ ," drawled Draco. " _Deprived of love since the tragic demise of his parents_ — _"_ Draco broke off to smirk at Blaise, _"_ — _Harry Potter thought he had at last found solace at Hogwarts with his steady girlfriend..._ "

Draco trailed off and his entire body stiffened. Astoria waited, too clever to not know what was coming, but powerless to guess how it might be combated.

Blaise pulled the magazine out of Malfoy's stiff grasp, anxious to continue. One look at the first paragraph sent his head whipping back up. He stared at Astoria, overcome with surprised laughter.

"Seriously?" snorted Theo, finally catching on. "It's Astoria? Because _that's_ clever."

Astoria studied Draco's face, suddenly very sure that, while he probably _had_ given Pansy and Cassandra the secret means of passing information to Rita Skeeter, he hadn't had anything to do with the article in Blaise's hands. Everything—from his frozen posture to his shivering white fury—spoke of confusion and panic. He obviously had no idea if what he was reading was actually _true. S_ omehow, this made her feel even worse than she would have if he had fabricated the story himself.

" _Miss Greengrass, a plan but ambitious girl, seems to have developed a taste for famous names that Harry alone cannot satisfy_ ," Blaise drawled, positively leering. " _Since the arrival at Hogwarts of Maudlin Mendel, son of Aston Mendel (a member of the Supreme Court of Monaco and the next Minister incumbent, to say nothing of significant fortune), Miss Greengrass has been toying with both boys affections..._ "

Blaise actually lowered the magazine to stare at Pansy appraisingly, plainly surprised that _she_ had managed to fabricate such such a ludicrous and wonderfully amusing yarn. Pansy beamed at him.

"The rest of it is all about Granger brewing Love Potions for Krum," Pansy persisted informatively. "That's the part I'm quoted in—did _you_ see, Draco?"

Catching himself just in time to avoid looking like he'd been winded by a sucker punch, Draco blinked and let out a very belated, humorless laugh. Expression fixed, he glanced back at the article fleetingly. He hadn't read far enough to reach the exposé of Hermione's deviancy, but he made no move to dig through Astoria's sordid love story in order to view it.

At that moment, the dungeon door opened and Snape beckoned them all inside.

"Granger! Hey, Granger!" called Pansy shrilly. She snatched the magazine away from Blaise and tossed it to Hermione. "Since you like reading so much, have a go at this!"

Pansy shot one last victorious look at Astoria and pivoted, her tight ponytail bouncing as she made her way to the front row.

Harry, Hermione and Ron all pushed together to have a proper look. Draco slowed down, falling behind Crabbe and Goyle in order to watch as Harry flipped the article up toward the light—his panicky eyes fixed on Harry's blushing face.

"In!" snapped Snape, resenting the hold-up in the hallway.

Astoria stumbled forward, followed closely by Theodore.

"It's all rubbish. You know that, right?" Theodore muttered quietly. "Nobody will believe a word of it."

But Astoria did _not_ know if this was true. After all, the pale, flinching disgust radiating from Draco did nothing to encourage Theo's theory.

"That's twice now," Astoria hissed, slipping into a seat. "Why does the woman keep writing about students? _I'm_ not even famous!"

"You're in the same house as Harry 'golden-boy' Potter," Theodore scoffed. "The article doesn't _mean_ anything."

Astoria took out her potions ingredients. Perhaps Parvati or Lavender had a subscription to _Witch Weekly_? She wanted to get her hands on a copy without having to actually ask anyone to lend it to her...

"Do you think everyone from Beauxbatons has seen it?" Astoria wondered, thinking about the way Emilie sometimes blushed when Cassandra implied that Astoria and Maudlin might secretly be 'more than friends'.

"Just _forget_ about it!" hissed Theodore firmly, shaking his head back and forth. "It's nothing but mindless drivel."

0o0

A cold, thick rain kicked up that afternoon. It pounded the frozen grounds with fat dollops of water and punched holes into the crusty layer of old snow. An early evening settled over the castle; the usual symphony of ground birds and chattering tree limbs became muffled by the calamitous downpour.

Astoria ate dinner with Fred and George at the far end of the Gryffindor table, subtly checking figures in their Tournament Ledger over fork-fulls of pot roast.

"It's decided, then?" repeated Fred for the fifth time. "On Saturday morning, we'll all go see Ragnuk together to collect our payment?"

"Mhmm," Astoria agreed, toying with the end of an over-cooked carrot.

Over at the Ravenclaw table, Marietta Edgecomb elbowed Lisa Turpin. To Astoria's horror, they both turned and snickered in her direction.

"Chin up," insisted Fred, watching this rude exchange with a suppressed smirk. "You got off better than Hermione did, at least."

"True!" George agreed. " _You_ aren't feeding anyone Love Potions."

"That _you_ know of," Astoria grinned, slightly cheered by the twins' carefree attitude about the matter.

"That Rita Skeeter is a piece of work, though," admitted Fred with a frown. "First Hagrid and now you lot? She's got a lot of nerve."

"She's got a lot invested in _sales_ , you mean," Astoria snorted, finally eating her rubbery carrot. "The Slytherins have been passing her information—I just _know_ it."

"Can't be," argued George. "Rita Skeeter's not allowed inside the grounds, remember?"

"They're doing it somehow," Astoria insisted, recalling Pansy's triumphant glee.

"Well, where there's a will, there's always a way," mused Fred thoughtfully. "We're living proof of _that_. The real question is, do you think _their_ way is illegal?"

Astoria tossed a withered carrot stub onto her plate and pondered this question.

"Yes," she decided at last. "I think it would have to be."

"Figure out how they're doing it and we might be able to call in a favor from Bagman," said Fred, inclining his head toward the Slytherin table. "He's useless when it comes to gambling, but he still works at the Ministry, doesn't he?"

Fed up with ignoring the whispered conversations and subtle glances of her classmates, Astoria excused herself before dessert. She passed Crabbe and Goyle (who were both greedily gobbling pie) and tiptoed around the edge of the Slytherin table to avoid Tracey.

The sound of the rain was noisier in the entrance hall. A clean, chilly moisture pervaded the air, forcing her to stuff both hands into the pockets of her skirt. The door to the Room of Portraits was ajar; Astoria peered in as she strolled past and spotted Malfoy on one of the couches, his blonde head bent studiously over his Arithmancy homework. Without really meaning to, she slowed to a stop.

He was probably waiting for Crabbe and Goyle to finish eating—doing homework on a comfortable couch instead over his dinner. Astoria knew that she had no business watching him, but she spent a tentative moment hovering in the doorway anyway.

He crossed something out with his quill and then rubbed the bridge of his nose with his thumb. Writing an essay, she realized; laboring over his exact phrasing.

 _Go back to your dormitory_ , thought Astoria. There was still a pile of magazines waiting on her bedside table...

But stumbling upon Malfoy alone, without either of his hulking bodyguards, was a rarity—and the fact that she had done so by accident struck her as strangely meaningful. Astoria leaned against the door frame and knocked.

Draco punctuated his sentence, cast a lazy glance in her direction and then did a sharp double take. For a moment, they stared at each other: Astoria attempted to calculate the precise nature of his mood and Draco registered his disbelief via a sneer.

Finally, Draco leaned back in his seat, tipped his chin up almost challengingly and shrugged.

" _What_?" he snapped roughly, breaking the frigid silence.

"You _do_ know how to hold a grudge," Astoria sighed at last.

Pulling her sweater tighter, she crossed the room. His tone was cold but his eyes were blazing with repressed fury. It took everything Astoria had not to recoil, although it was almost a relief to know that he _was_ angry.

She perched on the edge of his table, afraid to sit next on the couch, and waited to see if he would revolt against her proximity. His curiosity seemed to be marginally stronger than his disgust—he showed no real signs of storming away.

"I don't know what you're talking about," sneered Draco stiffly. "Do you _mind_? You're blocking the light."

"Do _you_ mind?" Astoria countered waspishly. "You've been avoiding me all week."

"Yeah?" Draco shot back, his eyes narrowing nastily. "I'd say you made it _abundantly_ clear that you _wanted_ me to!"

Astoria let out a huff and ran a tense hand through her hair. She had mastered the act of unspoken communication with Draco long ago, but in this case, a nonverbal plea wasn't enough.

The silence continued for so long that it threatened to consume them. It was on Astoria's mind to mutter a poor apology and make a hasty exit, but something about the way Draco was staring at her held her in place.

"What did I _ever_ do to you?" asked Draco at last, his tone quivering and uncomfortably nasal.

Astoria blinked, surprised by the awful tremor in his voice.

"I _know_ I annoy you," Draco continued, just shakily enough to indicate an unexpected level self-loathing. "I'm not _stupid_. I just never realized that you _hate_ me."

"That's not true," Astoria began confusedly, trying to backtrack.

"What even _is_ this?" Draco demanded sharply, his dread becoming infectious. "Did you seriously come in here to tell me that you're taking _turns_ on Potter and Mendel? Because if that's what this is about, I can't imagine why you would _bother_."

"The article _wasn't_ true," Astoria snapped, unable to control her annoyance. "You _should_ have known it wasn't true the second you read it! It's your own fault it exists— _you_ told Pansy and Cassandra how to get in touch with that Skeeter woman!"

"I don't even _care_ if it's true!" Draco spat hoarsely, but his eyes gave away the tremendous lie in this statement. "Everyone thinks it's true! Go ahead and _fuck_ the both of them, for all I care!"

Torn between guilt and perverse joy (for Draco was finally displaying distress) Astoria threw caution to the winds and moved toward the couch. She tucked her feet beneath her knees awkwardly, determined to face him instead of the door.

"Listen," Astoria breathed.

Draco twitched away from her, but she reached out and caught a portion of his sleeve.

"I _shouldn't_ have said that after the Task," she muttered, her eyes on Draco's textbook. "You started talking about my sister—I came up with the worst threat I could think of. I wasn't _trying_ to upset you."

"Yes you _were_ ," Draco sneered, narrowing his eyes incredulously. "That was the _point_ , wasn't it? Everything is so _hilarious_ to you—"

"I don't want anything to do with Harry Potter," Astoria yelled, intentionally cutting Draco off because the subject was starting to upset her stomach. "If I _did_ , the only reason I would hide it from you _wouldn't_ be to laugh at you—I'd be afraid that you would never talk to me again."

"Because I wouldn't!" Draco snarled, snatching his arm away. His fingers flexed in his lap. "What's _wrong_ with you?"

"What's wrong with _me_?" Astoria repeated hollowly. "What's wrong with _you_? Normal people don't go around threatening their friend's family members just because they're in a bad mood!"

"Wait, I'm sorry— _friends?_ " scoffed Draco bitterly. _"_ Since _when?"_

"What do you mean?" Astoria muttered, thoroughly disconcerted. "Of course we're friends."

"Are you serious?" sneered Draco feverishly, his expression doing a new trick that Astoria could not quite put her finger on. "You think I don't _hear_ the way you talk about me? Like I'm some kind of disgusting pest that you can't _wait_ to swat away—I'm not deaf! _"_

"Draco!" hissed Astoria tensely, finally recognizing the look on his face as the kind of anger that leans toward tears.

" _What_?" Draco bit back hatefully, perhaps realizing that he was teetering dangerously close to the precipice of shameful vulnerability. "You can't just have it however you want, you know! One minute you're moaning over Potter's charity cases and the next you're having a go at me instead? Who do you think I _am_? I can tell you _no!_ "

"I _don't_ hate you," said Astoria fearfully.

"No," agreed Draco coldly, a terrible finality creeping into his voice. "You're right. You _tolerate_ me."

Dimly, Astoria understood that they were fighting about more than Harry Potter. They had reached a point of no return—the time had finally come to make some kind of choice. Threatening to hook up with Harry Potter had not _caused_ the rift: it had merely forced a bigger problem into the open.

If she was going to cut Draco loose for being a cruel, selfish boy with no hope of ever being able to really understand her, now was the moment to do so. He was practically offering to go away—but Astoria, still unwilling to own up to their friendship _or_ dismiss him, did not know what to say.

She opened her mouth, trying to think of how to put her feelings into a words. A fist of sadness caught her around the throat.

"I love you, Draco," said Astoria quietly. "I love _all_ of my friends," she clarified, blushing at the idea of singling him out specifically.

Ironically, out of all the horrible things she had said to Draco lately, _this_ was probably the most selfish. Not because it _wasn't_ true—on some level, it was—but because of how wildly limited her capacity to act on the sentiment was.

"I don't only _tolerate_ you," she insisted.

Whatever Draco was expecting, it wasn't this. His eyes flickered; wrath mingling with a yearning desire to believe her.

"Will you study with me?" asked Astoria thickly, hating herself.

When Draco still did not respond, she edged closer and had a look at his Arithmancy book. He was several chapters ahead of her. If the dense congestion of writing in the margins was any indication, there was really no point in joining him—she had no idea what he was reading.

Draco sniffed stiffly but he did not push her away.

"Blaise thinks Mendel and I are both idiots for bothering with you," he sneered bitterly, speaking as much to himself as to her.

Astoria winced and inched closer still, wondering why he felt the need to tell her this.

"Don't stop bothering with me," said Astoria very softly, no longer sure if she was whispering magic or poison.

Paralyzed by whatever it was that she was trying to do, Draco let out an irregular, repressed breath. It was impossible to guess what he was thinking because Astoria could no longer see his face. Suddenly very tired and more than a little disappointed in herself, she let her head drop onto his shoulder. His shirt was warm beneath her cheek; a slight ringing in her ears indicated her near-brush with misery.

"What chapter are you on?" Draco muttered, unwilling to appear overly eager.

"Four," Astoria answered, long past the point of being ashamed about her academic underachievement in Arithmancy.

Draco's hand twitched toward his book; he measured out the difference (forty pages) and let out an irritated hiss. After a brief pause, however, he turned to the correct section and shifted his foot up onto the coffee table.

"Honestly!" he drawled, his tone greatly changed. "The fact that you managed to pass this class is a _miracle_."

"Yeah," Astoria agreed. "Vector knows my aunt."

She shifted to pluck a piece of parchment off the table and settled back against the crook of Draco's arm—just a little closer than a friend might.

" _How?_ " demanded Draco suspiciously. His smugness had returned and his entire body seemed to be expanding with it.

"I've never asked," Astoria confessed, suppressing a grin.

When Crabbe and Goyle reappeared a few moments later, she lifted her head off of Draco's shirt so fast that her neck protested.

Neither boy seemed to find her presence to be especially odd, but to Astoria, the experience was somewhat surreal. The fact that Tracey and Theodore were both Slytherins had only ever struck her as a minor detail, but willingly placing herself in the center of Draco's small gang was something _else_.

For the next forty-five minutes, she sat in perplexed silence while Malfoy oscillated between correcting her number problems and snapping at Crabbe and Goyle for saying foolish things. When the assignment was finally completed, she mounted the stairs alone, privately thankful that Fred and George had not spotted her on their way to bed.

0o0

* * *

This chapter probably should have been titled: Astoria Cuts off Her Nose to Snub Her Face and It Doesn't Work Out So Good.

In other news, my computer cord (without any warning) up and broke halfway through writing this (Macbook Pro charger cord, you are NOT a scholar). As a result, the bulk of this post was typed on my friend's laptop and ya'll, her keyboard is a thing of EVIL. If there are more than the average number of typos and rogue formatting errors in this post, I'm SORRY. I suggest that you BLAME DELL for manufacturing the least comfortable piece of machinery that I have ever had the misfortune to encounter. (I seriously screamed "STOP THAT!" at my disobliging keyboard so many times that my friend came in to check on me.) Not to even MENTION the fact that her computer's dictionary seems to have a bit of a problem recognizing _totally_ real and common words like 'Snape', 'Muggle', and 'Ravenclaw'.

Note: I have been using a Mac for so long now that I try to right click with a keyboard command no matter what and then get flustered when I realize there is an actual BUTTON for that on a windows computer. BUT STILL. Why are these Dell keys laid out in the shape of an actual wave? WHY MUST YOU BE SO WHIMSICAL, BILL GATES/ WHOEVER OWNS DELL COMPUTER CO.!?

/END LENGTHY RANT/

The next chapter will push everyone home for the Easter Holidays, I think. I've been excitedly waiting to get this vacation, so hopefully I'll have the post up quickly.

Reviews always make my day and are a wonderful treat!


	49. Playing Chicken

Chapter Forty Nine

Playing Chicken

* * *

0o0

It was still raining heavily the next morning. Great gunshots of thunder continued to roll across the grounds, reverberating off of the pock marked lake, and occasional slashes of lightning lit up the grape-colored sky with momentary brilliance. Astoria dressed for the weather, donning a pair of rubber boots that she almost never wore and her thickest cloak, making sure to wrap it tightly around her neck before securing it there with a pin.

The floor of the entrance hall was already wet from the foot traffic when Astoria finally dragged herself downstairs. Even though it was well before noon, all of the torches had been lit in an attempt to keep the darkness and the moisture at bay. The flickering flames on the walls cast a cheerful dazzle across the puddles that were forming on the flagstone as Astoria sloshed through them. Filch was filling the doorway with his shoulders hunched, as he always did on a Hogsmeade day, clutching a clipboard under his red nose and glowering at the gathering queue mutinously.

"Hey," breathed Fred, coming up with behind Astoria, George meandering along behind him. "Small group, this."

A monstrous clap of thunder seemed to agree with this statement, followed by a flash of yellow lightning over the rain-muddled lawn.

"No worries," said George, twirling a very battered old umbrella between his freckled hands like a dancing cane. "Fewer people will make the walk to town that much quicker. Besides, I've got _this!_ " George gestured toward Astoria with the tip of his careworn umbrella.

"I'm _not_ walking under that," said Astoria flatly, making up her mind on the spot to go ahead and brave the rain. "That thing is a lightning rod. Where on Earth did you get it?"

"Room of Requirement," George shrugged, unbothered by her lack of enthusiasm.

"You asked the Room of Requirement for foul weather gear and _that_ was all it gave you?" Astoria deadpanned, breaking off to allow Filch to poke at her with his Secrecy Sensor.

"I didn't _ask_ for anything," clarified George a few seconds later, stumbling out onto the steps behind her. "There's a whole room filled with lost and ditched objects that have been rounded up for storage. I found this little gem in a trunk."

George attempted to open the umbrella but the storm-force winds promptly snatched at the ratty edges and pulled the entire affair inside out; fabric, metal spine and all. Laughing heartily, Fred seized George's newly useless umbrella before he could hurt himself with it and stashed it in a dripping bush halfway down the lane.

"Are we going to the Hogs Head?" Astoria wondered out loud when they reached the mud-soaked, grey and brown main street. The lights of the Three Broomsticks were winking at her cheerfully across the cobblestone track and the idea of having to hike up the quarter of a mile long hill to the Hogs Head was actually rather depressing.

"Yup," Fred confirmed, pulling his yellow rain slicker tight in preparation for the hike. "Hodrod's crew has got the Three Broomsticks. He's more civilized so he doesn't scare off the more genteel clientele."

"How do you know that?" Astoria panted, sloshing through rivulets of water that were flowing down the steep drive.

"Bagman," Fred called back over the howling wind. "George and I saw him at the Second Task."

"And he just decided to chat you up?" Astoria reflected nervously. "Talking about goblins and things where other people might hear him?"

"Nah, it wasn't like that. There was no one else around," said Fred. "Honestly, I think Bagman was so thankful that we weren't there to demand money from him that he launched off on the first topic that came to mind."

Astoria still did not much like the idea of Ludo Bagman and the twins discussing anything about the highly illegal gambling ring, of which they were all members, in public, but Fred's lack of nervousness about the encounter was reassuring enough for her to put the matter out of her mind for the moment.

Fred waited until George had kicked the dirt off of his soggy shoes at the top of the slope before pushing open the door to the Hogs Head and ushering them both inside ahead of him into a wave of damp, unexpected heat.

The low, hay-strew room was no less dark than Astoria had ever seen it, but it _was_ uncommonly packed. Nearly all of the scrubbed wooden tables had been claimed; some by men in various states of disguise and others by women in long caftans (or even more ominously, as was the case for the witch near the fireplace, a veiled and very ancient looking wedding dress).

"Ragnuk's crew always seems to hang about by that nook with all the wine kegs," said George, blinking to adjust his eyes to the gloom.

Astoria's eyes were not searching for the nook, however, as they were already fixed on the inn's proprietor. Aberforth, who had the nose of a bloodhound when it came to underage trouble, glanced out over the bar the moment the door swung shut behind Fred.

Wincing, Astoria watched as Aberforth slapped the dirty rag that he had been using to dry steins with down onto the counter, only seconds away from marching over to oust them all (if they were lucky) back out into the rain. Then, something curious happened and Aberforth seemed to hesitate. Wondering what could have made Aberforth pause, Astoria turned to glance at Fred and George anxiously.

"This way," said a voice that seemed to be coming from the shadows directly beside Fred.

Astoria jumped. It was one of Ragnuk's goblins, his beady eyes glistening in the darkness like nuggets of wet coal.

Painfully conscious of the fact that this was the first time Aberforth had ever willingly let Astoria cross his pub without trying to interfere, Astoria and the twins followed Ragnuk's messenger past the damply smoldering fireplace, all the way toward the far corner. A short, round table had been stuffed in between two heaving stacks of liquor casks and the only light available seemed to be coming from one very grubby window, which was _so_ dirty that Astoria could only just barely make out the water streaked lane that it faced.

Two or three goblins were crowded about the table, playing cards. Ragnuk was sitting below the grubby window, proudly wearing a blue velvet two-piece suit of the sort that could have been inspired by a dour faced child in a stuffy Edwardian photograph. He looked up from the game as Astoria and the twins approached and the golden rings on his chubby little fingers sparkled dangerously as he laid out a pair of queens.

"If it isn't the Hogwarts delegation," Ragnuk cackled, his voice as dry as chalk. "Take a seat."

The nearest goblin was puffing on a stubby pipe. The moment Astoria chose a chair and settled into it, he breathed a thick plume of tobacco smoke directly into her face.

"You know why we're here," Ragnuk," said Fred suspiciously, "I don't see why we need to sit. Why don't you just pay us?"

A chilly silence fell. The goblins ceased muttering among themselves and turned to glare at Fred. Ragnuk clucked his tongue and the goblin with the pipe knocked out the burning ash he was smoking onto a plate and stood up.

"Have I given you some reason to be uncivil?" chuckled Ragnuk. "Please," he broke off sharply to bark something in gobbledygook at the goblin who had stood, "take a _seat_."

It was not an invitation so much as a command. George slumped down next to Astoria but Fred stubbornly remained standing, his hand on the back of Astoria's chair.

"Alright," said Astoria carefully, "we're sitting."

There was a dull clinking sound as the goblin that Ragnuk had yelled at returned with a bulging sack of gold. George turned about eagerly; ready to accept their payload, but the goblin continued past him, finally placing the bag of money on the other end of the table near Ragnuk and just out of Astoria's reach. Fred's hand tightened on the back of her chair.

"Our terms are in need of revision," said Ragnuk, undoing the drawstring of the bag and pulling out a stack of coins.

"What does that mean?" Astoria asked brusquely, watching as Ragnuk pulled a _second_ roll of coins out of the sack.

"It means," said Ragnuk slowly, bringing a galleon up to his mouth to test its authenticity with his sharp little teeth, "that I am no longer satisfied with our current arrangement."

"Our _arrangement_?" Fred scoffed, apparently determined to fill the roll of 'bad-cop'. "It's a bloody threat, is what this is! You're making us bet on the youngest champion against our will! Not to mention the way you let your old buddy Hodrod take a bite out of us after the first task!"

At the mention of Hodrod's name, every single goblin at the table stopped what they were doing to hiss menacingly. The hairs on the back of Astoria's neck stood up and Fred fell silent at once.

"How so?" said Astoria clearly, directing her shivery words toward Ragnuk before things could get out of hand, wanting nothing more than to escape from Aberforth's bar with her life. "So far we've done everything you've asked of us. What exactly is displeasing you?"

"Best out of three," said Ragnuk pensively, eyeing the coin between his fingers. "Isn't that how games are played?"

"I don't know what you mean," Astoria admitted, certain that Ragnuk was about to cheat them yet again and there would be very little that they could do to stop him.

"You've won our bet twice now," said Ragnuk, "for a considerable sum both times."

"That would be the primary hazard of gambling," said Astoria flatly.

"Indeed, but not a sign of very good business," Ragnuk went on, tipping the coins he had removed from their sack back into it and redoing the string. "In the name of fair play, I allowed you to take a leaning bet on the youngest champion. S _econd_ place or above, we agreed. It seems that I have been too lenient. Your youngest champion has luck on his side."

Ragnuk tossed the sack of gold to George who, in his surprise, was not fast enough to snatch it out of the air before it hit the table again.

"You want us to bet on something else?" Astoria surmised, her stomach plummeting. Any hope she might have had of somehow managing to weasel out of having to take bets on the Third Task at all dried up and evaporated.

"First place," Ragnuk hissed. "Your champion must place first."

"You want us to bet that Harry Potter will _win_ the Triwizard Tournament?" asked Fred faintly, catching on.

"I'm insisting on it," said Ragnuk dangerously.

"You can't just change our bet more than halfway through the Tournament!" countered Fred waspishly, finding his grit again.

"I _can_ and I am," said Ragnuk, his voice ringing with the air of dreadful finality. "The inability to rearrange the details our agreement was never a part of our deal. _You_ never stipulated that it should be. Therefore, I am not reneging on any details of our arrangement by demanding that the bet be changed."

Ragnuk had caught them in a loophole and he knew it. While Astoria had never been asked to sign a document, her words seemed to be law. Astoria and the twins had not been precise enough about the phrasing of their original agreement and now, Ragnuk was going to take them for a ride because of it.

"Fine," said Astoria quickly, thinking on her feet, afraid that Fred would say something nasty if she didn't. "It seems like we don't have any choice in the matter, so I suppose we'll have to do as you say."

Astoria stood up and George followed suit, pocketing the heavy purse of gold as he did so. None of them said anything until they had exited the pub and were standing back out in the storm savaged lane.

"Little crook!" Fred snarled, kicking the sodden stones beneath his feet. "We never should have done business with them!"

"Well, obviously," said Astoria, thinking hard.

"What about you?" spat Fred. "You don't look worried! I suppose you've got some master plan to talk one of your rich buddies into paying us off if we lose, do you? Go ahead; expound on that a little, won't you?"

"No," said Astoria coldly, immensely resenting the insinuation that she was prepared to beg Maudlin for money. "I was _actually_ thinking that, if the wording of our agreement means so much to Ragnuk, we can probably find a way of using that same principle against him."

"How do you figure?" asked George, who seemed to be having an easier time of keeping a level head than his brother.

"Ragnuk only said we have to match the sum of our bets on the actual Tasks against him," said Astoria slowly, "but in theory, anything else we take bets on is fair game."

"Oh, that's brilliant," Fred muttered. "You want to gamble _more_ to get out of this mess."

"What if we took an early, pre-task bet?" Astoria suggested. "Something like, 'guess the challenge in the final task'? Remember the time we took odds on what color robes Dumbledore was going to wear to that quidditch match? It'll be like that. There are so many options that we're bound to make more money than we'll lose."

"Ok, say we did," said George, mentally testing this theory, "that's still nowhere near the kind of gold that we'll have riding on the Third Task."

"But we already have the winnings from the Second Task," Astoria reminded him, pointing toward his pockets. "If we don't spend any of that money _and_ we bolster the pot with a pre-bet, we'll have enough gold to pay off Ragnuk if we lose during the Third Task. Worst case scenario, we break even. Best case scenario, Harry wins the Tournament and we come into a small fortune."

"That could actually work," said George, flushing with relief as he contemplated Astoria's proposal.

"I don't _want_ to just break even!" burst Fred dismally. "All of this suffering and anxiety for nothing? It has to be _worth_ something!"

Astoria gazed off down the rain charged hill, understanding Fred's frustration but unable to offer him any consolation.

"Harry's tied in first place, already," said George fairly. "He _might_ manage it."

"Yeah," snapped Fred, " _tied_ in first. He hasn't won anything free and clear. What do you reckon Ragnuk will have a thing or two to say about _that_?"

"Ragnuk never said anything about a tie," said Astoria slowly, almost grinning to herself. " _He_ never _stipulated_ …"

George laughed but it was a moment or two before Fred finally managed to crack a smile.

0o0

There was a letter already waiting for Astoria when she came down to breakfast on Monday morning.

"S'from your aunt," said Theodore, washing down a mouthful of bacon with a gulp of black coffee. "Her owl brought it to _me_ when it realized that you weren't here. Bit impatient for a post animal, don't you think?"

"Oh?" said Astoria, slitting the envelope open while pouring herself juice. Astoria's fear was that the letter would contain some sort of angry sentiment over Astoria's lack of effort to bid her aunt goodbye after the Second Task, but to that end she was soon spared.

"What does she want?" asked Theodore, helping himself to kippers.

 _Darling,_

 _First and foremost, let me offer you my warmest congratulations on successfully ensnaring both a heroic national treasure and a Monacan political heir in the same week. I suppose you have been very busy and that is why you have not thought to write of your great successes? I hardly know where to start; only rest assured that I have taken out a subscription to 'Witch Weekly' for the first time in years, as my opinion of its contents seems to have vastly improved since my last reading..._

"Nothing," Astoria breathed, scanning past Belladonna's lengthy and very amused response to Rita Skeeter's magazine article, privately feeling that her aunt had allowed her wit run rather long. "She wants me to come home for Easter," Astoria paused, eyeing the letter, "and it's possible that she may have started drinking at breakfast."

Even at Hogwarts, hundreds of miles away, Astoria could practically hear Belladonna's gleeful cackling.

"Oh, right," said Theo. "Lots of people are doing that. All of the Mummies and Daddies missed their precious little angels over Christmas so they're making it up for it in the spring by dragging everyone home."

"I take it you're staying at school, then?" Astoria remarked wryly, folding up her aunt's letter and stuffing it under her plate.

"Why would I leave?" sniffed Theodore. "There's a perfectly good library _here_ , not to mention the rest of you lot will have cleared out, so I might actually get something done. Seems like the better plan to _me_."

"Sure," Astoria conceded, "If you want to be joyless and alone."

Theodore frowned but the rest of the post owls had arrived and before he could say anything more, they were both engulfed by a mad swirl of feathers. At least five owls had landed on their end of the table and they all seemed to be clamoring for Astoria's attention.

"What the—" Astoria gasped. "Ouch!" The closest owl— a large tawny— had pinched her fingers with its beak.

"What's going on?" Theodore snapped. "Break them up!" Theo swatted wildly at a bird that was perched on the milk jug. "Scram!"

"Here," said Astoria, yanking a letter away from the tawny owl's talons. "Take the letters from them, Theo— they'll leave if they deliver."

Hastening to help her, Theodore and Astoria managed to extract the post from the eager pack of owls.

"They're all addressed to _you_ ," remarked Theodore in wonder, flipping over a particularly thick-looking parcel in order to check the address.

Astoria turned over the letters she had gathered only to find that her name had been written out on each of these as well.

"Don't open anything!" said Tracey urgently, appearing behind Theodore's shoulder, snagging the offending parcel out of his hands. "They're in response to that Rita Skeeter article. I watched Pansy write Granger a bundle of hate mail last night."

"What are you talking about?" demanded Astoria dubiously, wanting more than anything to believe that this wasn't true. "Pansy _couldn't_ have written all of this…"

"Of course not," Tracey snapped. "You were in a national magazine and now every idiot from here to Sussex thinks that you've been playing the 'Boy who Lived' false. I mean it—don't open anything!"

As if in response to this dire warning, a great commotion suddenly broke out across the hall. Astoria craned her neck to get a better look at the Gryffindor table and spotted Hermione. She had sprung up from her seat with a pained cry and was wildly trying to wipe her hands off on her robes.

"What _now_?" demanded Theodore exasperatedly.

"There, see!" said Tracey, almost inappropriately pleased to have been proven right. "Granger opened _her_ mail. You should be thanking me right now; I probably just saved you from being cursed by a lonely spinster with a _Witch Weekly_ subscription!"

Indeed, this seemed almost possible because next moment, Hermione was tearing across the hall sobbing. Her hands, swollen to nearly twice their original size, were flapping by her sides, as knobby and scabbed as old leather boots.

Slowly and carefully, Astoria stacked her envelopes next to the sugar bowl unopened, determined to chuck them in the fire the first chance she got.

"Ha!" exclaimed Tracey delightedly.

Herbology was a muddy, thoroughly unpleasant affair that morning. The rain pounded on the glass ceiling of the greenhouse and within, pervasive and tepid moisture had turned all of the planters into soup. Knowing that her next class was Care of Magical Creatures, Astoria did not even bother taking off her cloak and when the time came to cross the lawn. She was already damp to the point of discomfort despite the fact that she had not even been outside yet.

Astoria was just lining up for the spigot to wash the dirt off her hands when the news came down; Care of Magical Creatures class had finally been canceled because of the continuing downpour. Half over-joyed and half annoyed to have been kept waiting until the last possible second, Astoria rinsed off and ventured back toward the castle, intending to find Tracey and locate someplace very dry and warm to study together.

Tracey was not immediately to be found however, so after shrugging out of her cloak and stashing it in her bag, Astoria decided to try the library.

Between the noise of the rain and the excessive number of students trapped indoors, the library was much louder and more cramped than usual. Muddy footprints marred the normally immaculate carpets and sweaters and gloves littered all of the study areas like castaway confetti. Wanting to be as far away from Madam Pince's desk as possible (privately suspecting that she was a bomb just waiting to explode) Astoria turned her feet toward the remote Room of Atlases.

It was always less populated in this part of the library and somehow less muffled; opened up by the vaulted ceiling and long arrow-slot windows that were situated every ten feet along the walls. The giant globe that hung above the center table was glowing eerily today, its surface swirling in the purple-black light of the storm.

"Ria!" exclaimed a familiar voice. "Over here!"

Maudlin, Draco, Alec and Luc were all sitting at a long table near the stacks, crowded close together around a single slanting beam of light that was filtering in through one of the windows.

Surprised to have run into anybody in this part of the castle, much less Maudlin, Astoria approached them happily, eager to shrug off her bag and have a seat somewhere.

"Why aren't you in class?" asked Maudlin, lifting a stack of books out of her way so that she might have room to put her elbows on the table.

"It's been canceled," drawled Draco lazily, answering this question for her. "We both have the same second period today."

Astoria glanced at Draco swiftly, determined to mind her behavior so that it fell somewhere within the normal spectrum that existed in _between_ the needy and apologetic mess she had been the last time she had seen Draco and the blazing, furious screech that had been in the hours after the Second Task.

"You haven't seen Tracey, have you?" asked Astoria.

"She went off with Pansy after Charms," shrugged Draco absently.

"Cassandra's with them," volunteered Luc. "I think she said something about planning a birthday party."

Maudlin snorted, perhaps a trifle amused by the close tabs that Luc seemed to keep on Cassandra, who couldn't be any plainer about how very much she disliked him, but Luc did not seem to care.

"Who's having a party?" wondered Astoria distractedly, gazing out the window at the storm she had narrowly escaped.

"One of the Hogwarts Eastern Star girls," said Luc.

Each boy's head turned toward Astoria, seeking confirmation of this fact. Astoria shrugged disinterestedly and pulled out her Potions essay, unable to offer any information about upcoming birthday parties because she herself was clearly out of the loop.

"It's one of the Ravenclaw fifth years," said Draco, peering sidelong at Astoria with interest, "MacDougal what's-her-name."

Luc, Maudlin and Draco all turned to stare at Astoria a second time, their expressions all almost comically curious.

"Kitty MacDougal's having a party, is she?" Astoria laughed, suddenly eager to distance herself from the event, perhaps because Tracey was traitorously planning it with Pansy, a girl who had very likely sent Astoria a curse by owl-post that same morning. "I don't know why you assume I know anything about it—I can't even remember what Katherine's best friend's name is, and they're _both_ Sisters."

"Aren't there, like, twelve girls in your sorority?" demanded Luc pointedly. " _How_ is it even possible that you don't know all of their names?"

Astoria shrugged, borrowing a quill from the center of the table, her face a mask of unapologetic indifference.

"So, you aren't going then?" asked Maudlin. "I'm trying to decide what to do over break. I _might_ pop home for a week, but only if I can take a few of you with me. Father is still in France and I'd hate to have to loaf about by myself with nobody but mother for company…"

"Of _course_ I'm not going to Kitty's party—I wouldn't be caught dead. Not to mention, _nobody_ has invited me," said Astoria brusquely, wanting to put an end to the discussion. "I'm going to be at my Aunt's over Easter."

"Hmm," Maudlin frowned. "Cassandra's staying with her grandparents. _They're_ native here, so I suppose she can hardly avoid them. I think she's even taking Emilie with her. Maybe it _would_ be best to hang around…"

"You're invited," said Draco, shifting his gaze toward Astoria again, perhaps misunderstanding the reason for the bite in her voice. "I saw the guest list Pansy and Flora were working on."

Why Draco had bothered to scan a guest list that Pansy and Flora had drawn up for a fifth year Ravenclaw girl's birthday party was beyond Astoria, but the news that she _had_ been included in their fun did very little to change her opinion on the matter.

Before she could say so however, as though delivered to them by fate, Pansy and Flora appeared in the far off doorway that separated the Room of Atlases from the library proper. Behind them, Astoria spotted Tracey, Blaise and Katherine MacDougal. Understanding at once that Tracey had defected for _Blaise_ and not Pansy, she allowed herself a moment of weak relief before returning to her original sense of displeasure.

"What do you think _they_ want?" asked Astoria, trying to keep the annoyance she felt from becoming inappropriately obvious. "Doesn't _anybody_ have class this morning?"

"To invite you to a birthday party, I'd wager," smirked Alec, spotting Astoria's cloud of dread at once.

Amazingly, this prediction turned out to be one hundred percent correct.

"Astoria!" sang Katherine, pushing past Pansy and Flora. "We were _just_ talking about you!"

"Were you?" returned Astoria, attempting a weak smile that wound up congealing into a dubious grimace on her face.

"Oh, yes!" said Katherine, fishing something out of her school bag. "I'm having a birthday party over break! You _are_ going home aren't you? All of the _other_ Sisters are coming and everybody who knows anything is leaving school for a bit—"

Katherine handed Astoria a white square that had been shaped out of sturdy card-stock paper. On it, a formal invitation including the address and time of her party had been printed out in fancy, metallic-blue calligraphy.

"It's my sixteenth!" exclaimed Katherine, misreading Astoria's look of distaste for one of excitement as she took in the shiny wording and excessive use of exclamation points that had been thrust toward her.

"Er," said Astoria, suddenly and almost morosely certain that Belladonna would probably _force_ her to attend this Sisters of The Eastern Star heavy event if she ever caught wind of it.

"She's _going_ home," said Tracey stiffly, almost glaring at Astoria from behind Katherine's back, her eyes shifting pointedly toward Blaise. "You had word from your aunt this morning, _didn't_ you, Astoria?"

"She should definitely come then," said Pansy joylessly. "Astoria just broke up with her boyfriend and all—I suppose it's our job to cheer her up."

Draco shifted in his seat, knowing that Pansy was talking about Harry—an accusation Astoria had already refuted—but somehow still unable to keep from reacting hatefully.

"Oh good!" said Katherine, clapping her hands together. Pansy's eyelashes fluttered at this, carefully resisting the urge to roll her eyes until such a time as when she and Flora were alone again. Perhaps because of Pansy's obvious displeasure, or maybe because of the desperate secret messages that Tracey was trying to send her when she thought that nobody was looking, Astoria began to experience a warm change of heart.

"Whose house is this?" Astoria asked, unable to hide her surprise as she pointed toward the address on the card. "This is the same road my aunt lives on."

"That's where _my_ aunt lives!" said Katherine MacDougal excitedly. "What are the odds?!"

" _Your_ aunt?" asked Astoria, entirely certain there were no witches with the name 'MacDougal' living anywhere near Belladonna.

"And my uncle!" said Katherine excitedly. "The Fawleys! The live in the house by the lake—well, _you_ must know!"

Astoria did know the Fawleys—or _of_ them at any rate. Katherine's uncle, Hector Fawley, had been Minster of Magic some forty years previously during the Grindlewald threat and had been forced to resign, rather ignobly, due to public outcry over his soft response to the entire affair. He was now close to ninety years old, blind as a bat and rarely went out in public. Astoria had spent years of her childhood cheerfully waving to him in the lane, only to have him thoroughly ignore her, perhaps because his declining vision had prevented him from ever seeing her in the first place.

"Oh," said Astoria, all astonishment.

"I know what you're thinking," said Katherine, "but they won't _be_ there. My aunt lent me the boat house so that all of the girls can stay over—not the boys though!" Katherine tutted, glancing first at Draco and then Blaise. "You lot will have to go home! On the record, at least! Astoria too, if she wants! I can't believe you live only two houses away!"

"You're sleeping in a boat house?" demanded Blaise. "Are you camping?"

"It's furnished," said Katherine brightly. "My aunt and uncle _never_ go boating."

"Why _own_ a boathouse, then?" Blaise mused almost musically.

"Well," said Astoria, tapping her invitation against the table and letting it drop, eager for Katherine to clear off and take Pansy and Flora with her, "I'll be there."

"I thought you lived in Tidenham," shot Draco thoughtlessly, finally catching a glimpse of the invitation.

"My _father_ lives in Tidenham," Astoria returned, "Belladonna's in North Yorkshire."

"You should _see_ her aunt's house, if you get the chance," chuckled Maudlin. "She's got a mad portrait of her second husband in the front hallway that you can't _help_ but knock sideways if you want to take your cloak off. She must have really _hated_ him—"

"I've _been_ to her aunt's house before," sneered Draco irresistibly, clearly annoyed by the insinuation that Maudlin knew something that he didn't.

Pansy left off making eyes with Flora, her head snapping toward Draco at once.

"So has Blaise," Astoria pointedly out fairly, "although I suppose Uncle Alfred's picture is easy enough to miss..."

Bothered by Draco's apparent need to profess how well he knew what Astoria's home looked like, Pansy cleared her throat loudly. "I'm surprised that your aunt doesn't have a whole picture _gallery_ in the front hallway, Astoria, what with all of the uncles you've had."

"Come to think of it, it's not surprising that you mixed up the addresses, Draco," said Astoria, gritting her teeth and pointedly ignoring Pansy. "Every time you've been to my aunt's house, you've come by floo."

This was perfectly true of course: Draco _had_ never arrived by portkey or car and he _had_ technically been to Belladonna's home more than once. Knowing full well that her phrasing implied uncountable visits however, as opposed to just the one New Year's Eve that Pansy was probably aware of, Astoria scooped back up the quill she had dropped and began to flip through her book. Draco, perhaps knowing what Astoria was doing and deciding to be merciful, said nothing and allowed Astoria to deal the jab.

"Come on," said Tracey, quick to protect Astoria from Pansy's retaliation. "We've got other people on our list to hand out cards to."

"Oh!" giggled Katherine, "speaking of which—Astoria, you _have_ to do me a favor!"

"What's that?" asked Astoria dubiously.

"You know Anthony Goldstein's girlfriend, don't you?" asked Katherine, leaning in conspiratorially.

"You mean Padma?" Astoria scoffed. "No, not really—"

"But you _do_ know her sister, Parvati?" Katherine pressed. "So it wouldn't be weird for you to talk to Anthony for me?"

Astoria narrowed her eyes, not quite able to read Katherine's meaning through all of her dithering and giggling.

"It's just, I want to invite Anthony to the party, but I can't stand the idea of Padma tagging along," Katherine declared.

"Why?" Astoria wondered slowly, feeling that this was a new level of cattiness, even from within the ranks of the Eastern Star.

"Ugh," Katherine sneered. "She's so prim and bookish! She won't be any fun _and_ her mother was a half blood, you know!"

"Kitty fancies Goldstein," supplied Tracey dryly, suspecting correctly that Astoria had become lost, "only she can't _not_ invite Padma herself, because that would be rude so she needs _you_ to do it for her."

"I do not!" cried Katherine shrilly, turning about to flap her hands in front of Tracey's face while Pansy and Flora tittered triumphantly at Tracey's bad manners. "Just mention the party to Anthony, would you?"

Seeing this for what it was; nothing short of a dirty and disingenuous plot to steal her classmate's boyfriend, Astoria put on her most radiant smile. "Sure," Astoria beamed misleadingly, "what else are friends for?"

Snickering and yelping, the girls finally left the library some ten minutes later, anxious to see to the rest of their list. Astoria fell back into her chair, smirking widely.

"Are you seriously going to help MacDougal get off with Goldstein?" sneered Draco doubtfully.

Astoria laughed throatily. "Anthony hates me so much that the second I mention Kitty's party, he'll be sure to avoid it like the plague. She couldn't have found a worse candidate for actually getting him to come along! "

"Well, _I_ might go," said Luc, his eyes fixed on the invitation. "If Cassandra is going, that _must_ mean her classmates are invited."

"Honestly!" Astoria snorted.

" _What_?" demanded Luc, unable to find anything wrong with what he was doing and becoming rather fed up with her bad attitude because of it.

Astoria searched her brain for something rational to pin her annoyance on and her eyes lit upon the invitation again. "Did she _have_ to use so many exclamation points?" Astoria demanded archly, sweeping the card back up into the light in order to make a proper mockery of it. "She's a _witch_ , not a daycare instructor."

Malfoy, a great fan of humiliating people for having poor taste, laughed appreciatively.

0o0

By the following evening, the rain outside had let up just enough to allow for a sprinkle. The candles in the third floor study lounge where Astoria was camped had begun to burn low however, and there was no natural light coming in the windows to compensate for the gathering darkness. Already, Astoria was having trouble reading her textbook and it was barely seven o'clock. Theodore, who was sitting in the window seat, continued to write his essay, unbothered by the gloom. Tracey however, ever the opportunist, threw down her quill in order to pursue a more gratifying pastime.

"Have you talked to Goldstein yet?"

"No," said Astoria, shifting uncomfortably. The idea of discussing anything to do with Padma—let alone the fact Astoria had been asked to _wrong_ her—in front of Theodore was almost too painful to even contemplate. While the prospect of trying to entice Anthony Goldstein into doing her bidding had seemed laughably hilarious in the library the day before, it did not seem even remotely funny now that her audience had changed.

"Well, you better get on it soon," warned Tracey halfheartedly. "It's all Kitty will talk about and she'll be more than sore if you let the holidays sneak up and drop the ball. You've only got the weekend left to do it now."

Astoria glared at Tracey, willing her to be silent. Unfortunately, Theodore looked up from his book at just the right moment to catch Astoria mean-mugging. "You're being weird," said Theodore flatly. "What are you two looking at each other like that for?"

"I'm _not_ being weird," said Astoria quickly. "I'm just—"

"Making faces?" Theodore narrowed his eyes suspiciously before returning to his book.

"It's dark!" Tracey whined. "I can't even see my homework anymore. Let's do something else!"

"Stupid prick," muttered Theodore very belatedly and under his breath.

"I'm _sorry_?" demanded Tracey, highly affronted.

"Not you, Goldstein!" Theodore burst out, unable to help himself. "Why are you talking to him, Astoria? I thought you hated him!"

"It's nothing," said Astoria evasively, "just a dumb errand for one of the Eastern Star girls."

"He's leading charities now, _too_ , is he?" sneered Theodore jerkily. "Well, he just finds time for _everything_ , doesn't he? I can't wait for break to start."

Astoria and Tracey exchanged looks again.

"Stop that!" sneered Theodore hotly. "I can still _see_ you. It's nothing to do with Pa—his girlfriend, I just don't like the twit, is all. He thinks he's a whole lot smarter than he is and the worst part is, you can _tell_ he does."

This was very true but Theodore's real motive for disliking Anthony was more personal and he seemed to know it.

"I'm going to bed," he announced, packing up his bag. "It's too dark to read. I'll find you to say goodbye before you leave on Sunday. It's possible that I might even be getting on the train with you—Dad wrote and asked if I wanted to come home... probably on the verge of another _meltdown_."

He did not wait for Tracey or Astoria to say so much as a word in response before skulking off down the shadowy hallway.

"Just to clarify: he _knows_ that he's never said so much as a whole sentence to Padma Patil before, right?" demanded Tracey into the awkward silence that was Theodore's wake. "I mean, he can only be so mad that he isn't dating her if he's never talked to her!"

"That's _true_ , isn't it?" Astoria mused, closing her textbook. "It's not as though Padma's ever actually turned him down—in fact, she probably doesn't even know that he exists."

"That is literally _so_ sad," frowned Tracey. In her state of constant loudness, Tracey had probably never experienced this particular type of neglect in her life.

"Maybe not..." said Astoria, cocking her head as a positively wild thought occurred to her. "For all we know, she _might_ actually like Theodore, if she ever got to know him."

"You think?" scoffed Tracey doubtfully. "Goldstein's a pompous suck-up in a smart coat. If that's Patil's type, Theodore hasn't a hope in Hell."

Astoria shrugged, hesitating. Her fingers twitched and began to drum a rhythm as she contemplated everything that she knew about Padma Patil and common decency. "Have you ever noticed that Padma spends a lot of time slinking away from Goldstein?" she asked. "Every time I see them together she's trying to crawl away from him."

"Hmm?" Tracey swanned, tipping so far back in her chair that Astoria was stunned she had not fallen out of it already. "Well, every time _I_ see them together, it looks like she's trying to swallow his tongue."

"Nah," said Astoria, disagreeing at once. "It's Goldstein doing the mauling while Padma goes slippery—like she wants out of every room that they have ever been in together."

"So what?" Tracey shrugged.

"What do you think would happen if _you_ invited Goldstein to Kitty's party, instead?" suggested Astoria thoughtfully. "Do you think he'd come that way?"

"Probably," laughed Tracey. "Lord, Katherine would positively throw herself on him! We'd witness a disgrace!"

"How wrong would it be of us to let that happen?" Astoria mused rapidly, trying not to become excited by a plot that was so thoroughly inadvisable from the ground up. "On a scale of one to ten, I mean? One being 'Padma's potential heartbreak' and ten being 'we manage to liberate Theodore's future girlfriend'?"

Astoria had only been half joking but all four of Tracey's chair legs suddenly returned to the ground with a thump. " _Ooh_!" she breathed wickedly.

"It would be wrong of us to meddle like that, though, right?" Astoria tried, wanting very much to be convinced otherwise. "It's not _really_ our place?"

"No!" Tracey hissed delightedly, almost misting over. "No, that's _so_ good…"

"I'm not saying we should do it for _fun_ ," Astoria clarified nervously, backtracking the moment she saw Tracey's overly joyful expression. "Actually, the less of a hand we have in things, the better. I'm talking about getting Kitty and Goldstein in a room together, that's all. Just to _see_ if they get on. Let's not write a spy novel out of it…"

"Why _not_?" scoffed Tracey. "Theo's been mad about Patil for years, but he's always been too chicken to actually _do_ anything about it. I'd never even _thought_ about stepping in and playing cupid!"

"That's because Padma's already got a boyfriend and Theodore would _kill us_ if he found out," warned Astoria darkly. The more Astoria perceived that Tracey's enthusiasm might be rooted in amusement rather than an actual desire to assist Theodore, the more she was beginning to have second thoughts.

"I don't care if Theodore will be mad!" Tracey declared shamelessly. "He's been playing chicken long enough. I'm _totally_ inviting Goldstein."

Wishing she had said nothing, Astoria laid awake for a long while that night. Her mind was mostly preoccupied by the contents of her trunk as she made a mental list of all the things that would need to located and packed before Sunday, but thoughts of Theodore kept sneaking by uninvited.

A part of Astoria was seriously reconsidering suggesting that they should pit Kitty MacDougal at Anthony Goldstein. For all Astoria knew, it was possible that Padma actually _liked_ her boyfriend and would be wildly upset by what constituted Tracey's idea of 'acceptable' meddling. Another part of Astoria, one far less interested in morals and more eager to calculate her odds of success, seemed to be nodding its phantom approval. Mostly because Anthony Goldstein was not a nice boy and Astoria was quite unwilling to take full responsibility for anything he _might_ do simply because someone had provided him with an opportunity to act act lousy. But also because girls with crummy ex-boyfriends needed good friends to rely on and complain to, and Theodore was nothing if not an excellent listener.

Over the soft pattering of the rain and the whorl of Astoria's thoughts, one idea seemed determined to voice itself: _it could work._

0o0

* * *

I'm making a formal promise right now not to let Tracey and Astoria's involvement in Theodore's love life become a thing of agony. If I renege, feel free to hurl verbal flame at me.

Anyhow, next chapter will start Easter break, which I've begun to think of as a bit of an 'event post'. At this point, I can tentatively say that I think there will be three chapters dedicated to the holiday (it might only be two, but I have a tendency to get carried away) spanning two weeks which will not lack for plot. As for this post, I know it's a bit of a transition chapter (it pretty served to pave the way for Easter) but the next couple of installments should hopefully make up for that. Kitty's party will obviously be covered, as will the lunch date with Mrs. Flint that Astoria promised many chapters back. I'm thinking an event at the Rowles (for some kind of Eastern Star charity inspired event, hopefully dressed up because they aren't at school) not to mention updates for the adults are just a few teasers.

On an entirely separate note, because I am a twee disturbed and I keep alluding to them anyway, I though it was high time to make an official list of Belladonna's husbands (complete with causes of death) available, for those who are interested in that sort of thing:

1st. Uncle Travers: The offshoot of a fairly respectable family (and Belladonna's highest profile husband to date), Uncle Travers was the youngest son born to a large family but was not nearly as well invested as Belladonna might have imagined. Consequently, she was most unpleasantly surprised when, upon his death, she discovered that he left her nothing more than her engagement ring and several unpaid bills from local taverns. The grieving Travers family, of course, moved no mountains to provide for their youngest son's suspicious widow. Cause of death: Poison in powder form, made from Angel's Trumpet and mixed into his hand lotion. Officially ruled as a suicide.

2nd. Uncle 'Alfred' Finch: Cause of death: Heart attack induced by a poison derived from the 'dolls eye' berry.

3rd. Uncle Blishwick: Cause of death: Tragic boating accident, most likely prompted by an illegal (and unwilling) administration of opiates in combination with sleeping potion. His hat was found floating in a loch days later. His body, however, was never recovered.

4th. Uncle Mordicai: A wealthy museum curator from family money. Missing and presumed dead after vanishing in his motorcar, never to be seen again, just shortly after taking out a new life insurance policy that provided primarily for his elderly aunt (thwarted again, Belladonna).


	50. Snowdrop and Aconite

Chapter Fifty

Snowdrop and Aconite

* * *

0o0

By Sunday morning, the storm had finally sputtered and died out, leaving behind a misty haze that blanketed the exposed grass and rain-swollen streams like a magical shroud. Overnight, nature had become muffled and soft again. Bird song broke against the low, cloudy sky and hopeful green sprouts could be seen poking up their heads in the damp undergrowth.

Sweating slightly in her heaviest cloak, Astoria heaved her trunk across Belladonna's parlor floor. After the noise and bustle of the train ride from school to London, Astoria was surprised by the unexpected silence that greeted her here. Yanking off her gloves—a very unnecessary precaution, as it had turned out—Astoria slumped over to the hallway table, panting hard and swiping stray hairs out of her face. Mail from that morning was laid out on top of mail from the day before but none of it had been attended to. Wondering idly if Belladonna had been traveling (perhaps her intention had been to arrive home before Astoria, but she gotten hung up somewhere?) Astoria leafed through the post before charging off toward the kitchen, thinking that Bonky might know the way of things and be able to set her straight.

In this she was soon disappointed, however: the kitchen was as deserted as the foyer had been. A weak, late-morning sunlight attempted to break through the clouds. It shone faintly on the glistening copper pots and pans but Astoria, feeling just a bit neglected, wasted no time watching it.

Beating a path back up the stairs, she left her trunk by the doorway and made a beeline for her bedroom.

It was slightly brighter in here, but only just. None of the windows had been thrust open to let in the fresh air (perhaps Belladonna was travelling _with_ Bonky?) so Astoria did herself the favor of crossing the room and cracking them herself. The rush of early spring mist was intoxicating, but it was not enough to entirely put her mind at ease. Never, in all of her years of living with Belladonna, had Astoria ever had to _wait_ for her aunt. If a time and a meeting place had been stipulated, Belladonna had never failed to arrive punctually. A tug of nervousness flared beneath her outer annoyance.

The whooshing sound of the floo being engaged made Astoria's head swivel. The noise did not seem to have come from the first floor. Realizing that the fireplace in the attic storeroom had flared to life, Astoria hopped to her feet. She was already halfway toward the hall in a state of premature alarm when Theodore appeared in the doorway.

"What?" demanded Theodore at once, thrown by the look of misapprehension on her face.

"Nothing," Astoria breathed. Her shoulders sagged with relief. "I just got in. Have a seat wherever, I'll be back in a minute."

Feeling more armored against the unknown now that Theodore had arrived, she ventured downstairs a second time for a pot of coffee. She collected any fruit she could easily scavenge from a bowl while she waited for it to brew, determined to inject some sense of normalcy back into her morning.

When she returned to the third, Theodore was hanging out of her window seat and breathing smoke into the morning air.

"Dad never even bothered to tell me that he was going to be in meetings all day," Theodore groused, accepting a mug from her. "There are _people_ all over the bloody front lawn. I'm surprised he hasn't tried to curse any of them silly yet."

"Well, Aunt Belladonna isn't even here," Astoria joined in flatly. She was thankful for an excuse to complain—especially one that did not make her sound anxious. "What's your father doing holding meetings, anyway? He doesn't strike me as the type."

She busied herself with the banana she had lifted from the kitchen table, savoring the sensation of the smooth and nearly tasteless pulp followed by the acidic bite of her coffee.

"Something about a hunting license," Theodore sniffed. "Half of the Beast Division from the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures showed up. They're all hollering themselves purple in my dad's study right now."

"Over hunting laws? What's he trying to protect?" Astoria wondered, trying and failing to view Mr. Nott as an undercover conservationist.

" _Protect?_ " scoffed Theodore. His eyes narrowed with sarcastic disdain.

"Oh," Astoria chuckled, grimacing around a large mouthful of fruit. "He's trying to shoot the wildlife, then?"

" _Presumably_ ," burst Theodore. "He wants to legalize Augurey expeditions, but all he's _really_ doing is giving Amos Diggory a heart attack."

"He wants the ministry to let him shoot an Irish phoenix?" Astoria repeated dubiously.

"Oh, don't _you_ go feeling bad for them, too!" snapped Theodore defensively. "Everyone hears the word 'phoenix' and they picture precious, legendary creatures. Augureys are _awful_ little beasts! Mournful looking black birds that literally _only_ fly when it rains or sing when someone _dies_."

" _Alright_ ," Astoria exclaimed, backtracking at once before she managed to step on Theodore's toes."Never let it be said that your father doesn't know how to faithfully pursue a hobby..."

"Macnair's on his side," Theodore persisted, playing with a tassel on her window seat pillow. "For whatever _that's_ worth."

"Was Alistair Yaxley there?" asked Astoria, suddenly recalling that her infamous older cousin worked in the same department.

"No," frowned Theodore. "What division is he in?"

"The Being Division?" supplied Astoria somewhat doubtfully. "I _think_. Honestly, I've never actually asked."

"That would makes sense," confirmed Theodore. "That's where all the big brass are. They're to do with goblins and merpeople and the like—creatures that aren't just dangerous, but capable of actually raising up an army to rebel against the ministry."

"Oh," said Astoria, absorbing this slowly.

How many months had she been betting against Ragnuk now? Had it really never occurred to her that she had a relative of dubious morality whose actual _job_ was to manage and suppress goblins who tried to take advantage of wizards? Of course, her own position was just illegal enough to make certain that there was very little Astoria could do with this connection, but the coincidence was mind boggling. If Astoria hadn't broken the rules in the first place by _going_ to Ragnuk, it would be within her power to absolutely _ruin_ him now.

The strange silence of the house began to press in on her again the minute Theodore left. At a loss, Astoria eyed her bed half-heartedly, trying to decide if she was capable of napping after drinking an entire mug of coffee. The reassuring sound of the fireplace igniting in the living room below spared her from tossing and turning. Thankful to have been spared the inevitable (and very embarrassing journey) to her father's house in order to report Belladonna missing, Astoria headed downstairs.

Her aunt was standing in the front hall near Astoria's trunk, flipping through the mail and tutting to herself, looking nothing short of a woman perfectly at ease.

"Hello, darling!" she called when Astoria reached the bottom step, casting her niece a wayward glance. "Sorry to have kept you waiting. I didn't worry you, I'm sure?"

"No," Astoria lied, moving aside so that Bonky would not hit her with her own trunk as he transported it up the stairs.

"Have you been home long?" Belladonna went on. She slit open an envelope and eyed the bill that it contained with a trace of displeasure. "There's post here for you."

"I was here before noon," insisted Astoria, taking a few envelopes from her aunt, "where _were_ you? You might have warned me—"

"Nonsense," countered Belladonna dismissively, "it's _barely_ one o'clock."

"You've been travelling," Astoria pressed accusingly, unable to understand her aunt's careless dismissal. "You even took Bonky with you."

"I did," Belladonna confirmed, her lips tightening into a thin line. "I do a good deal of travelling, in fact. Of course, I did not know that I was required to check in with you first. My sincerest apologies."

Astoria's eyelashes fluttered, torn between annoyance and the worry she had felt when she'd arrived home to an empty house. Indeed, there seemed to be something uncomfortable and forced about the way Belladonna was methodically opening the mail and Astoria did not like the way she was refusing to turn and meet her eyes.

"It's nothing, darling," Belladonna sighed, perhaps realizing that she was behaving strangely. "I've simply taken on a pet project that's turning out to be a bit more... _involved_ than I might have hoped. "

Belladonna rapped the post into order with a neat smack and turned about to face Astoria at last.

"I only mention it because there is a chance it will continue to plague my schedule for most of your visit," she continued, her tone as calculated as her phrasing. "It _might_ be necessary for me to leave again, perhaps more than once. I suppose you are old enough to fend for yourself for a night or two together?"

"Fine," Astoria shrugged. Truthfully, she did not particularly care what Belladonna did, as long as her absence was accounted for and not the result of a tragic, unknown accident. Having the house to herself was by no means a punishment of any sort, especially by her aunt's standards. Still, it was _odd._

"You won't be mad at me?" Belladonna quirked. The characteristic loveliness came rushing back into her face now that she had ceased to stare off into space distractedly.

Astoria shook her head. "I don't mind being by myself."

"By _yourself_? You must think I've gone mad!" Belladonna snorted. Her eyes moved toward the stairs where Bonky could still be heard rattling about with the luggage. "I'll leave the elf with you, of course."

"Yes, well, no _need_ for that," hissed Astoria, moving out of the way so that her aunt could reach the closet.

There was still _something_ dangling just beyond her grasp: the more she watched her aunt, the more apparent it became. One rarely ever saw Belladonna _work_ at anything, Astoria reflected, but she was working now—working to appear unfazed and _that_ was most unusual.

"Is everything alright?" Astoria finally asked, feeling like a child underfoot. "You seem a little out of sorts."

"What?" snapped Belladonna. She had clearly not been listening, because she seemed almost startled to discover that Astoria was still standing beside her " _Yes_. Of course. You have such an _unfortunate_ habit of trying to play detective!"

"Are you sure?" Astoria pressed carefully, knowing that any desperation on her part would cause Belladonna's semi-open expression to snap closed.

For a moment, Belladonna regarded her niece tiredly and Astoria thought she _might_ crack. Then, swift as lightning, the moment passed.

"It's nothing to worry _you_ with, darling," she sighed. "Why don't you draw a bath and I'll see to lunch?"

0o0

Just like that, all of the worry seemed to seep out of Belladonna—she no longer betrayed any outward signs of a disturbance. Instead, her apprehension evaporated into the general atmosphere, where it lingered like an invisible fist. True to her warning, less than two days passed before Belladonna informed Astoria that she would be traveling in the morning and staying away for the better part of the week.

Determined to act as carefree and casual as her aunt, Astoria attempted to put the upcoming voyage out of mind. Kitty's party was on Thursday and she always had Theodore to keep her company in the interim.

Still, no amount of willful blindness could conceal the fact that Belladonna's traveling case was woefully thin suspiciously underweight on the morning she was scheduled to take her leave. Belladonna _claimed_ that she was traveling to France, which left Astoria to puzzle over what she was _doing_ if she was leaving the country without a proper wardrobe.

Added to this list of minor yet _unfashionable_ (and therefore uncharacteristic) sins was the fact that Belladonna had not applied to Astoria's father in order to borrow her old house-elf, Wobbles, for the duration of her trip. This might make sense if her aunt was staying with friends who kept a surplus of domestic help—but if that really was the case, wouldn't she have packed more appropriately for the occasion?

Altogether, Astoria could not quite escape the feeling that her aunt was travelling light on purpose and alone by choice—all the better for slipping away like a ghost, perhaps off the grid entirely. The act of ignoring this became so trying for Astoria's nerves that she was almost thankful when her aunt finally left. To her surprise, however, the strange isolation that Belladonna left behind—though less sharp—was almost as uncomfortable and perhaps twice as disturbing.

It had never before occurred to Astoria before just how many rooms Belladonna occupied alone. The house was not big enough to be really and truly splendid, but it was more than large enough to create sounds of its own accord. Sure enough, all throughout the night the house persisted in doing just that: shutters thumped in the wet, gloomy spring darkness; lights failed to stretch into the far corners of every room.

On Wednesday morning, fresh from a sleepless and jumpy night, Astoria was resolved to either move into the living room (which at least afforded her troubled mind the solace of having more than one escape route) or ask Theodore to spend the night on her bedroom floor.

But Theodore didn't come over and by midnight, Astoria was forced to take a brutally honest look at herself: she had been restlessly pacing the living room for hours, she was too afraid to comfortably walk up the unlit staircase on her own, and she hadn't eaten anything but fistfuls of display candies from the crystal bowl on the hearth since breakfast. She was, in short, absolutely rubbish at being an adult and the more she allowed herself to dwell on her inner failings, the more keenly she began to feel them.

At last, more to occupy herself than anything else, Astoria curled up beneath a flimsy excuse for a decorative throw blanket and took up an old family photo album. Determined to further torture the state of her emotional well-being even, she revisited old images of her mother in her youthful prime until the sun rose.

At daybreak, Astoria stood up and stretched. She had reached a state of purged—almost enlightened—calm, made only slightly giddy by her lack of sleep. It had been forty-eight hours since she had spoken to anyone, marking the longest period of her life ever spent in absolute silence. When the birds began to sing, she went upstairs to dress for Kitty's party, bolstered by the knowledge that solitude had finally achieved the impossible: she had such a violent need for a social event that even Kitty's would do.

The calligraphy on the invitation was a metallic blue, so Astoria met Kitty half-way and chose a dress in a similar shade of robin's egg that bore no trace of a metallic sheen. Satisfied that she carried her outfit well, she added a rope of pearls as a sort of ironic tribute to the Sisterhood and padded down to the second floor to borrow a lipstick from aunt's room.

The moment she slipped into that quiet, shrouded space, Astoria stiffened. The smell of her aunt's lingering perfume seemed to lash out at her—conscious of the invasion. With a powerful and awe-inspiring shiver, she realized that she had never been alone in her aunt's room before.

Astoria dithered, linering halfway between the bed and her aunt's vanity table. The surface in front of the mirror was cluttered with bottles of scent and jewelry boxes. A stack of bracelets sparkled in a Chinese bowl; husks of their former glory without an arm to bring them to life.

Her hand strayed toward the knob of drawer. She tugged it open just a crack, wanting to peer inside without actually committing to an open search: there was nothing but a small box of pressed flowers inside. Immediately taken with the object, Astoria shimmied the drawer open a little further—and her eyes lit on a leather-bound journal lining the bottom of the drawer beneath it.

She recoiled, positively chilled. What, _what_ could Belladonna Lestrange—who had lost both family and fortune to war and who was responsible for the deaths of four husbands—possibly feel the need to unburden herself of within the pages of a diary?

Shocked past casual discomfort at last, Astoria shut the drawer with a snap. The sound jolted her back to her proper senses. Some things were best left unread; she did not _need_ lipstick. Astoria closed her aunt's door firmly behind and she did not look back.

0o0

Kitty's invitation supplied a very specific floo address (so that her guests might all arrive by a single, preferred fireplace), but at the last minute, Astoria decided to walk.

The lane that Belladonna's house was situated on only serviced a small handful of houses, but each of these properties was decidedly larger than a typical suburban plot. The walk took her several minutes longer than she would have liked, but she arrived at the Fawley's officious, blasted-stone house undaunted and on time.

The bell was answered by a short, surprised looking house elf.

"We is thinking you was all coming in from the back!" squeaked the elf apologetically.

He lead Astoria along a hall and through a large nautically decorated foyer. Miniature schooners in glass cases topped every table and paintings of whalers at sea hung heavily on the walls. Smirking at the absurd hypocrisy of Kitty's aunt and uncle—who had supposedly turned their boat house into a guest house because they _hated_ water sports—Astoria stepped down into a low room and was delivered through painted white patio doors onto the lawn.

Tracey was standing nearby with Cassandra and Kitty, but she broke off the moment that she spotted Astoria.

"What kept you?" Tracey whispered, bounding toward Astoria. With a lurch, her heels sank into the grass and her embrace immediately turned into a wild grasp for support. " _Stupid_ stilettos. What was I thinking?"

"That Blaise is a good six inches taller than you?" Astoria suggested, grinning mischievously.

"Exactly _right_ ," Tracey agreed, still eyeing her shoes rather darkly. "Everybody is down the path. Kitty's greeting guests, but I waited for you—"

Tracey broke off and motioned over Astoria's shoulder.

Blaise Zabini and Draco Malfoy had just come through another patio door several feet away—perhaps connected to the room where people were arriving by floo—because that was _also_ where Kitty was stationed to great her guests.

"Astoria!" shrieked Kitty excitedly, spotting her at last. "Where on Earth did you come through from? I must have missed you!"

"I walked over," Astoria admitted, but before Kitty could respond, Anthony Goldstein appeared and distracted her.

"You _walked_ here?" scoffed Tracey under her breath. " _Why_? It's not like you aren't connected to the the floo..."

"I wanted to practice clutching my pearls and feigning feminine shock," whispered Astoria, watching Kitty titter about Anthony like an anxious bird.

Blaise and Draco, who had by now drawn near enough to overhear their conversation, called out. Astoria made up her mind on the spot ignore both of them—especially Blaise—but she felt her eyes pull toward Draco instinctively. His wore the same mask of cocky indifference that almost always did, but somehow he met Astoria's eye too quickly.

 _He was already looking at you,_ she realized tensely. _That's how._

She fell into step beside Tracey and followed the boys for the short stroll down the grassy path. It was too pleasant a day for much worrying, she reminded herself. Besides, she was so ecstatic to have escaped her lonely home that almost nothing could put a dampener on her spirits if she didn't let it.

They were still within sight of the main building when they reached the bottom of the trail. A neatly trimmed lawn fanned out along the front of a second, smaller house. Astoria assumed this structure was the 'boat house', but the chilly lake it _should_ have been perched on was nearly a hundred feet away—across manicured grounds and dense thickets of swaying lilac bushes.

Beneath their feet, a soft blanket of small white flowers peppered the grass like artificial confetti. The air was warm—so warm that Astoria was convinced that the entire yard was enchanted. Both of the boat house doors had been thrown open. Inside, people were already milling about on its seemingly miraculous marble floors.

" _Look_ , it's Little Bo-Peep's Roman dream home," Astoria snickered, eyeing the stone columns on either side of the doors.

A croquet set was installed on lush carpet of grass to the right. Directly outside the double doors stood an umbrella stand well stocked with thin paper parasols in a wide variety of colors. Astoria readily selected one (a pale blue to match her dress) and opened it against the sunny sky, cackling wickedly.

"Shh!" insisted Tracey, elbowing Astoria in the side. A very old woman—Mrs. Fawley herself—came wobbling out onto the steps.

"Tea is on the table, dears," she informed them, smiling kindly. "Oh, Katherine!" she called, catching sight of her niece. "I'm heading away now, dear! I want all of the boys gone before dark. Don't make me check on you!"

This was the _least_ effective way to ensure a single-gender sleepover that Astoria had ever seen. She shifted her umbrella again so that it hid her face, fighting a strange, compulsive urge to laugh.

Tracey shot her another tense look, plainly eager for Mrs. Fawley to go away before she found anything amusing.

Astoria sighed and peered over the edge of her parasol at Pansy, who had rushed forward to greet Draco and Blaise. She was wearing a shade of pink that fell somewhere between salmon and peach: it was not, Astoria reflected somewhat unkindly, a very flattering hue on her.

"Do you want to have a look at the tea service?" Astoria suggested, hoping that Tracey would loosen up soon. Truth be told, she was making it hard for _either_ of them to relax.

Tracey shrugged and came inside, but she was still watching Mrs. Fawley's creaky ascent back up the lawn.

"What to Kitty's parents _do_?" Tracey wondered, following Astoria's lead and taking a teacup. "Her family is _obviously_ rich."

"Dunno," Astoria shrugged, studying the pattern of blue forget-me-nots on the china. "Is it just me, or are these _actually_ rather pretty?"

Tracey ignored her.

"I didn't know that I was the _only_ poor person in our sorority," she insisted haltingly, embarrassed but unable to resist complaining. "I thought at least _some_ of the other girls must be normal…"

" _Don't_ ," begged Astoria. "This is Kitty's aunt and uncle's house. Notice that she's having the party _here_ instead of at home? You have no idea what her parents are like."

"If her uncle has a Roman bath in his backyard, she's _not_ poor," finished Tracey flatly.

Feeling that this was probably true, but entirely unsure how to make Tracey feel any better about it, Astoria was almost glad when they were interrupted by the arrival of Pansy and the boys. To her surprise, they had even managed to find Luc on their way in.

"Ria!" called Luc excitedly.

Perhaps he was feeling slightly out of his element, because Astoria did not think he had ever looked so happy to see her before.

"You came after all!" Astoria laughed, curiously pleased. "Maudlin didn't, did he?"

"No, he's home with Alec," returned Luc. He really _was_ out of his element surrounded by flowers and frill, the more Astoria thought about it. "I'm joining them later—is there a bar here? This cream tea business is ghastly."

"It's a _sixteen_ year old girl's birthday party," scoffed Pansy, snorting derisively.

But her skepticism lost its edge because Blaise agreed with Luc. When Draco mentioned that _he_ too had little interest in tea, Pansy slipped away to see what she could do.

"Oh!" shrieked Kitty, tearing herself away from Anthony Goldstein in order to assist Pansy. "I meant to say! My uncle keeps everything in one of the cabinets! But nobody can look drunk when they go back through my aunt's fireplace—she'll _kill_ me!"

"That rules out Davis, then," scoffed Luc, perhaps remembering her antics at the Yule Ball.

"She's staying here, anyway," said Astoria firmly, afraid to stoke the flames of Tracey's discomfort. "My aunt's house is five minutes away. There's more than one fireplace _there_ , if anyone needs it."

This was more charitable than Astoria might have normally been, but the days of solitude had left her with a wild distaste for her silent living room. Even the idea of Blaise Zabini nosing about her house seemed preferable to another evening of being miserable from dusk until dawn.

"Kitty's just nervous!" snapped Pansy scathingly, returning with an unopened bottle of fire whiskey that she promptly passed it off to Luc. "Her aunt will never even check to make sure you've all left. Stay _here_ , if you want—I'm sure there's _no_ call for that, Astoria. Besides, wouldn't _your_ aunt be angry if you turned her house into a transfer station?"

"I shouldn't think so, as she's been in France since Monday," countered Astoria crisply, unable to entirely escape the shameful realization that she was subtly advertising herself and her empty home to anyone who did not wish to remain trapped in Katherine's forced pastoral paradise.

"There you go!" cried Luc robustly.

"Even _my_ aunt won't notice voices in the hall from across the English Channel," she continued, allowing Luc to top off her tea with a splash from the bottle in his hand while silently praying that he would not try to follow her home by himself. "She's not a bat, after all."

Blaise snickered so Astoria added: "Not during the day, at least."

Pansy let out a single, humorless laugh and dangled her cup toward Draco. He had taken the bottle from Luc, and she was clearly hoping that he would pour her drink before his own. Astoria looked away, privately annoyed and unwilling to show it.

The only reason Pansy was trying so hard to keep the boys at Kitty's party was so that she could have a clearer shot at Malfoy, Astoria decided tartly. Pansy probably felt that—even though Draco had never particularly taken to her charms on the Hogwarts grounds—he _might_ if he was freed from the constraints of single-gender dormitories and the eyes of his parents.

 _The more fire-whiskey the better for her purpose, I suppose,_ thought Astoria cruelly, fighting against the lurch in her stomach that warned her how uncomfortable this idea secretly made her.

 _But it shouldn't make you uncomfortable,_ Astoria's mind hissed. After all, Astoria herself had no interest in ever dating Draco, whose lack of moral code and propensity for cruelty made the idea ridiculous. If having Draco all to herself was what made Pansy happy, Astoria would not be doing anyone any favors if she put up enough opposition to make sure that didn't happen.

It would very likely come to pass someday, anyway. Astoria reflected further, suddenly picturing the future with a vivid clarity. At some point, Draco's peers would begin to brag about their own sexual conquests and Draco would have to find himself a girlfriend in order to maintain his image as person worth being jealous of. He would not allow himself to be left behind for long, and if Astoria would not have him—and she had decided she _wouldn't_ long ago—he would surely settle for Pansy eventually. Astoria could not even think of any less disturbing contenders for his future girlfriend: Draco had few friends in general and most of them were male. He was certainly rich and not entirely unpleasant looking, but he had a nasty habit of scowling before speaking that did not recommend him and his willingness to betray all but his closest companions in order to suit his personal causes left him with a social ring made up almost entirely of people who only catered to his snide whims because they hoped to ride on the back of his family's power or wealth.

Astoria blinked, suddenly so sad that she could have nearly cried from it, unsure how she had let her thoughts spin away from her so quickly. Dimly, Draco's actual voice seemed to creep through to Astoria's senses and she realized that she was not paying attention to the conversation at _all_.

"Mother wanted to leave for Italy yesterday," Draco drawled, "but Father only wanted to be away for the weekend."

Astoria downed her entire glass of whiskey-laced tea with a shudder and forced herself to look at him.

The fact that he was leaving the country soon was somewhat heartening. If Draco was departing for Italy in the morning, he was highly unlikely to spend the night in one of Kitty's spare bedrooms. Astoria could force her anxieties back down into the surprising hell they had somehow escaped from without any further examination.

"I've never been to Italy," muttered Tracey and there was an uncharacteristically bitter edge to her tone.

"Look at _you_ go," leered Luc, leaning over to glance into Astoria's empty teacup.

Ignoring the insinuation that she had drunk the first rather gluttonously, Astoria re-filled her cup again without bothering to add much by way of tea. When she finished it, she judged that it was best to go mingle before she did something unfathomably stupid. Anxious to remain aloof, she made her way toward Tracey, who had shrunk away from the group.

" _Look_ at them!" Tracey hissed victoriously, pointing toward Kitty and Anthony Goldstein. Kitty was stroking his arm and laughing coyly.

Astoria let out a horrified laugh as Kitty stood on her tip-toes, either inviting Anthony to kiss her or prove to him that he was, in fact, taller than she was.

"Theodore's dream," drawled Draco unkindly, coming up behind her.

Astoria startled. _Hadn't she just bloody well left him with Luc and Blaise?_

"Exactly!" drawled Tracey merrily, shooting Astoria an obvious and conspiratorial look.

"Frankly, considering _you_ invited him, I honestly can't believe he came," Draco continued, all snide delight. He leaned against the door frame that she and Tracey were standing under. Astoria had a feeling that this was supposed to seem casual, but his hands were empty and by coming over to find out what they were talking about, he had effectively abandoned the majority of his companions _and_ the liquor.

"That's why _I_ invited him instead!" trilled Tracey mischievously.

"Out of the goodness of your heart, I suppose?" sneered Draco, his eyes flashing suspiciously back toward Goldstein.

Astoria cleared her throat and shook her head, but Tracey's lips had sunk many a ship before now and she was not afraid to send yet another to its watery grave.

"It was Astoria's idea!" Tracey insisted. "She was right, too. Kitty can't get enough of him!"

" _What_?" mouthed Draco. His eyes sparkled with disbelief as he put two and two together. "You're _joking,_ " he finally breathed.

"I don't know what either of you are talking about," scoffed Astoria, trying very hard not to let Malfoy's expression provoke her into laughing.

"Yes, you do!" Tracey declared impatiently. "You and I _both_ know that the moment Goldstein dumps her, you'll sweep in and hypnotize that silly Patil girl into spending all of her evenings studying with Theodore."

Draco was laughing softly under his breath, perhaps already envisioning the wretched way that Theodore would react if he ever learned about their planned subterfuge.

"Would that _really_ be such a bad thing?" Astoria demanded almost pleadingly, more convinced than ever that her plan held some merit. _Clearly_ Anthony and Kitty enjoyed each other's company.

"It'll _never_ work," insisted Draco scornfully, still undone by malicious laughter. "Nott is a lost cause if ever there _was_ one."

"He is not," insisted Astoria confidently. "As you'll soon see."

"It doesn't _count_ if you do all the work for him," sneered Draco sharply.

"How much work am I really doing, though?" Astoria quirked, smirking irrepressibly. "All I did was bait the hook. I can't _make_ Anthony leave his girlfriend any more than I can _make_ Anthony's soon-to-be ex like Theodore."

"Ug! Yes you can, you're sorcerous like that!" cried Tracey scornfully. "Plausible deniability of the highest order!"

"Something you should think about before you let any _more_ people in on the plot," Astoria reminded her with a laugh. "I didn't invite Anthony here— _you_ did. See if I don't tell Theodore that if he catches wind of us because Draco couldn't resist gossiping."

"Astoria!" squealed Tracey in mock horror. "You wouldn't!"

0o0

Sometime soon after, Luc found an old backgammon board and it became the most popular diversion in the room, helped along by the firewhiskey that lived near it.

Making amendments so that more people than two people could play at once, each side was represented by a team rather than an individual player. Pansy quickly volunteered to play on Draco's team and, because there were only two chairs, she tipped herself straight onto the edge of his lap and proceeded to make a terrible bungle of her chips every time it was her turn to play.

Feeling that it was time to leave, Astoria waited for Tracey to become busy with Blaise. Then she sought out Kitty to wish her a happy birthday and beg off for the evening, making up some haphazard excuse about needing to be home very early in the morning to greet her aunt when she returned from France.

Luc was near the doorway on her way out. Astoria popped open her parasol and smiled at him.

"I'm leaving," she admitted. "Come and use my floo, if you like." She hesitated and then added, "Blaise and Draco both know which house is mine."

The sun was no longer directly overhead as Astoria scaled the hill. Late afternoon sunshine glimmered on the lake in the far distance behind her. Her stroll home was pleasant, however—the first really good weather of the year had arrived and turned the air into bathwater. Astoria's only uncertainty was whether or not she ought to have stayed and suffered through Kitty's party for a little longer. She had probably got out while the getting was good, but there was no one to even eat dinner with at her aunt's house and she was not sure which was worse: boredom or discomfort.

The moment she came into her yard, however, she began to catch snatches of conversation coming from the terrace. Startled, she did not bother going in through front door and cut directly along the lawn instead.

To her joyful surprise, the snippets of talk did not belong to Belladonna _or_ burglars.

"Theo!" she called happily, slipping out of her shoes to walk across the grass with her bare feet.

Theo looked up from his seat at Belladonna's patio table and waved at her. Beside him, Millicent Bulstrode blinked dolefully.

"I forgot you had that birthday party today or I would have come later," he called as Astoria scaled the stone steps to the terrace. "Where's your aunt?"

"Who knows?" Astoria sighed. She slung herself into a seat and dropped her shoes and parasol onto the table nosily. "She's been gone for days. Hello, Millicent."

Millicent had only ever been to Astoria's house once before, and on that occasion it had been to warn her that Theodore's father had had a meltdown. Curiously, she looked just as uncomfortable now as she had then.

"You're holding down the fort?" Theodore asked. "If you'd told me you were alone I would have come by yesterday. Dad finally kicked out the ministry lot, so things have quieted down."

"No matter," said Astoria carelessly, hiding her former desperation behind a grin. "I'd offer you something to eat but Bonky's been impossible to find since my aunt left. You'd _almost_ think that he wanted me to starve."

Theodore laughed and Millicent seemed to relax slightly. The afternoon was fading into a peaceful dusk and Astoria was just on the verge of properly enjoying herself for the first time in days when more voices sounded in the front yard.

"Who is that?" asked Theodore nervously, craning his head to catch a glimpse of the gravel walk. "Is your aunt back?"

"Oh," jolted Astoria guiltily, remembering the offer she had made Luc. She had been enjoying herself so much that she had almost forgotten that she had extended the use of her hearth before leaving the party. Before she could explain any of this, however, Luc and Draco appeared around the side of the house and the sight of Draco's white-blonde head caused a surge of something triumphant to undulate in the pit of her stomach. She had been sure of Luc, but _not_ of Draco and the sight of him filled her with a strange warmth.

Theodore shot Astoria a confused and very hostile look. Millicent stiffened in her chair.

"Katherine didn't want anyone who had been drinking to use her floo," explained Astoria, feeling the need to provide an excuse. "I'm sure they won't stay long."

"Nott," drawled Draco smugly, casually jumping the low stone wall instead taking the trouble of using the stairs. He spared a lazy half glance at Millicent but went no further, knowing Astoria too well to pick on her guests while she was watching.

"You took your parasol!" laughed Luc, coming up the stairs. "Someone _needs_ to tell that MacDougal girl that the Victorian era ended. Cassandra's girly enough and even _she_ was complaining."

Astoria laughed, marveling at what an odd pair Draco and Luc made. There was something liberating about the absence of Maudlin, who always took great care that Astoria should not have fun with any of his friends without him.

"Where does your aunt keep her liquor?" asked Luc, clearly feeling no immediate desire to depart. "I've seen too many frilly centerpieces. _Save_ me."

"It's in the living room," said Draco, answering for Astoria before she could even open her mouth. "I'll go."

Theodore swiveled about in his seat indignantly to watch Draco enter the house.

"Have I met you before?" asked Luc absently, rounding on Theodore, hardly able to miss his click of annoyance.

"Time for me to get home," announced Millicent, standing up and moving toward the door with surprising dignity. "It was nice seeing you, Astoria. Are you coming, Theodore?"

Draco returned with the drinks: he slid one across the table toward Luc, put another next to Astoria's outstretched fingers and claimed the seat that Millicent had just abandoned. He made no move to offer anything to Theodore or to apologize for leaving him out.

"No," said Theodore stiffly, frowning at the drink Draco had left by Astoria's hand. "I think I'll hang around."

Astoria diverted herself from the awkwardness of the moment by tapping her ring against her glass, noticing as she did so that Draco had once again remembered not to pour her any of the wicked tasting scotch that he seemed to favor. Whatever he had made for her was iced, clear and decidedly civil-looking.

Almost certain that Theodore was going to snap grouchilly, he surprised Astoria by propping one leg against the table and doing his best to look relaxed.

"What happened to Blaise?" Astoria asked, watching moths flutter against the darkening sky.

"He _stayed_ ," scoffed Luc disbelievingly. "I suppose he'll use the floo there… he keeps his countenance awfully well when he's been drinking, doesn't he?"

"If he doesn't, Cassandra will tear him to pieces in the middle of all of that lace," Draco snorted. His sharp eyes suddenly shifted toward Astoria. "But I suppose he _might_ have Goldstein to keep him company. I thought _he_ seemed keen to stay on, as well."

Astoria froze with her drink at her lips, fighting the urge to glance fearfully at Theodore. Draco held her gaze for a long moment before slouching down in his seat until his knee was barely an inch away from her leg and continued. "Whose idea was it to start calling Katherine MacDougal 'Kitty', anyway? The girl looks so much like a poodle that whoever it was deserves a medal for the irony."

"Cassandra," answered Astoria, feeling that Draco made a fair point, even if it was not a very nice one.

"You know, I think she hates Zabini even more than Alec," declared Luc, seeming oddly cheered by this.

"Cassandra _doesn't_ hate Alec," returned Astoria slyly. "I've sometimes wondered if she doesn't actually fancy about him a bit."

Draco made a weird face and let out a strangled laugh through his mouthful of scotch. The sound was so genuine and bizarrely graceless that Astoria found herself smirking at the side of his face across the table.

" _What_?" snapped Luc, appalled. "She does _not_!"

"I mean, she _says_ that she wants someone upstanding," Astoria went on, careful to remain teasing, "but Alec always treats her like the petulant little brat that she really is and I've begun to assume that it _does_ something for her."

Slightly red and absolutely delighted, Draco's eyes danced between Astoria and Luc.

" _Sure_ ," snapped Luc irritably. "Makes sense. _If_ she wants a bloke who knows the importance of keeping his cuffs un-buttered and his _salmon_ bloody pocket squares un-spoilt…"

"The Arsonist and the Perfectionist," Astoria quipped, miming the same flicking motion that Alec was famous for making with his lighter.

"Where did he even _get_ that thing?" demanded Draco at once, his face shining. "Do _you_ know?"

"The body of a gypsy he strangled for sport?" Astoria suggested, feeling this was just as likely as any other idea they could have produced.

Even Luc laughed and it suddenly occurred to Astoria how _very_ fun it was to gossip about Maudlin and Alec with people who actually _knew_ them, as she had almost never have the pleasure of doing so before.

"We should go inside," Astoria announced, shivering slightly. "It's cold."

"We _have_ been out here for hours," muttered Theodore gruffly.

"No one is _making_ you sit there and suffer, Nott," snapped Draco.

Astoria turned on the closest hall lamp, so fatigued by the last two nights of restlessness that she felt she could easily enjoy just about any conversation, even one that turned into a fight between Draco and Theodore. Luc had found the bar again and Astoria found _herself_ wondering what would happen if she simply fell asleep in one of the armchairs—or if anyone would even notice. Astoria sunk down onto the couch next to Draco and tucked her feet up under the hem of her dress.

Across from her, Theodore had opened the photo album she'd left on the ground the night before. Astoria watched tensely, but resisted the urge to snatch it away. Theo was too clever to show anyone else what he was looking at.

Luc continued to talk about Katherine's party, but Astoria had met her limit and she found herself staring sleepily at one of the brass buttons on Draco's jacket sleeve, trying to decide if had been sewn there ornamentally or if it could actually be put through a button hole. She had drunk a good deal more than a person who had not slept properly in days ought to, so reached out and began to absently fiddle with it.

Draco's hand went still around his glass but he made no move to stop her from playing with his cuff. A warm drowsiness was beginning to make Astoria's eyes feel heavy. She no longer knew what time it was.

With a sickening head bob, Astoria's snapped her head up, startled by the realization that she had sagged low against the cushions and that nobody had been talking for what felt like ages.

Luc had fallen asleep in his chair, his head lolling sideways against the plush velvet upholstery. Draco meanwhile had switched his glass into the other hand because Astoria had dragged his arm off of his lap toward her knees. He was loosely touching the hem of her dress, trying to understand the feel of the fabric with his thumb...

 _Wait, what?_ Astoria's eyes flashed to his face almost apologetically only to find that he was silently half-watching her already with a soft, very funny look on his face.

Astoria struggled upright and her eyes darted toward Theodore, relieved beyond measure to find that he was still flipping through the photo album and had not noticed Astoria's bizarre game of unconscious finger-footsie.

A clock chimed; Astoria counted eleven bells. Theodore yawned and closed the album. "I guess we should get going," said Theodore pointedly. "I want to grab a book I lent Astoria, you can use the floo first Malfoy."

"I'm _not_ going to _chug_ fifty year old scotch," sniffed Draco indignantly, indicating his still half full glass with narrowed eyes. "Run along and grab all the books you like. See if I care."

"Which book did you want?" asked Astoria tiredly, trying to recall if she had actually borrowed anything from Theodore lately or if this was simply his way of making sure that Malfoy left first.

Theo blinked but did not miss more than half of a beat. "It's a biography of Ug the Unclean."

Theodore had lent Astoria that particular book in first year and he hadn't asked for it back even once in the many years that it had been in her possession. "Okay, come on. I think it's on a shelf."

Theodore stood up to follow her. To his immense displeasure, so did Draco. Astoria knew that Theodore wanted her to tell Malfoy to leave, but for the first time ever, after spending the week in a state of lonely ennui, Draco's weird habit of lingering suited Astoria down to the ground. She had no real desire to force him through the living room fireplace. Furthermore, if she was being honest with herself, Astoria knew that Draco was better at indulging irrational whims than Theodore was (when he had a mind to, at least) and she had an idea that Draco would be far less likely to yell at her if he ended up being the last man standing.

Astoria's bedroom light had been on for two days, making it very easy for her to follow the glow of her bedside table up the attic stairs.

"I _still_ don't understand why you don't just sleep in a _normal_ room," scoffed Draco, sitting on the edge of her bed. He nudged a magazine she had been reading out from under the blanket so that he could have a look at it. Astoria glanced past him toward her rumpled pillows, realizing that Bonky had not made her bed in two days. Apparently, with no mistress to force him to take care of her, Bonky was content to let Astoria wallow about messy and unfed...

"Because no one else comes up here," said Astoria absently, searching her shelf. "And there's a fireplace in the storeroom across the hall. I want to leave, my aunt is never the wiser."

"Oh yeah," Draco squinted, evidently contemplating this.

"Here, Theo," said Astoria, locating the long-forgotten and slightly dusty book. "Is this the one?"

Theodore took the biography from her and leaned back against her desk, trying to send some sort of message with his eyes. When Astoria continued to stare at him pleasantly, he gave up the fight.

"Okay," he said, "I'll show you where the floo powder is Malfoy. Astoria looks exhausted."

Loving Theodore for this unnecessary but very kindly-meant ridiculousness, Astoria watched as he crossed the hall and waited for Malfoy to stand up. Theo summoned a small flame but did not toss any powder into the fire until Malfoy shot him a nasty look, drained his drink and moved toward the doorway himself. Theodore was watching her over his shoulder as he disappeared into the flames.

"Has he _always_ done that?" demanded Draco unkindly, still lingering by her doorway. "I can't tell."

"Done what?" asked Astoria warily, still on her knees by the bookshelf.

"Done circles around you like a weird wolf," Draco sneered. "He was practically _herding_ me."

"I didn't notice," Astoria lied, trying not to smirk as she stood up.

"Seriously. All he does is hound you," Draco insisted, inching back into her room again, visibly irritated. "He probably just _tells_ you that he likes Patil so that he can get away with hanging out in your bedroom all the time."

Astoria had just spent two days alone, unable to lure Theodore over for so much as an hour, all the while unsure if the emergency address her aunt had given her would even work. The idea of Draco accusing anyone of 'hounding' her was enough to actually make her feel cross. Picking her pillow up, Astoria climbed onto her bed and pushed the magazine to the floor. "Theodore doesn't plot like that."

"Yes he _does_ ," Draco sneered, narrowing his eyes at her, plainly wondering if she could actually be so stupid. "You think he tolerates Bulstrode and _reads_ for fun because he's such a _good guy?_ You're his _only_ friend, you know. Didn't you ever stop to ask yourself _why_?"

"No," said Astoria coldly, hating this very unjust portrayal of Theodore's character.

She closed her eyes and winced as one of her window shutters creaked mutinously. Letting out a very deep breath, Astoria sagged down onto her comforter and muttered: "Will you sleep with me?"

If Draco had been lingering around and looking for an excuse to stay, he had evidently not expected her to outright offer one. He immediately stopped fidgeting with the corner of her stationary set and turned to look at her sharply.

"If you want," he answered at last, his eyes giving away his poorly concealed eagerness even if his voice was stiff.

"Would your parents notice?" murmured Astoria.

"No," Draco admitted. Astoria could practically feel his gaze burning a hole in the side of her face. "Mother went to bed at six because she's traveling tomorrow. I could tell my father that I stayed with Zabini."

"Stay then," said Astoria quietly.

Draco did not seem to need any more inducement. Astoria dragged her head off the pillow to turn off the light. Feeling through the darkness, she caught hold of Draco's shirt and tugged him toward her. His breathing was slightly uneven but very reassuring; the sound of another human and not a phantom tree scratching at the window. Astoria rolled over and when his hand found her waist to pull her toward him, she did not wriggle away.

 _This would make Theodore furious_ , thought Astoria, a little ashamed of the lies she knew that she would undoubtedly tell the next day. _Draco went home right after you. No I don't think he was trying to make you leave first._ But as long as Draco didn't kiss her, Astoria could still cling to the idea that she had just gone to bed and that was enough to ease her conscience.

Between the smell of Draco's shirt and the delicious idea of safety even in darkness, Astoria was so content that she could have almost purred. The sound of the wind outside became quieter and within moments, she could hear the tiny plunks of a light right starting to pepper the garden two stories below. Below the blankets, Draco wriggled so that that one of her legs rested on top of his and she felt the ghost of his breath against her hair.

"You're the warmest thing in the world," sighed Astoria groggily, thinking of the cold night she had spent on the couch.

Draco stirred and made a weird instinctual sound that got caught in his throat, very well pleased with this.

"Where is your aunt, anyway?" he mumbled.

"I don't know," said Astoria, almost too exhausted to speak.

"She's _ridiculous_ ," Draco sneered and it was a moment or two before Astoria realized that he was talking about Belladonna and the fact that she had abandoned Astoria without reason. Torn between wanting to agree and play the martyr and wanting to pinch Draco's relaxed arm for talking about her family, she settled for pushing her face down below her pillow.

"I don't know how she lives here alone," Astoria murmured, compromising somewhere in between. "I've been sleeping with the lights on for two days."

"What good does _that_ do?" scoffed Draco doubtfully—a boy who had never been desperate enough to understand the protective power of a well lit space.

The drizzle outside slowly became a proper, unexpected rain. Astoria's fingers curled against her sheets. Draco pushed his other arm under her pillow and the nook Astoria had wedged herself into became perfect.

"I'd kill anything that tried to hurt you," he mumbled almost fiercely, the words just barely intelligible through her hair.

Astoria's pulse thundered in her ears as she wondered exactly how drunk Draco must actually be. The idea of him saying the same sentence sober struck her as so unlikely that it was almost funny. Sleep threatened to overwhelm her, however, so Astoria finally gave up the fight against it.

0o0

* * *

But Astoria, one might ask, wouldn't the nicer bedrooms downstairs have fireplaces actually _in_ them? Yes, they probably would but my thinking is that Belladonna (and most people in general) would be very unlikely to connect their guest bedrooms (or the bedroom of their fifteen year old niece) to the floo network. Because SCANDAL. So really, Astoria's attic storeroom floo-connection is actually something of a loophole that most people her age do not have the luxury of.

Anyway, sorry this took so long to get posted. My computer is still broken (I'm working on it) which made typing this up a twee bit problematic. I'll try to update sooner this week to make up for it.

As always, reviews are the ultimate treat!


	51. Ferns and Ruins Pt 1

Chapter Fifty One

Ferns and Ruins Part One

* * *

0o0

 _Thump. Clunk. Screech._

Astoria awoke the next morning to a symphony of confusing sounds. Although the noise itself seemed to be reaching her ears from a very great distance, Astoria soon found herself annoyed and unable to sleep through it in peace.

A soft and very grey light was beginning to grow outside her windows, tapered by the low cloud cover and every few minutes, a chilly draft of atmospherically-charged air seemed to caress her face like a whisper. It was going to rain again, Astoria decided, smelling the storm on the wind.

 _Thump. Mumble._

Startled by the sound of actual voices now, Astoria finally fought her way up onto her hands, trying to free her ears from her blankets and the muffling pressure of Draco's right arm. At some point during the night they must have shifted because Draco was now lying on his back and Astoria appeared to have been using his body as a pillow.

Beneath her, Draco's eyelids twitched as he tensed uncomfortably. " _Ow_ ," he grumbled.

Realizing that she had been leaning all of her weight onto the softest part of his torso, Astoria quickly moved her hand. Painfully conscious of the fact that there might be intruders in her house at the very same moment that she happened to be straddling Lucius Malfoy's son, Astoria fought to get her bearings, feeling hung-over and disoriented.

"Oh," Astoria muttered groggily, recognizing one of the voices as Belladonna's before collapsing again. "My aunt is home."

"Are you serious?" asked Draco, who did not seem to find this prospect nearly as comforting as Astoria did. He shifted cautiously, coming out of his sleepy daze. "Is she going to call you for breakfast?"

Astoria snorted, trying to recall if she had ever seen Belladonna eat a meal before noon. Unless brunch cocktails counted (and she had a feeling that they didn't), Astoria decided she had not and the idea of Belladonna marching up to her bedroom to wake her for eggs _now_ was so foreign that it was very nearly confusing.

" _No_ ," Astoria mumbled stupidly, her thoughts thick with sleep. "My aunt doesn't _eat.._."

"She doesn't _eat_?" drawled Draco doubtfully, delighted by the suggestion that Belladonna somehow survived without sustenance like a mythological monster.

Astoria scoffed and rolled away from him, disliking movement almost as much as conversation.

"Forget it," Draco muttered almost regretfully, curling his arm upward in an attempt to reclaim her.

Astoria pulled her hair away from her face and dropped her head against his chest again, keeping one ear free in order to listen for any sounds on the attic stairs. The rhythm of Draco's breathing was strangely soothing but awareness of his vulnerable proximity to her aunt was slowly starting to make Astoria feel sweaty and warm.

The more she thought about it, now that Belladonna was home, it really would be better for Draco to go. In any case, wasn't he supposed to be traveling to Italy? Surely Lucius had noticed by now that his son had not returned the night before and would soon begin making inquiries if Draco did not reappear soon with a probable excuse?

Before she could organize this idea and bring herself to say anything however, the softly mortal thumping of Draco's pulse had already started to pull her back toward a heavy slumber.

"Who is she talking to, anyway?" asked Malfoy nosily, perhaps more aware of the threat that Belladonna posed than Astoria had given him credit for.

"Bonky," Astoria mumbled, hazarding a guess. Her thoughts flashed somewhat nervously to the mess that she had left on both the terrace and around the living room bar…

Astoria swore and shot upright again.

"Ing!" grunted Malfoy in annoyance, flinching as Astoria put her weight on his stomach a second time. " _What_?"

"I left Luc downstairs!" Astoria gasped, scrambling to get out of bed, knocking a book onto the floor with her knee as she did so.

"Oh yeah," said Malfoy, absorbing this slowly.

Astoria pushed her rumpled skirt down, too panicked to be embarrassed by the fact that Draco had just gotten a mighty eyeful of knickers behind her. The rope of pearls she had been wearing at the party was now murderously tangled around her neck, as heavy and tight as a hangman's noose. Astoria yanked her jewelry off, trying to pat her hair back down into submission.

"Flee while you still can," she shot over her shoulder, bending to glance at her face in her vanity mirror before physically recoiling from the sight that met her there. "I'm sure my aunt will be on the _warpath_."

" _Why_?" Draco sneered, struggling to his feet, his hand moving to straighten his tie distractedly. "It serves her right, if you ask _me_. I've lost a tie clip…"

" _I'll_ find it," said Astoria tensely, stumbling over the book she had kicked off her bed in her desperation to push Draco out onto the landing.

When they reached the stairwell, Draco pivoted, awkwardly attempting to lean against the banister. "Father thinks we'll be back from Italy by—" Astoria nearly ran straight into him in her haste to reach the front hall.

"Shh!" she hissed, clapping a hand over his mouth, all too aware of the mutinous acoustics in her stairway.

Astoria could tell at once that Draco was offended, so she dropped her hand to brush invisible lint off his shirt, hoping to soften the brutality of his dismissal before pointing toward the third floor storeroom and gesturing mutely.

A door clunked open downstairs so loudly that it could just as easily have been ten feet away.

"Kill all the gypsies!" cried Belladonna's strangely delighted voice, somehow managing to carry all the way up to the third floor on a cloud of perverse excitement.

Mouthing expletives at this unprecedented and very embarrassing outburst, Astoria ducked past Draco, whose face had lit up with gleeful wonder, and continued down the stairs. When she heard the floo flicker and then die again behind her, she counted Draco's escape as a minor blessing. _One down_ , she counted, almost shamefully relived to have been spared the weird doorstep moment on the landing. _One to go._

Yanking hard on her dress so that seam was no longer running sloppily down the front of her body, Astoria came to a skittering halt in the foyer, trying to decide what to do next. Belladonna's voice was coming from the direction of the dining room now, which meant that Astoria was being afforded a choice, but it was one that she would have to make quickly.

Sensing that she was bartering precious time for this moment of logic, Astoria ruled out checking the living room. After all, perhaps it was wiser to proceed straight to her aunt on the off chance that a real gypsy's life actually hung in the balance?

At that moment, the door to the dining room flew open, robbing Astoria of her chance to strike first. Belladonna backed out into the hall, clutching two glasses of sherry from the sideboard and laughing merrily. Following close behind was not Luc at all, but Professor Vector.

Astoria paused, blinking in astonishment at this turn of events.

"Astoria!" cried Vector in surprise, spotting her first and having the good grace to look a little abashed. It was clear from the tone of his voice that he had not expected Astoria to be home, or at very least, that Belladonna had not troubled herself to warn him that she _might_ be.

Alerted to Astoria's presence, Belladonna shot a wayward glance over her shoulder at her niece. Her head snapped around again, taking in the deplorable state of Astoria's hair. "Good _lord_ ," she sneered, "was the _house_ sacked as well?"

Astoria crossed her arms over her chest, too disoriented to bother with a front of false dignity. "What time is it?" she croaked.

" _Noon_ ," answered Belladonna, all cold displeasure, entirely too worldly to miss the signs of a person so obviously hung-over and guilty when they were standing right beneath her nose.

"Professor Vector!" said Astoria, switching to an offensive tactic immediately. "How _nice_ to see you outside of school. Do the staff _always_ travel over holidays?"

"Oh, yes!" agreed Vector in a rush, eager to please. Astoria missed the rest of what he said because she was busy craning her head to have a better look into the living room.

The chair that Luc had fallen asleep in was rumpled but mercifully empty. Luc, it seemed, had woken up and left before her aunt had returned to the house.

"You know where the sitting room is, Septimus," said Belladonna curtly, cutting Vector off before he became tiresome, her sharp eyes retracing the path of Astoria's interest toward the living room.

"And _you_ ," added Belladonna, stopping at the bottom of the stairs to shoot Astoria a low, warning aside, "have a bath."

"Sorry," scoffed Astoria defensively. "You woke _me_ , after all."

"For heaven's _sake_ , run a brush through your hair!" Belladonna hissed quietly. "I'll deal with you later."

Realizing that Belladonna had not meant this as a suggestion and that she was being dismissed, Astoria turned on her heel and beat a hasty path back to her bedroom. Her sense of relief began to mix with annoyance the minute the door shut behind her with a snap.

 _What_ could Belladonna possibly be doing with Professor Vector? Astoria pondered the matter savagely, unzipping and wriggling out of her dress. Had the woman finally lost her mind? Surely she didn't think it was worth her while to waste time preying on a man who lived off of a teacher's salary? Or was there another, cleverer trick in it?

Astoria kicked her dress toward the hamper, wincing as her toes made painful contact with the same book that she had knocked off her bedspread earlier. Dropping to her knees in order to feel about under the dust ruffle—for she had kicked it quite hard—Astoria managed to retrieve the tatty leather volume.

Angling the cover toward the windows, Astoria discovered that it was the biography of Ug the Unclean that Theodore had been so keen to make a fuss over the night before. Unsure if Theodore would bother to come back for it or not, Astoria slid it onto her desk with a snort.

The door to the bathroom seemed to yawn expectantly behind her, waiting for her touch to draw forth steam and scent. Instead of turning toward it, however, Astoria remained where she was, staring hard at the cover of Theo's book.

The memory of Theodore standing in her fireplace and glancing over his shoulder at her before the floo spun him away was still terribly sharp in Astoria's mind. The funny part was, Astoria could have _sworn_ that the very book she was touching had been tucked safely under one of Theo's elbows before he had disappeared.

Astoria drummed her fingers against the binding warily, not liking where this idea led. Was it possible that Astoria could have somehow acquired _two_ copies of an obscure sixteenth century goblin biography without ever realizing it? Her stomach had already begun to curdle before her thoughts could entirely catch up with her.

 _No_ , she decided. There had only been one copy and she was looking at it now. Astoria closed her eyes, allowing a mortifying realization to wash over her: _Theodore could have brought the book back while she was still sleeping_.

After all, she had slept in so late that there was really no way of knowing for sure and Theodore was a natural morning person, who had probably never truly wanted his stupid book back in the first place. Waiting for the sun to come up and charging back over for a grumpy apology over coffee was _exactly_ the sort of troublesome thing that Theo might do, but he never would have stayed if he had arrived to find Astoria half obscured by Draco's sleeping limbs.

Slowly, almost robotically, Astoria went through the motions of drawing a bath, trying and failing to convince herself that she was being silly. She scrubbed her skin thoroughly, insulated from the chilly, wet day by a cloud of artificial humidity. By the time the bathwater had become cold and her hair had started to dry off against her neck, she was still no closer to feeling any better about things.

Why was it that every time Astoria went anywhere, something bad always seemed to happen? Astoria ought to have just endured her aunt's absence alone without complicating things by inviting Draco into the mix. Surely there was a learning curve for this sort of thing? Perhaps it was time that Astoria accepted the fact that she _belonged_ in isolation, as it was much harder to be misleading or disappointing to anyone that way.

At long last, Astoria pulled the plug and toweled off, no longer sure if she was being perceptive or if she was simply the victim of her own over-active imagination. The best test she could think of was to wait until evening and use that as her barometer. If Theodore still had not presented himself to complain before dinner, Astoria would know that something was wrong and she would devise her strategy from there.

Clean and carefully dressed, Astoria descended the stairs for the second time that morning to find Belladonna already waiting for her in the sitting room. Curlicues of steam rose from a pot of tea on the tray in front of her and nothing but the melodious tap-tapping of rain against the glass punctuated the cozy silence.

"Well," said Belladonna, giving forth the strange and orderly impression that she had actually been _expecting_ Astoria, and it was only by chance that she had happened to arrive on time, "you _do_ clean up well, I'll give you that." Belladonna poured Astoria a cup of tea, balanced it on a delicate saucer and extended her arm. "A bit lean, I suppose, but you wear clothing very elegantly."

Ignoring this double sided compliment, Astoria took her tea and promptly put it down, feeling thick-handed and liable to break things.

"You've had company, I presume?" Belladonna went on, lacking some of her usual, disarming fire. "I've told you before how I feel about letting your little friends into the scotch. Have you any idea what a bottle of the fifty year private stock _costs_?"

"None whatsoever," Astoria sighed, testing the end of a chalky biscuit. The cookie was so dry that Astoria actually raised a hand to her mouth in order to prevent herself from spitting it out again.

Seeing her discomfort, Belladonna's eyelashes fluttered witheringly. Instead of barking, she simply reached across the table and gave Astoria's teacup a sharp twist, positioning the handle between her hands. Astoria dropped her biscuit and took the hint, hating the mouthfuls of hot tea only slightly less than she had imagined.

Dimly, between sips, it began to occur to Astoria that her aunt really ought to be angrier than she was. Astoria had come downstairs entirely prepared to face the fury of a thousand scorching suns but all Belladonna seemed to be channeling was the humidity of a late summer's day.

"How was your trip?" Astoria ventured politely, resisting the urge to rub her neck.

"Stimulating," sniffed Belladonna scornfully.

Thinking only of Professor Vector, Astoria shot her aunt a disgusted sneer over the top of her teacup.

"Don't be crass," snapped Belladonna coldly. "Septimus has done our family a great favor. You are as much in his debt as I am."

"If you told me why you were with him in the first place, I might manage to see it that way!" Astoria shot back.

"Enough," commanded Belladonna sharply, rubbing her temples with her hands. "I'm _exhausted_. I don't know why you always feel the need to be so _shrill_ —you inherited _that_ charming little trait from your father, I'm afraid."

"He _is_ my father after all," Astoria insisted nastily. "You'll be lucky if shrillness was all I inherited!"

" _Truly_ ," agreed Belladonna distractedly. "It certainly _was_ a windy day when the apple fell from that tree, wasn't it?"

Belladonna continued to gaze warily out of the windows, avoiding Astoria's eyes. Why was she being this way? Astoria _wasn't_ even shrill and she had a feeling that Belladonna had only said so in order to change the subject. Obvious evasiveness did not suit her aunt at all. When Belladonna wanted a secret kept, she _kept_ it. Astoria had never known her to beat around the bush over tea and stale biscuits.

 _She wants to tell you,_ Astoria realized in a moment of rare clarity, observing her aunt through the eyes of an impartial stranger, _she wants to confess something, but she's afraid._

Suddenly violently disinterested in her aunt's secret, Astoria shrank back into her chair, terrified of what Belladonna might say if she continued to provoke her.

"I'm sorry I was such a fright this morning," Astoria mumbled, willingly submissive once more. "I _thought_ you would be alone."

"How flattering," Belladonna snorted.

0o0

Astoria continued to hold out hope that she might see Theodore again until long after dinner was over. Afraid that she would miss his visit if she allowed herself to nap, Astoria intentionally resisted the urge to crawl into bed. Instead, she lay on top of her blankets for hours, brooding through a headache. All the while, rain continued to fall down the side of the house and collect in the bushes below, lending her psyche a morose atmosphere in which to contemplate.

Bonky had finally called off his domestic strike while Astoria had been at tea. Her bed was made for the first time all week, but the stiff, uniform feel of fresh sheets against her skin seemed slightly foreign and un-soothing to her. Twice she caught herself pressing her nose into her pillows, subconsciously trying to see if she could detect something of the smell of Draco's hair still lingering there, and twice she was disappointed.

Draco had escaped the rain by leaving the country that morning, Astoria mused silently, picturing him on a hot, wind-swept seacoast hundreds of miles away. This visual seemed to reduce Draco's presence to nothing more than a mirage belonging to a foreign land and, as a result, Astoria's annoyance with the whole situation only grew.

On some level, Astoria could not help but feel that Theodore was being ridiculous. It was not his place to decide who Astoria was allowed to be friends with _or_ when she was allowed to see them. On top of this, the more Astoria thought about things, the more the way that Theodore had left the book on her bed began to seem like a passive-aggressive attack on her dignity.

If Theodore had wanted to say something so badly, surely it would have been more mature for him to have just come over and actually _said_ it? Instead, he was acting like a petulant child. The longer he stayed away, the more Theodore's actions began to seem incredibly overwrought and stupid. Before long, Astoria found herself vowing to ignore _him_ until he finally managed to bring the subject up himself like a reasonable human being.

Soon, however, dinner was over. Alone in her room once again, Astoria's determination began to erode. At length, she resolved to write to him.

 _Theo,_

 _You forgot your book. My aunt is back. Come over tomorrow._

 _Astoria_

Feeling that this was a very reasonable note and that she had taken the highroad by not calling him out for his book-placing antics, Astoria sent the letter off into the damp night and climbed into her starchy bed to wait until morning.

0o0

"You have post, darling," Belladonna informed her the next afternoon, eyeing Astoria absently over the top of a tall pile of bills.

"Where is it?" asked Astoria eagerly, putting down her magazine. Belladonna shuffled through the mail until she produced a stiff, gold envelope. It appeared to have already been slit open with a letter knife by someone in a foul mood.

Astoria, who been thinking only of Theodore, felt her hopes plummet at the sight of the gilded letter.

"Did you _read_ this?" Astoria demanded indignantly, snatching the envelope out of Belladonna's hands and feeling the torn edge at the top with her thumb.

"It was an accident, darling," Belladonna murmured, turning her attention back toward the long column of numbers in front of her, pausing only to flick beads across her abacus with sharp, hostile twitches. "My milliner in London is an _absolute_ vampire…" Belladonna muttered under her breath. "I may have to find another—and in _spring_ , too!"

"Well, great tragedy though that may be, this was addressed to _me_ ," Astoria insisted, holding her letter aloft. Astoria knew that she was being a little unreasonable, but transferring her disappointment onto this minor offense did wonders for her inner frustration.

Belladonna looked up, a trifle offended by the accusation. "Yes, darling, but as it's from Mrs. Rowle, I suppose you'll understand why I assumed it was meant for me."

"Mrs. Rowle?" Astoria frowned, glancing at the return address. Try as she might, Astoria could think of no reason for Cassandra's grandmother to send her a note on expensive, formal stationary.

"Mhmm, your initiation ceremony is this week," Belladonna returned absently, flicking two red beads before discarding her crooked milliner's bill with a prod of her wand.

"Excuse me?" laughed Astoria, assuming this was the start of a very promising and twisted joke.

"For the Sisters of the Eastern Star," supplied Belladonna with a tiny smirk, raising her eyebrows heavenward to protest Astoria's stupidity. "You'll be receiving your full membership pin on Thursday."

"What?" Astoria hiccupped, the foolish smile sliding right off of her face.

Astoria dedicated very little time to thinking about the inner tiers of her sorority. With the exception of Cassandra's promise that none of the girls would be given full membership until they each had done her a personal favor, the threat of being promoted had never even occurred to her. "You're _not_ serious?"

"Of course I am," sighed Belladonna, sensing the potential for a fight.

"I don't see why I should have to go," Astoria tried, yanking the card out of its pre-opened flap, determined to find some kind of fault with it before Belladonna could insist that she attend. "Haven't I been a member for a year already?"

"A _junior_ member," Belladonna snorted. "Of course you'll go. All of your new friends will be there getting _their_ pins—to say nothing of the community of women you'll be insulting if you stay home. Half of the charities in the country are run by Sisters who were once junior members themselves. Surely you are too smart to blacklist yourself?"

"There isn't even a dress code!" Astoria declared with a triumphant flourish of the invitation, hoping that this detail might work against her aunt's sense of vanity and perhaps provoke her into a state of reasonable disdain. "I'm sure I can just have the pin _mailed_."

"For heaven's sake! It's a party, Astoria, not a punishment!" Belladonna snapped, causing her mountain of bills and receipts to shake. "To see your face, you'd think I was sending you off to be chased by a mob carrying torches and pitchforks!"

Wishing that she had waited to read her mail until after Belladonna had satisfied all of her seasonal debt collectors, Astoria slumped down in her seat, utterly dejected. Not only was Theodore ignoring her, but she had just netted an unwanted evening in the company of Cassandra's family.

"Junior members wear a traditional sorority uniform to the pin ceremony," continued Belladonna waspishly, perhaps deliberately determined to prove that things could, in fact, be worse. " _That_ is why you were not provided with a dress code."

"Now I _know_ you're kidding," Astoria sneered, trying to imagine what sort of ceremonial costume the sisterhood might be partial to and responding with a shiver.

Belladonna opened her silver cigarette case with a flick, not even bothering to dignify Astoria's statement with a response.

0o0

The next morning, Astoria awoke to find that not only had Theodore _still_ not written to her, but a suspiciously garment-shaped package had been delivered into the hall while she had been sleeping. Deciding that things had gone far enough and it was time to get her affairs in order, Astoria found a pair of rain boots, determined to set off into the damp morning without returning until Theodore had been forced to see reason.

Giving the new dress box a wide berth, Astoria eased down the hall toward the kitchen, glancing over her shoulder fearfully until the package was no longer in view. It was bad enough for Theodore to carry on mulishly ignoring her letters, Astoria mused, but at least something could be _done_ about that. The promise of _required_ bad taste, like an invisible enemy, was another matter entirely...

Theodore's living room was dark and shrouded in dust when Astoria stepped out of the fireplace. Brushing soot off of her shoulders, she headed straight for the backdoor, hoping to find Theodore in the sunken garden and forgo the pleasure of startling Mr. Nott, who had been denied his Augurey hunting license and was assuredly in a very bad mood.

To Astoria's relief, she was soon able to make out Theodore's crumpled form leaning against the shattered old well. Her relief quickly turned to anxiety, however. Nervous in a way that she had not expected, Astoria forced herself to continue walking past the untamed rhododendrons and into view.

"Afternoon," she muttered, throwing a dull shadow over the book in Theodore's lap.

Theodore jumped, utterly surprised. Upon recognizing her, a black anger flashed across his face.

"What are you doing out here? I've _written_ to you," Astoria plowed on desperately, trying to ignore her sudden clamminess. "What's your problem, anyway? You could have least _told_ me that you didn't want to see me!"

"That would defeat the purpose of ignoring you, wouldn't it?" Theo sneered, taking an irritable looking drag off of a hand-rolled cigarette before exhaling rudely back in her direction. "Didn't want to _disturb_ you, after all."

"What kind of rubbish is that?" Astoria snapped. "I wrote to _you_ in the first place, you stubborn _ass_!"

For a long moment, neither of them said a word, preferring to fill the moment with hateful silence.

" _Stop_ it, Theodore!" Astoria finally snarled. "You're acting like a bigger brat than Malfoy!"

" _Yeah_?" sneered Theodore, provoked at last by the mention of Draco's name. "Are you going to try to shag me _too_ , now?"

Before she even knew what she was doing, Astoria scooped up a soft patch of moss from the top of the rock wall and chucked it at him. The ball of spongey plant and porous root hit his shoulder with an explosion of pebbly soil that showered the pages of his book and fell down the back of his shirt.

Reminded irresistibly of the time she had thrown a balled up pamphlet at Draco after the Second Task, Astoria took a full step backward, trying to get a hold of herself. Unlike the time she had thrown a balled up pamphlet at Draco after the Second Task, however, Theodore did not seem inclined take her assault sitting down. Swearing wildly, Theodore sprung to his feet and Astoria found herself half-distracted by the funny notion that _this_ was quite literally what 'hopping mad' must look like.

"Isn't this just _brilliant_!" Theodore hollered, trying and failing to shake dirt out of his sleeve while Astoria looked on in wonder. "Come over to my house and _hit_ me, why don't you! That'll make a great story for your snotty boyfriend to enjoy later! I'm sure he'll reenact the whole thing again and again, if you ask him to! Anything for his _precious_ Astoria—"

"What are you on about, Theodore?" Astoria moaned, her anger officially spent now that she had thrown something. "Draco's _not_ my boyfriend! He fell asleep after Kitty's party. Nothing happened! You're just being a paranoid twit!"

Theo blinked very fast and almost gratefully as he processed this information but he did not seem to be done ranting. "You sure looked _cozy_ enough to me!" he roared.

"Don't be stupid, I was unconscious!" Astoria countered, trying very hard not to blush, knowing she would be condemning herself if she did.

Theodore's fury had flat-lined but the look on his face was still exceedingly ugly. " _This_ time," he sneered. "What about the _next_ time. That cowardly little wank has been knocking on your door for _years_! You're always saying how much you _don't_ like him! Why bother?"

"I _don't_ —" Astoria stuttered.

" _Spare_ me!" snapped Theodore, bending over to retrieve his dirt-smudged novel, unamused in the extreme.

"This is stupid!" Astoria exhaled. "I just fell asleep! Luc stayed over in the living room, too. You were the _only_ one who left."

"Because _I_ didn't suck down a bottle of liquor!" Theodore snapped. "Why didn't you just kick him out if you really didn't want him there?"

"Because I was exhausted!" Astoria pressed, searching for the kink in Theodore's armor. "You _know_ how pushy Malfoy can be. It was easier to just let him sleep it off…"

Astoria turned toward the distant woods, staring blindly at the palate of budding green branches and dripping firs there, suddenly understanding the unlikableness of what she was about to do next.

She was _lying_ and she knew it. Astoria had outright asked Draco to stay, but admitting this to Theo would be friendship suicide. Instead, Astoria could feel herself reacting to Theodore's body language, calculating her words very carefully to reflect exactly what it was that she knew he wanted to hear, because this was also conveniently what he would _believe_.

Draco _was_ pushy and he probably _had_ lingered in order to have a better shot at Astoria alone. This gave her a certain measure of power now, because it was entirely feasible that Astoria could have simply tired of dealing with him and fallen asleep by accident. With a little wriggling and a dash of righteous indignation, Theodore would allow her to dig her way out of this mess, and that was exactly what Astoria wanted more than anything in the world. If throwing Draco under the bus was what it took to talk Theo off the ledge, Astoria was going to do it, no matter how unfair it was.

"He's _nothing_ but noise!" Theodore choked before Astoria could continue, finally admitting defeat. "All he does is talk and _talk_ —he's not even _good_ at anything, Astoria! He's just a self-righteous _smudge_ of vindictive selfishness. He can't even manage to join a quidditch team without his father's help! You're so much smarter than that!"

"I know," Astoria agreed feebly, feeling curiously sick to her stomach. "I am. You're totally blowing this out of proportion."

"He gets _everything_ handed to him because he's _rich_ and because his family feels like the world belongs to them!" Theodore continued, disgust rendering his face unrecognizable. "They're _bad_ people! I know it and _you_ know it! My dad might be half-mad, but he's got _nothing_ on old Lucius Malfoy! Don't turn into another Malfoy goon—another _Pansy_!"

"That's _never_ going to happen!" Astoria yelled, wishing the world would just open up and swallow her whole. Whether he had meant to or not, Theodore had just shamed Astoria more thoroughly than she could even bear. "We've been over this before," Astoria continued, angry with herself. "It was _nothing_ , Theodore. You're being ridiculous!"

Theodore grimaced, scuffing the ground with his shoe. " _Nothing_ happened?" he mumbled, avoiding eye contact as studiously as Astoria was.

"Of course not," Astoria scoffed, by now so committed to this answer that nothing short of torture could have forced her to claim otherwise. It was even technically true, after all. Nothing _had_ happened. Deep down, however, even Astoria knew that it was misleading to act as though Theodore's suspicious were so wild and off the mark.

"I suppose you thought it was terribly funny to leave me that book?" she continued, trying to outrun her cringing conscience.

"I knew that was _stupid_ the minute I did it," Theodore mumbled, pinching the bridge of his nose. "I'm sorry—honestly. I was just surprised. Do you have any idea how _annoying_ it was to spend the night attempting to forget watching Draco's pathetic attempt to chase you around only to find him in your bed the next morning?"

Astoria distracted herself by brushing dirt off Theo's face, wishing he would stop talking because his apologies were only making her feel worse.

"You can make it up to me," said Astoria with forced brightness, almost shaking with relief after such a near brush with calamity. "I even have an idea how!"

"What's that?" asked Theodore hopefully, endeavoring to lighten the mood.

"I have a sorority dinner on Thursday," Astoria announced with a smirk. "Come with me! You can keep me sane!"

Theodore stopped laughing at once, growing more and more horrified as Astoria laid out the detail of a celebration with Cassandra's grandparents. It took hours of wheedling and reminding him of the fact that he had been ignoring her for days before Astoria managed to work her magic and win him over.

Rubbing grass off the palms of his hands, Theodore got up to walk her back to the house when it was time for her to leave, appearing to be just as relived by the end of their cold war as Astoria felt.

0o0

Thursday afternoon found Astoria standing in front of her bedroom mirror, wondering what she had ever done to deserve such a stroke of cosmic punishment.

The damp lid of rain clouds that had been hovering in the sky for a week had finally unsealed. Outside, fresh, radiant sunshine was busy trying to bake the sodden law. Inside, Astoria was wearing her Sister's of the Eastern Star uniform and wondering if the storm hadn't just pulled up its roots and claimed a new residency inside her soul.

The dress was as bad as she had imagined it would be: perhaps even worse, for it was twice as Victorian, starting near her neck and descending all the way to her feet in loose, white layers of cotton. No matter how much fabric Astoria attempted to pull or tuck, she was still the walking embodiment of a character on her way to play lawn tennis in an Edith Wharton novel.

A knock on the bedroom door startled Astoria out of her miserable chain of thoughts.

"Come in!" Astoria called out, unable to tear her eyes off of the reflection of her lacy collar. Tracey entered behind her, yanking on her own full-length sleeves and looking haggard.

"Dear God!" Tracey cried, recoiling in horror at the sight of Astoria. "It even looks bad on _you!_ "

"Yeah," Astoria sighed by way of a greeting, trying out a different pair of earrings. "Come try to accessorize it. I'm not having any luck."

"Is your father here yet?" asked Tracey, moving closer to examine Astoria's open jewelry box.

"No," Astoria admitted, thinking the same thing that she had thought when her aunt had first announced that George would be taking her to the party in the first place. "He's _always_ late, so we'll probably be the last to arrive."

"That's good!" cried Tracey hopefully, holding up a gold pin for examination. "Everyone will have already seen the dresses on Flora and Pansy—Ack!" Tracey broke off with a jump, catching a glimpse of herself in the mirror. "Can't you throw a _sheet_ over that thing?"

Astoria smiled ruefully and stood up, sweeping back the side of Tracey's bangs and fastening them with a sparkling clip.

"Is Theo still coming?" asked Tracey, crouching so low in front of Astoria's vanity that the only part of her body still reflected in the mirror was her hair.

"He's meeting us there," said Astoria, tossing down her make-up brush in defeat.

"Ha!" chirped Tracey, lighting up with wicked delight. "He's going to have to wait about with _Kitty_ while your dad takes his merry time getting here, won't he? Can't your aunt drop us off?"

"No," groaned Astoria, praying that Theodore would not attempt to claw his way out of the Rowle's guest bathroom window before they had even reached the party. "She _says_ that she's in London for the day."

"Who can blame her?" Tracey scoffed. "If _I_ could get away with running away, I would too. Although, the party is at the Rowle's townhouse, you know, which is technically _in_ London. She could have at least taken us there."

When George finally did arrive, he was running his typical forty five minutes late. Painfully aware of the fact that she and Tracey were now almost an hour tardy to an event that was partially being held in their honor, Astoria was the first into the floo.

She come out on the other side into a tall, narrow room with black and white checkered floors. Although it was still early, all of the wall sconces had been lit to keep the darkness at bay, and their tiny flames flickered against the crimson silk wallpaper like bewitched orbs. Tinkling wafts of string music coming from the second floor seemed to be competing with the muffled sounds of street traffic.

"I'll take your cloaks, girls," said George, perhaps feeling a little badly about the delay he had caused. "Run along and find your friends!"

This was much easier said than done however, as no one remained near the entrance to greet them or tell them where to go. All around, various options seemed to present themselves. On the left, a staircase of dark oak led to an upstairs living room. Nearer at hand, and partially obscured by several potted ferns of Jurassic proportions, was the entrance to a small library

"If anyone important asks," Astoria whispered to Tracey, pulling her toward the library, "don't say that we were late. Tell them that we've been _here_ the whole time."

" _Astoria_!" choked Theodore the second they had crossed the threshold into the library, leaping frantically from behind a giant potted fern. "Where have you _been_?"

"Right here!" cried Tracey rather stupidly, thinking of what Astoria had said but panicking under pressure.

"We were late," Astoria admitted, shooting Tracey a sharp look.

"Late!?" Theo croaked, clawing at the front of his shirt to loosen his tie. "I've been making small talk with _Flora_! You didn't tell me that Padma Patil was going to be here! I haven't been able to move more than six inches—"

"Stop it, Theo!" Astoria begged, trying to snatch his scrabbling fingers away from the Windsor knot at his throat before anyone saw them. "Why are you so _sweaty_?"

"Ugh!" Theodore let out a strangled moan and tried to dive behind the fern again.

"Get a hold of yourself!" Astoria hissed, holding him upright. Her task suddenly became surprisingly easy when Theodore stiffened into his best imitation an ice sculpture and stopped wriggling.

"Excuse me, Astoria?" asked Padma Patil politely. "Can I get by you? You're in front of the punch bowl."

Theodore cast Astoria a look of such desperate terror that she immediately began shuffling, maneuvering herself so that Theodore was obliged to follow her.

"Look," said Tracey, peering across the library. "Blaise is over there with the Malfoys and the Parkinsons. It looks like they're getting ready to go upstairs! Come on, I want to run interception!"

A sick swoop of nervousness that had nothing to do with Blaise turned a fast somersault in Astoria's stomach.

"Why didn't tell me that _she_ was going to be here!" Theodore panted the moment Padma had tottered back over to Anthony. "I'm in a dress shirt! I look like a tit!"

"You've never looked better in your whole life!" Astoria observed, bristling with annoyance. "This is the first time I've seen you in public without _holes_ in your sleeves! Can't you stop _yanking_ on me?"

"The worst people are here!" he groaned twitchily. Theodore had finally let go of Astoria's arms but his eyes continued to dart left and right at random. "That drunken hooligan, Royden Pike from the Spirit Division is already drooling! He tried to get MacLaggen to sing a carol with him about an hour ago because _he_ thinks it's _Christmas_!"

"What's with Malfoy?" scoffed Tracey. "Did you do something to him, Theo? He's _really_ staring at us."

"Probably because you two are dressed up like May Welland and the Countess Olesnki!" Theodore hissed snidely. "Are you off to perform Community Theater after this? What _are_ you wearing?"

"They're uniforms!" Astoria snapped, already self-conscious enough. " _All_ of the Sisters have to wear them."

"No they don't!" Theodore sneered. "Flora's not even in _white_!"

Astoria stiffened, taking stock of the room at long last. Flora and Pansy were both near an oak paneled book shelf behind the Malfoys, sans flowing Victorian skirts, and looking positively merry in pastel gowns.

"Son of a _bitch_!" Tracey swore loudly, causing a little old lady near the drinks to turn and tut at them disapprovingly.

Astoria's ability to be properly angry was checked when she spotted Anthony Goldstein. He was standing next to Padma Patil, looking pompous as ever, but a long glance proved that he was gesturing very quietly toward Kitty over his girlfriend's shoulder. Suddenly realizing that it was very probable that Anthony and Kitty where having an affair of some kind and that it was _her_ fault for trying to set them up in the first place, Astoria stiffened.

Not only was everyone involved in the same room, Astoria reflected feverishly, but they were _also_ in the presence of Kitty's instigating Easter Star friends. Astoria's motive for meddling with Padma's love life had only been to help Theodore, but she had _never, ever_ intended him to actually find out about it. Especially not now, so soon after they had reconciled from one fight, and while Astoria was still skating on thin ice.

This high possibility of an explosive or dramatic revelation was enough to make Astoria's vision go wobbly. She began to grope about for Tracey's shoulder, feeling faint.

"Ok, seriously, _what_?" Tracey whispered, hardly paying any attention to Astoria's fingers. "He's _barely_ even blinking. Take a peek—it's worth it to see Pansy giggle girlishly at everything Mr. Malfoy says!"

"Who is looking at us?" Astoria choked, beginning to sound a bit like Theodore himself.

"Malfoy!" Tracey hissed back.

"Which one?" Astoria faltered, mentally plotting ways to keep Theodore from both Kitty and Anthony at all costs.

"Well it _was_ just Draco," said Tracey, "but _both_ of them are looking now. Are the dresses really _that_ bad?"

"I have. To get out. Of this room," said Astoria, her voice surprisingly calm for a person who was close to having a panic attack. "Tracey, bathroom. Now."

"What?" demanded Theodore shrilly. "Don't leave me here alone!"

"We'll be _back_ ," Astoria ground out through her teeth, whipping Tracey toward the door.

"Have you _lost_ your mind?" Tracey squealed, nearly tripping over herself when they reached the black and white checkered foyer. "We just arrived! I thought you didn't want people to think we were late!"

"What happened at Kitty's party after I left?" Astoria demanded, wasting no time.

"We played backgammon," shot Tracey incredulously. "What _are_ you on about?"

"Did Anthony stay over?" Astoria pressed. "He and Kitty seemed like they were hitting it off."

"He left around midnight!" Tracey cackled. "You should have seen them together! Kitty had her _tongue_ in his ear—"

Astoria stomped her foot and gesticulated back through the library doors.

"Oh!" Tracey moaned, horror finally creeping into her features. "Padma is here and so is Theodore!"

"I _had_ actually figured that out already!" Astoria snapped shrilly. "What do we do?"

"We're going to have to keep them apart," said Tracey, her eyes widening almost comically.

"Obviously!" Astoria yelled, catching herself just in time to smile serenely at Cormac Maclaggen's mother, who was ascending the staircase sideways because her skirt was so tight. "You need to stick to Theodore. Make sure he doesn't hear anything from the other girls. I'll take Padma."

Astoria face twisted into a grimace again mid-thought when, out of the corner of her eye, she spotted her father dashing up the stairs after Mrs. Maclaggen.

"That's not fair! Why do _you_ get Padma?" Tracey demanded hotly. " _She's_ not sweating all over everything, is she?"

"Just do it!" Astoria snapped. "It's nothing to do with sweat! I know Padma's sister, so it'll look less conspicuous if _I'm_ following her. Do you _want_ Theodore to find out?"

"Great. I'll just spend the evening be-dewed by Theodore's nervous musk, then, shall I?" Tracey complained. "I'm sure Blaise will _love_ that! It's not like Theodore wouldn't forgive us eventually, anyway!"

But Astoria was not sure of this, especially after the fight she and Theodore had had only days before. It had been their first real row since their second month of knowing each other (ironically both involving Draco), and she was not willing to take any chances.

" _Please_ , Tracey!" Astoria begged. "Just keep him busy!"

Astoria slipped back into the library by herself, giving the potted plants a very wide berth in case either of them should happen to contain Theodore. Looking about, she soon spotted Padma and Anthony in the halo of a nearby lamp, but before Astoria could reach them, Cassandra swooped in like a hawk.

"Astoria!" she cried with a repressed smirk, taking in the several ghastly yards of fabric attached to her waist. "Good Lord, I see you didn't get my note!"

"Safe bet says no," returned Astoria unkindly.

"How unfortunate," Cassandra cooed. "This party is traditionally a brunch, as I'm sure you must know. Unfortunately, my grandmother is so busy with her charities this time of year that I decided to organize it in the afternoon. I _did_ send out notes changing the dress code to evening wear."

"The owl must have gotten lost," Astoria responded crisply, hating the look of vindictive amusement on Cassandra's face, particularly because she was making absolutely no effort to hide it. _Sent out notes,_ Astoria repeated in her head bitterly. _Yes_ , Astoria was sure she _had_ , coincidentally to everyone except herself and Tracey.

"Your pin is upstairs," Cassandra went on lazily, savoring her triumph. "This way."

Fearful of leaving Padma and Kitty unattended but seeing no way to get out of collecting her pin, Astoria followed Cassandra through the hall and up the stairs, hoping to be as quick as possible. It was hard work to avoid tripping over her long skirt in the curiously warm, red of the light of the stairway, but Cassandra did not let up. By the time they reached the second floor, Astoria hands smelled faintly of furniture polish from clutching the wooden banister so hard.

There were even more people in the living room upstairs than there had been in the library. The crimson and silk motif of the hall and front room continued here, stretched out in the form of oriental carpeting and dangling in the thick folds of painfully expensive looking drapes. At the end of the room, a fire was burning in a hearth that was nearly twice as long as Astoria's body. Here and there, trays of appetizers and drinks winked at her in the candlelight, supported by the heads of small, limber house elves as they whizzed by.

Cassandra made quick work of cutting through a cluster of brandy sipping men in evening jackets before coming to a halt next to a heavy oak table. A display of old bronze shields bearing the name of every Sister of the Eastern Star past and present had been erected here. Next to it sat four shiny new membership pins.

Cassandra plucked up one of these and tossed to Astoria carelessly. "Here," she said. "I'm sure your aunt has a better one for you, but put _that_ on for now so that you'll be wearing a badge in the photos."

It was a long standing tradition that Sisters were permitted to wear their relative's antique pins—the older, the more prestigious—right back to the pin bearing the year that the first woman in the family had joined the sorority. In this sense, it was slightly bad form to wear a badge that was not at least three generations old, making Cassandra's duty to give Astoria her own membership pin something of a useless formality.

"Or better yet, save it for Davis when she loses hers," Cassandra continued cruelly. "Lord knows _she_ doesn't have any spares!"

Astoria stuck the pin to the front of her dress, hating Cassandra so much that she was afraid to speak.

0o0

* * *

Alright, three things:

1\. Sorry for the long wait. My broken MacBook is my only excuse. I finally did order a new computer and I got in the mail today, so no more borrowing.

2\. I'm sorry this became a two part chapter. Generally speaking, my idea of an ideal post is a self-contained mini story of a length that matches the other chapters around it. (I tend to dislike when stories have some chapters that are 500 words and others that are 5000. I like regularity in presentation.) My average posts tend to fall somewhere between 8000 and 9000 words (which is already running pretty long for those who don't read quickly or happen to have an abundance of time to spend on this site). This chapter was nearing something like 14,000 when I made the decision to do some reorganizing, so I hope you'll understand.

3\. There is good news! I wrote pretty much the whole event chapter before splitting it into two chunks, so the second half is pretty much done and should be up within the next twenty four hours. (By the way, it also contains almost all of Draco's dialogue, if you were wondering where he's been hiding.) Hopefully that helps make up for the delay since the last update! [EDIT] I somehow managed to destroy half of the second part of this chapter while I was transferring files from my friend's computer onto my new one. Sorry for the wait after a 24 hour promise. It'll be up soon!

Reviews are always a wonderful, rewarding treat!


	52. Ferns and Ruins Pt 2

Chapter Fifty Two

Ferns and Ruins Part Two

* * *

0o0

"Astoria!" bellowed an excited voice. "Is that you?"

Astoria jumped and nearly pricked her finger on the pin attached to her sorority badge.

Marcus Flint, dressed in a very expensive-looking suit complete with a dangling gold watch fob, was beaming at her from the other side of the table. In his left hand he appeared to be holding a tumbler of something brown and alcoholic. Under the other, Astoria was a little alarmed to note that Slytherin's old seeker, Terrence Higgs was currently stuffed into a one-armed choke-hold.

"Marcus!" Astoria trilled, delighted by the sight of his long absent face almost as much as the decidedly well-tailored suit it was attached to. "You look like a grown up! Professional quidditch agrees with you!"

Astoria's eyes flicked past Flint and onto Blaise and Draco, who were both leaning against the hearth behind Marcus, watching Terrence struggle under the weight of Flint's aggressive embrace rather warily.

Pansy was picking at an appetizer tray but she looked up the moment Marcus cried Astoria's name. With a pang of self-consciousness, Astoria could not help but notice that Pansy was looking rather nicer than she usually did, perhaps because the basis for comparison was so very altered. After all, Pansy had taken the precaution of wearing a dress that actually fit _her_ body and which did not boast a skirt that could literally be used for smuggling

"Yeah?" replied Marcus, tweaking his lapels rather cockily. "You like it? It's designer, of course. What happened to _you_ , anyway?" he continued with a laugh, finally getting a long, hard look at her. "Did you lose a bet?"

"My dress, you mean?" asked Astoria brightly, sensing an opportunity to slander Cassandra at long last. "Cassandra sent it to me. Of course, she also promised me that everyone else would be wearing the same thing…"

Blaise let out a soft chuckle and his glittering eyes teased over Astoria's collar with new-found appreciation.

"Here," said Flint, snagging a glass of champagne off a serving tray as it bobbed along, supported by the head of a very nimble house elf, "have a drink with me! It's been too long—I haven't even had a chance to brag about my new girlfriend, yet!"

"Oh, well—" Astoria stalled, thinking of the many excuses she had for wanting to keep her wits about her.

"Your father won't notice," scoffed Flint carelessly. "He's downstairs being chased about in circles by the Lady MacLaggen."

If there had been a magic phrase guaranteed to entice her, this would have been it. Struck stupid by the idea of her father enjoying a publicly adulterous game of hide and seek with Cormac's mother on the first floor and painfully conscious of the fact that she was dressed down by Pansy for the first time in her life, Astoria took the glass from Marcus's hand.

"Anyway," Flint continued, "about my girlfriend, Priscilla. It was her birthday last weekend and I'm looking for another woman's opinion. I gave her my present over dinner at the restaurant. I pulled out the package, right in front of her father, bold as can be. Mind, her father is Ulick Gamp the third, so he's practically Ministry _royalty_ —"

"Priscilla?" Astoria teased delightedly, cheerfully enticed by this. "Do you call her 'Prissy'?"

"You know, I _don't_ ," mused Flint with a flat little smirk, "which is ironic really, considering she almost always _is.._."

"Ministry _royalty_?" challenged Draco snidely, determined to be unimpressed. "There hasn't been a Gamp in office since the sixteenth century."

"The first Minister of Magic was a Gamp, Malfoy, as you well know," countered Flint, clearly enjoying his recent successes both on the field and off if his smile was anything to go by. " _Anyway_ , I hand Priscilla the gift, but it's wrapped up so tight that she can't get into it with her frail little hands—tell me, why is it that the ones with the biggest bank accounts always turn out so _feeble_?"

Draco, to whom this comment had most likely been aimed, straightened up out of his slouch, his eyes darting irresistibly toward Astoria almost self-consciously.

"Don't be ridiculous, Marcus!" protested Pansy shrilly. "What about Draco! He's not fragile and he's rich enough!"

Feeling that this was a bit on the nose even for Pansy, Astoria looked away, torn between annoyance and actual embarrassment. Unwanted, Draco's last words before she had fallen asleep after Kitty's party seemed to rise up inside her like a seizure hallucination: _I'd kill anything that tried to hurt you_.

Pansy had started to stroke Draco's arm, doing her best to reassure him of his manly dignity. Astoria had to think fast in order to find a place to fix her eyes where they would not betray her conflicting emotions.

"Anyway, Priscilla said something like ' _daddy, could you please, please ask the waiter for a pair of clippers?_ '" continued Flint, replicating his girlfriend's voice in a snobbish, girly falsetto. "You'll never guess what happened next!"

"You and Mr. Gamp both stood up?" suggested Astoria coyly, rather amused by the thought.

Flint sucked in a large breath to sustain his rapid speech but it came ripping back out again in the form of surprised laughter.

"Because she said 'daddy'?" Flint howled, his eyes positively glittering. "Greengrass, you wretched little strumpet! Hurry up and make yourself legal, why don't you! What was I even saying—?"

"You were trying to give your girlfriend jewelry, so she asked her father for a _weapon,_ " supplied Draco coldly, trying to shrug away from Pansy.

Astoria's own father was sitting on a nearby couch, eating caviar on a toast point and chatting with Bertie Higgs. Entirely ignorant of the fact that his daughter was standing only feet away, Astoria distracted herself by watching him, pleased that he was no longer making a spectacle of himself.

The absence of Mrs. MacLaggen's bottle-blonde head seemed like a very good sign and Astoria was happily inclined to keep her peace and enjoy their distant arrangement when Mafalda Hopkirk dropped down onto the cushions beside him, causing Astoria's anxiety to spike all over again.

It was one thing to monitor Kitty, Anthony and Padma's love triangle, as Astoria felt somewhat responsible for its creation in the first place. It was entirely another to have to worry that her father was embroiled in one of his own between a married woman and a top ranking Ministry official.

Astoria bit her lip and tried not to stare. It was as though she was destined to meet with disaster no matter where she turned. There was literally nowhere left to go; every room had been claimed, leaving Astoria to scrabble about like a frantic animal, scuttling between the Rowle's fern-spotted chambers in an attempt to keep up with each fresh, successive horror.

Astoria raised the glass of champagne she was holding in her sweaty hand and downed it, trying not to think of the damage that the stress of her Easter holidays must surely be doing to her liver.

When the elf with the tray of wine came by again, Astoria gave up on propriety and snatched another glass, wanting something to nervously clutch between her fingers.

 _It's just one evening_ , Astoria reminded herself, trying to calm her rapid heartbeat _. No more than five hours._

"I should find Theodore," interrupted Astoria, her thoughts simplified by logical reasoning and the wine she was steadily consuming with the speed of a sailor on leave. Theodore would be her priority, Astoria decided. He was the person that she cared the most about. In any case, he would _have_ to do, because her father had already disappeared into the crowd again, taking Mafalda with him.

The crimson hallway had the muffled quality of a crawl space after so much chatter. Gathering the hem of dress in order to tackle the stairs without falling, Astoria stopped short when she heard yet another person call out to her.

"Darling! Darling, come here!"

It was George and Astoria could not help but notice that he had not come from the direction of the living room, where the rest of the guests were, but from the darkened hallway beyond.

"What is it?" asked Astoria, raising a hand to her cheeks. They were almost uncomfortably warm after such fretful consumption of wine next to a lit fireplace and she found herself wishing for a glass of ice.

"I'm popping out for a bit, Muffin," murmured George, looking slightly hurried. "There's no reason to worry. I'll be back to collect you and your friends later."

"What?" demanded Astoria, frowning her displeasure. _"Why?"_

Behind her father, Astoria caught a glimpse of Mafalda Hopkirk lingering in the shadows. She was standing with her hands clasped in front of her, obviously waiting for George. Although Astoria could tell that Mafalda was trying desperately to appear poised and inconspicuous, the look of faint embarrassment on her face gave away her guilt more than anything else could have. This was no business call and they _all_ knew it.

"I need to stop by my office," explained George, going through all the motions of presenting a plausible excuse. "I won't bore you with the details. Stay and enjoy yourself! I'm sure I'll be back by eleven—"

George had already begun to turn when Astoria called out after him spitefully: "What should I tell Mrs. MacLaggen if she comes searching for you? That you've gone off with another woman and left her here?"

Astoria had never held her father accountable for his behavior before and the result was more awkward than she had anticipated. Instead of feeling clever and justified, Astoria found herself wincing regretfully, wishing she had just stayed silent.

To her surprise, instead of brushing off Astoria's thinly veiled accusation or even trying to deny it, George leaned back thoughtfully, balancing his weight on one leg.

"Well, you'll make my excuses, I'm sure," he declared at last, curiously insensible of the responsibility that he was putting on his daughter. "You're quite good with people. I'm sure you'll think of something and handle her tactfully, should the moment call for it."

"Father!" Astoria hissed. "I barely _know_ the woman—if you want to dump her, tell her _yourself_!"

"Now see here!" admonished George, dropping his voice so that Mafalda would not be able to hear them, his tone becoming much more harassed as he did so. "That MacLaggen woman hasn't got a lick of sense in that silly head of hers!"

Astoria's mouth had literally sagged with indignation but George was not finished.

"You aren't a child anymore! Surely you can understand that it'll be much better for her to hear it from you? She prefers other females, you know. Say whatever you like, she won't make a scene in front of my—Lucius!" George cut off sharply, glancing over Astoria's shoulder with a jolt.

"George," answered Mr. Malfoy smoothly, coming out of the living room. "Were you leaving? I had wanted a word with you."

"Oh, did you?" stuttered George, rallying quickly to disguise his surprise. "I'll be at my office signing papers until about eleven, but I shouldn't be any later than that. I'm sure I'll be able to find you before the hour becomes indecent!"

While Astoria felt that her father had perhaps answered a little too quickly, she did have to marvel at George's composure. He showed no outward signs of nervousness at this request.

In a move that reminded Astoria irresistibly of her aunt, Lucius consulted his pocket watch and raised an eyebrow, somehow managing to convey just how great his displeasure would be if George failed him without ever having to open his mouth.

"Eleven," repeated George, as much to Astoria as to Lucius. "I need to have my daughter home before midnight, anyway. We wouldn't want to leave her aunt crushed and nervous!"

"If _you_ say so," remarked Lucius smoothly, his eyes dancing with cold mirth. "If you ask me, all of the wine presses in Burgundy couldn't wring an ounce of sentiment out of that woman, but have it your way."

Realizing that the final gauntlet had been laid—she certainly couldn't continue to argue with her father about Mrs. MacLaggen in front of Mr. Malfoy—Astoria pivoted and continued down the stairs.

The moment she reached the foyer, it became apparent that something had already gone wrong. Flora and Tracey, an unlikely pair on the best of days, were both standing alone together near the bathroom door, muttering darkly back and forth over the fronds of a potted fern. Theodore, whom Tracey ought to have been guarding like a hawk, was nowhere to be seen. Most ominously of all however, was the sound of someone openly weeping in the lavatory.

The rapid clicking of Astoria's heels as she crossed the black and white checkered floor seemed to strike her own ears like the rhythmic ticking of a countdown.

"Tracey," Astoria hissed tensely, joining the small queue by the bathroom, "what's going on?"

Tracey jumped nervously, thrown by Astoria's abrupt reappearance.

"It's that silly Patil girl!" scoffed Flora at once. "Her boyfriend finally broke up with her in order to date Kitty, only _now_ she won't come out of the bathroom. Can you imagine? In _public_? Cassandra's livid because she's forcing all of her guests to go upstairs to pee. See if you can pry her loose, Astoria. I'm going to go find Pansy."

"I was only gone twenty minutes!" Astoria growled at Tracey, knocking on the bathroom door. "Where is Theo?"

"Go away!" cried Padma's tortured voice from within.

"I don't know," Tracey muttered apologetically. "I lost sight of him when Padma ran away crying."

"Find him!" Astoria hissed, knocking on the door a second time. "Go!"

Tracey did not need to be told twice. She took off after Flora like a cork out of bottle.

"Padma?" tried Astoria softly, unable to ward off the selfish fear that Padma might know about the hand Astoria had played to cause her current misery. After all, Padma was surely mortified—what was there to stop her from accusing Astoria at the top of her lungs, if she did knew that there was something to accuse her of? "Are you alright?"

"No!" choked Padma. "Leave me alone, I don't want to talk to anybody!"

Normally, Astoria would have done just that and taken pity on Padma without giving a second thought to Cassandra's displeasure. Considering the circumstances however, Astoria could not help but feel that allowing Padma to continue crying noisily would only continue to draw _attention_ , and she was wildly self-motivated to get Padma out of the bathroom and on her way home as soon as possible.

"Is this about Anthony?" asked Astoria, moving closer to the door.

"Who are you talking to?" demanded a drawling voice.

Astoria's head jerked up. It was Draco and, by a cruelly karmic twist of fate, he was not alone. Theodore appeared to have followed him down the stairs.

"I'm not leaving this room if he's out there with _her_!" Padma wailed.

"Astoria?" asked Theodore, sounding confused and uncomfortable. "I've been looking for you. What's going on? Is that _Padma_? Who is she talking about?"

For a long moment, it was as though Astoria had gone temporarily deaf and she could not think of a single thing to say for herself. Thankfully, there were really only two choices to choose from; Astoria could either come clean and stop her desperate dance, or she could lie shamelessly and hope that luck would be on her side.

"Anthony broke up with Padma," said Astoria tightly, trying to keep the details as close to their true form as possible. "Cassandra wants me to get Padma out of the bathroom, only she won't leave..."

"Well, too bad for Cassandra!" cried Theodore indignantly. "She can't drag a crying girl out of the loo!"

Draco's sharp eyes were on Astoria's face. Even as she watched, they slowly began to narrow as he put two and two together. With a terrible leap in her stomach, Astoria remembered the great show Tracey had made, bragging about their plans for Theodore at Kitty's party. If Draco had not realized what he had just walked in on, he very soon would.

"Guests need the toilets, Theo!" Astoria insisted, thoroughly ashamed of herself. "Padma will be happier at home, anyway."

"You can't be serious?" sneered Theodore, surprised and a little hurt by Astoria's easy dismissal of Padma's feelings. "Since when do you care about what Cassandra thinks? You _hate_ her. Why don't you make Goldstein come and apologize? That seems like a better plan, if you ask me!"

Astoria knew that he was right, but allowing Anthony the chance to explain himself in front of Theodore was a risk Astoria was _not_ willing to take.

"Anthony has an invitation to this party," Astoria stuttered, hating herself. "Padma was his _date_. Cassandra has every right—"

"What are you talking about!" burst Theodore, trying and failing to understand why Astoria would treat someone that he was so fond with such intentional neglect for, what to _him_ , must seem like very little reason.

"Why did they break up, anyway?" asked Malfoy, just a little too knowingly.

"Anthony cheated on her," Astoria snapped, prepared to curse Malfoy into oblivion if he tried to open his mouth and give her away.

"What?" demanded Theodore threateningly. "Astoria, go get Goldstein and make that _wank_ do whatever Padma needs to come out of there! You have to do it! It's the only descent thing to do!"

Astoria blinked stupidly, trying to find a way out of this tangled yarn.

"Like hell she does, Nott," drawled Draco, seeming to decide that he had heard about enough. " _Forget_ this."

"What are you _talking_ about, Malfoy?" snarled Theodore, taken aback and confused by Draco's interference.

"I'm going to go get Cassandra and have _her_ deal with it," Draco scoffed, twitching his shoulders up as of to express his disdain for Theodore's moral rage.

Astoria blinked pitifully, torn between self-loathing and the very real but cowardly desire to allow Malfoy to wash her hands of the problem before Theodore had heard enough to actually hate her.

"Shut up, Malfoy!" spat Theodore, disturbed by Astoria's continued speechlessness. "Are you seriously going to let _him_ do your dirty work, Astoria? Go in there and talk to Padma!"

But Padma had locked the door and they all knew it. Astoria looked on helplessly, entirely unsure of what to say or do that might put the scenario to rights and suddenly very afraid that by attempting to do anything, she would only make matters worse. After all, surely Theodore would be less angry with Astoria for making Padma go home without an apology than he would be if he knew that Astoria was the reason that Padma was crying in the first place?

"Fine," snapped Theodore, his voice thick with betrayal and disgust as he glared at Astoria. "Clean up her _mess_ , Malfoy. We all know how much you want to!"

"What's that supposed to mean?" sneered Draco sharply, a dull flush creeping across his face.

" _Please_!" snapped Theodore, seeming to feel that he had nothing left to lose because his tone was dripping with disdain. "We both know that you'd probably push Padma off the roof if Astoria asked you to!"

"Theo!" shot Astoria fearfully.

"Yeah? Shows what you know," sneered Draco twitchily, perhaps sensing that Theodore had the upper hand and seeking to attack where he was weakest as a result. "Why would anyone go out of their way for someone else's bawling pet-Ravenclaw half-blood? You think that Astoria _has_ to help you just because you follow her around complaining all day? Frankly, I'm surprised she didn't ditch _you_ years ago."

"She doesn't even like you, Malfoy, you moron!" hollered Theodore, his ears beginning to glow.

At this, Draco's face shot straight from pink to scarlet. Theodore had struck home and Astoria could tell that if she didn't do something very quickly, Draco was going to hit him.

"Stop it!" Astoria snapped, her legs shaking like jelly beneath her.

"I'm finding Tracey and I'm leaving," spat Theodore. " _Don't_ come over tomorrow, Astoria! I'm not going to be in the mood for it."

The only sounds that seemed to remain in his wake were the whoosh of blood in her ears and Padma's continued sniffling. Draco's expression, torn in a battle between triumph and shame, seemed to have rendered his features unreadable.

"Get Cassandra," Astoria breathed, pressing a hand against her stomach because it was aching terribly. " _Please_. Tell her to kick out Anthony. He was the one who made a scene by breaking up with his girlfriend in public. If she does it quietly, he'll go."

Draco studied her ruined face, trying to decide if she was dismissing him or begging him. In the end, he did not seem to be able to make any headway because blinked irritably and set off across the hall without a word.

Trance-like, Astoria moved toward the staircase, trying to understand how much damage had just been done and to whom. Perhaps, if she could find Tracey soon, Tracey might manage to calm Theodore down before he left?

The long living room upstairs was just as loud and clamorous as it had been before but Astoria passed through it in a world of her own, her ears as muffled as they would have been under ten feet of water.

She stopped when she reached the end of the bar. Leaning against one of the velvet curtains, Astoria snagged another glass of wine and peeked out at the London skyline outside. They were somewhere in Kensington if she had to guess, and not far from the park. Astoria could still make out the glow of towering industry in the near distance however; the tops of all the buildings hidden an artificial orange light that stained the base of the inky sky like woodsmoke.

"Astoria, sweetheart!" simpered Mrs. MacLaggen, reaching for a glass of wine on the platter that Astoria was standing next to. "You look positively glum!"

Astoria stared at Mrs. MacLaggen, trying to decide if she had actually needed a refill or if she had sought Astoria out on purpose.

"Have you seen your father?" continued Mrs. MacLaggen, dropping her voice nervously. " _He's_ always so charming, I'm sure he'd be able to cheer you right up!"

 _On purpose_ , Astoria decided, seeing through this rubbish ploy at once.

"He had to go in to the office," Astoria ventured lamely, hoping to end the conversation outright.

"To the office?" pressed Mrs. MacLaggen nosily. "I suppose he had business to resolve with people—or _someone_? Anyone in particular? That is to say, did you see who he left with?"

"Yeah," answered Astoria evasively, oddly hypnotized by Mrs. MacLaggen's clumpy mascara, which was dangling almost vulnerably around her heavily painted eyes. "I didn't recognize—them, er, the person he was with."

Astoria had caught herself just short of saying 'her' and she could tell that Mrs. MacLaggen had noticed.

"Oh?" quirked Mrs. MacLaggen, her voice working its way toward being slightly higher in pitch as she ran a finger across the lip of her glass. "A man or a woman?"

"A woman," Astoria admitted, feeling that this was not something that she could very well lie about now that she admitted to seeing her father leave.

"It's that _Mafalda_ , isn't it?" cried Mrs. MacLaggen, suddenly irrationally wounded and very shrill. "Were they alone?"

"Yes," answered Astoria, torn between pity and resentment for ever having been given the task of telling Mrs. MacLaggen in the first place.

" _So_ ," clipped Mrs. MacLaggen wetly but fiercely. "That's it, isn't it? He'd rather be with _her_ —"

Astoria's head swiveled left and right, mortified by the idea that Mrs. MacLaggen might actually cry. What was she doing? Didn't she realized that she had a husband somewhere nearby and that Astoria went to school with her son?

"I'm sorry!" squeaked Mrs. MacLaggen, putting her glass down in order to fan her face with both hands, looking very much like a forty year old Barbie. "I just—I can't believe this! And you! You poor thing! I was so hoping to get to know you!"

Astoria stared at her, utterly bewildered.

"You just seem like such a nice girl!" Mrs. MacLaggen wailed. "I know that my Cormac likes you! Our two families have always had such good times together! Now it's all _ruined_!"

Wondering if Mrs. MacLaggen had literally lost her mind, Astoria was too slow to move her glass of wine out of the way before Mrs. MacLaggen burst into sobs that racked her entire body. She fell onto her, wrapping Astoria up in a damp, desperate embrace.

"Shhh!" stuttered Astoria, trying to pat Mrs. MacLaggen on back without having to push any closer to her ample bosom, unable to think of anything but her father's body in the same position. "Everything is fine! I'm sure my father is just going over some paper work, or..."

"Oh, no he's not!" Mrs. MacLaggen yowled. "They never are! You'll learn, sweetheart! You'll learn how awful it is to be a woman!"

A few feet away, Bertie Higgs, who was very drunk and sitting on an ottoman alone, suddenly burst into tears as well. It seemed very unlikely that Bertie even knew what Cormac's mother was wailing about, but this detail did not appear to hinder him.

"Now, now Gertie!" he slurred, heaving himself to his feet in order to pet Mrs. MacLaggen's head. "Let it out! Let it _all_ out!"

By shuffling to the side, Astoria managed to wriggle her way to freedom. Mrs. MacLaggen teetered right into Bertie Higgs' willing arms and for a moment, Astoria could not bring herself to look away as they swayed and sobbed together, unaware that Astoria had even left; the wronged mistress and the hapless lush.

At last, afraid that Mrs. MacLaggen might try to pull her back toward them in order to complete their triangle once more, Astoria charged back across the room, sidestepping Emilie and Cassandra only to run headlong into Draco near the landing.

"What the _hell_?" demanded Malfoy, positively breathless with amusement at the bizarre spectacle that he must have only caught the very end of.

"Is Anthony gone?" Astoria responded, her voice cracking slightly.

"Yeah," said Draco, still sneering over her shoulder, "although by the looks of things, Cassandra should have chucked out Cormac's trampy mother with him. Was she _crying_?"

They had reached the hallway and although Astoria knew that this was no more than typical fare from Draco, she suddenly did not think she could stand another second of it.

"Of course she was!" Astoria snarled. Her chin was beginning to shake: the most embarrassing and obvious sign that _she_ was going to start weeping as well. Knowing that she had to get somewhere private and soon, Astoria began to search for a way out of the hall, her movements growing looser and more frantic as she went.

"What did you _say_ to her?" demanded Draco gleefully.

"Does it matter?" Astoria snapped. "It's pathetic either way—she's a grown woman surrounded by people!"

Astoria tried the handle of the upstairs bathroom and found it firmly stuck.

"Perfect!" Astoria choked, just barely conscious of the fact that she was rambling to prevent herself from crying. "God, even _Theodore_ is never going to talk to me again after tonight!"

"Yes he will," sneered Draco almost goadingly, trying to grab hold of Astoria's skirt in order to impede her progress down the hall in search of another restroom. " _Look_ —"

Astoria turned very slowly, afraid of what she would find.

Near the fireplace at the bottom of the stairs, Theodore was standing with his arm around Padma Patil. Padma's shoulders were still shaking softly but she was leaning into Theodore and she was no longer howling with agony.

Theodore himself was as pale and awkward as Nostradamus at dusk, but he was dutifully rubbing her back and he did not appear to be searching for a potted plant to dive behind. Displaying a miraculous ability to overcome his fear in the face of a real disaster, Theodore had done what Astoria could not; he had clearly stepped in and coaxed Padma out of the bathroom himself.

"That's the _last_ thing I would have guessed _,_ " sneered Malfoy, positively beside himself. "He's not going to be mad at you if your plan _works_ out in his favor."

Too overwhelmed to feel proper relief, not to mention slightly nettled by Draco's easy dismissal of her poor behavior, Astoria turned her eyes back toward the hall. An overwhelming amount of shame in the face of Theodore's goodness was crashing over her shoulders, causing something tight and oddly fluid to form in the back of her throat.

"Ria!" sung Tracey, bursting out of the living room at top speed, stopping to wrap an arm around Astoria's waist. "Did you hear? Cassandra got rid of Anth—" Tracey broke off to stare in wonder at Theodore and Padma's watery embrace. "No _way_!" she hissed.

"Yeah," drawled Draco, looking more than a little pleased with himself. "You're _welcome_ , by the way. If it weren't for me, Goldstein would still be yapping away in the library downstairs."

"You?" scoffed Tracey. "It was Astoria's idea. Your dad is looking for you, by the way. I saw him asking Pansy where you were just a minute ago."

"Oh," said Draco. He waited a long beat to maintain his dignity before stepping around Tracey, knowing better than to ignore a summons from his father for long.

"Keep it moving!" bellowed Marcus Flint abruptly, bursting out into the landing behind Tracey, followed closely by Blaise and Terrence Higgs. He immediately began to usher them down the hall. "Make it snappy! There's a balcony in the first guest bedroom on the right and I don't want Cassandra to stop us."

Wanting nothing more than a moment alone to collect herself, Astoria regretfully watched the still-locked bathroom door recede, swept away on the current of Marcus's whim.

"Where are we going?" demanded Tracey, tripping a little on her hem as they turned the corner onto a darker stretch of carpeting.

Marcus slowed down and tried first door they reached. It swung open to reveal a guest bedroom of the very old fashioned variety; shadowy, shuttered and currently not in use.

"Cassandra will have a fit if she catches us back here," said Blaise, his expression entirely at odds with this statement, as he appeared almost perfectly unconcerned by his own warning.

Marcus fiddled about in the dark until he managed to locate the cord on a thick set of drapes. "Everybody out," he commanded, holding the fabric back so that they could file outside onto a thin strip of balcony.

The night air was warmer than Astoria had expected, heated by the rapidly changing seasons and the tumultuous, electric smog of the city. Astoria leaned against the railing and breathed it all in with eager lungs, smelling asphalt and chimney smoke.

Next moment, a loud popping sound caused Astoria to jolt and cling to the railing in fright.

"Hah, Greengrass!" laughed Marcus, clutching a recently opened bottle of champagne. "Step back a bit, darling. I don't fancy having to charm the mess you'd make off of the sidewalk."

Annoyed, Astoria moved away from the edge, allowing the night air to work its magic on her, re-composing her face and steadying her chin. It was somehow much harder to remember the sound of Padma crying or the way Mrs. MacLaggen's makeup had become splotchy now that she was outside. Astoria focused the symphony of cars honking and backfiring in the distance, grateful for the distraction they created.

"What are we toasting to?" asked Terrence Higgs, who was the last to make his way through the curtains. "Wait, we didn't bring glasses."

"The bottle _is_ a glass, Higgs," scoffed Flint. "Don't you dare go back in there!"

"Let's toast to summer!" suggested Tracey, still high on the promise of Theodore and Padma's unlikely new friendship. If she was disturbed by the measures it had taken to get them there, Astoria could not tell by looking at her.

"A toast to me," decided Marcus, ignoring Tracey's reasonable request as he held the bottle aloft. "I'm handsome, employed and dating a Gamp, but mostly today is my birthday!"

Against her better nature, Astoria laughed at this, unconvinced but amused just the same.

"Here," said Flint, taking a swig and trying to pass the bottle down the line. This was made slightly more difficult by the way that Tracey and Blaise were leaning over the rails in order to getter a better—and therefore more perilous—view of the street. Their preoccupation was just as well, however, because Marcus was smirking deeply and he had eyes only for Astoria.

"You seem awfully pleased with yourself," remarked Astoria, trying to re-summon some sense of liveliness. She took a tentative sip from the champagne bottle, waiting to see if she would remember how.

"That's because I'm excited to have you alone!" said Flint, spreading his arms out along the railing. "You've certainly spent the year making yourself known, you wicked thing!"

"Are you talking about your grandmother?" Astoria scoffed.

"Lord no!" breathed Marcus, his eyes shining deviously. "I'm talking about _Ragnuk_. What on Earth compelled you?"

Astoria's eyes twitched back toward the rest of the group, immediately disliking the way that Blaise's head was angled toward them. Astoria smiled softly at Marcus, unwilling to dig into her recent adventures with goblins while there were so many people at hand. A pity too, because Flint's perspective was worth its weight in gold.

"Not to mention," Flint continued under his breath, "word on the street says Bagman's all paid up with Hodrod. A regular tidy plate on the table of organized crime. I wonder who could have scooped _him_ up at the last minute?"

"What are you two talking about?" asked Blaise, perhaps realizing that the jig was up because both Astoria and Marcus were staring at him.

"Sports," leered Marcus contentedly, savoring the pleasure of holding something over Blaise's head.

"Is that so?" asked Blaise dubiously, knowing that he was being left out and trying to decide if it annoyed him.

"It's nothing," Astoria ventured, passing the champagne to Terrence Higgs and hoping that Flint would take the hint.

"Both goblins have sponsors, you know," Marcus went on quickly, heedless of Astoria's discomfort. "Hodrod is practically funded by old man Rowle. I'm serious, he told me so himself less than an hour ago. He _also_ had a thing or two to say about who is funding Ragnuk—I have a feeling you'll never guess."

"I'm sure I won't," Astoria agreed.

"Apparently, Ragnuk told Hodrod that his big money comes from _within_ Hogwarts itself," said Flint, sucking on his teeth apprehensively, waiting for an outburst.

"What, you mean one of the teachers?" Astoria snorted. "I doubt it."

"Greengrass, I'm talking about _you_ ," clarified Flint, shaking his head at her foolishness. "A word to the wise and consider this fair warning: expect Ragnuk to play hard ball on the last task. I hope you haven't been cheating, because he'll use it against you."

"Wait," snapped Astoria, " _why_ would Ragnuk mention me to Hodrod? I thought they hated each other!"

"Because you're his financial security blanket," Flint snorted. "That's why. Without you, Ragnuk's not expecting to turn a profit. In fact, he's probably been betting the money that he thinks _you're_ going to owe him all over the country. If you pulled out now, you'd bankrupt him."

Astoria's thoughts flashed back to her last meeting with Ragnuk, recalling how finicky he had become about the exact terms of their business together. Still, Astoria had never once gotten the impression that the goblins were in any way dependent on the money that she and the twins were betting against them; quite the opposite in fact. From Astoria's pint of view, Ragnuk had consistently been just one trifling annoyance away from pushing her and the twins off a tower ever since the day they had met him.

Before Astoria could think of anything clever to say in return, Tracey accidentally dropped the bottle of champagne over the railing. It landed with a cringe-worthy smash on the street below several seconds later, sending everyone on the balcony into a curse-ridden frenzy as they scrambled for the cover of the drapery, trying to disappear before a neighbor or pedestrian could become irate.

They all blundered through the darkened guest bedroom together, knocking into one another as their eyes adjusted to the gloom.

"Davis, you moron," sighed Flint. "I'll never get another bottle out of that living room!"

This was probably just as well because the moment they reentered the dim stretch of hall, Astoria began to realize that, in her state of oscillating guilt and misery, she had probably already drunk a good deal more than she should. Her cheeks had been stinging since her father had announced that he was leaving and she was so tired that she was very nearly dizzy.

"Where have you lot been?" snapped Cassandra, narrowing her eyes as Marcus led the way back into the well-lit, guest friendly landing.

"Thought we'd take in the view," announced Flint, smirking in a way that seemed to suggest that he had been expecting this.

"Let me explain the rules of decency for you, Marcus," sneered Cassandra. "If the lights aren't on, stay _out_."

Astoria peeked over the banister, unconsciously searching for some sign of Theodore, but he and Padma were already gone.

"Cassandra!" boomed an imperious, female voice near the bottom of the stairs. Wincing, Astoria stood up on her tiptoes. To her immense surprise however, Cassandra did _not_ turn her own head, but recoiled away from the stairway instead as though she had been pinched.

A second later, Astoria understood why. Coming up the stairs was an unhappy, heavily built woman of about sixty. She was wearing a floor length black dress but it was the woman's _head_ that drew Astoria's notice. Every tendril of her graying hair had been swept up into a rigid bun, held in place by an opal-studded hair net. Without having to wait for an introduction, Astoria took this magnificent, slightly frightening woman to be Cassandra's grandmother.

If Marcus was right and Mr. Rowle really _was_ betting against Hodrod, than it was probably safe to assume that his wife knew nothing about it. Everything, from her shimmering hairpiece to the lacy trim of her dress, spoke of a strange marriage between the whimsy of outdated fashion and the traditional, rather no-nonsense air of black intolerance so commonly found among the matriarchs of old families.

"I thought I warned you to send out letters when you changed the dress-code!" barked Mrs. Rowle, eying Astoria and Tracey with displeasure. "What do we have here? A couple of street performers? Surely that is what your guests must think!"

"Of course I sent out letters!" Cassandra began, trying to force her grandmother to walk in the direction of the living room. "You _know_ how owl post can be—"

"I know nothing of the sort!" Mrs. Rowle boomed, closing in on her crimson-stained granddaughter. " _Owl_ post indeed!"

"Come on," Astoria whispered, tugging on Tracey's resistant sleeve.

"Hah!" breathed Tracey triumphantly. "I hope her grandmother rips her apart for sticking me in this dress! Best part of _my_ night so far..."

The sound of Mrs. Rowle complaining grew softer as they descended the stairs into the now thoroughly deserted foyer. The scene in the library appeared to be dying down but the small crowd that remained more than made up for their dwindling numbers in energy.

Astoria blinked sleepily, beginning to wonder what time it was. It had already been a bear of an evening, after all; bad even by extreme standards. The idea that it might soon be over was the only thing preventing Astoria from sagging down onto the floor next to one of the ornamental vases.

"I hear your dad in the library," observed Tracey, perhaps reading Astoria's mind.

Less than ten people were still gathered by the bookshelves, foraging from the worked-over appetizer trays with absolute impunity now that the crowd had dispersed and openly pouring drinks straight from half-empty bottles. Among this small pool of heads, Astoria very quickly managed to pick out her father's curly dark hair through the haze of cigar smoke. To her moderate dismay, both Draco and Lucius Malfoy were present as well.

"Oh my _God_ ," Tracey hissed, pulling up short. "Isn't that Fudge?"

Indeed it was. Bouncing up and down on the balls of his feet and smoking a cigar in the glow of an antique lamp was the Minster of Magic himself, in all of his mismatched and tweedy glory.

Feeling like an intruder on the edge of this backroom party, Astoria pressed ahead, emboldened only by the clean, one-minded desire to remind her father that it was time for him to take her home.

George was looking positively merry. An easy opportunity to rub elbows with the minister seemed to have invigorated him past his usual level of frivolous delight and if he was at all ashamed of the last conversation he had had with his daughter, Astoria certainly could not tell by looking at him.

"Astoria, darling!" called George, holding out an arm to her. "You've met my daughter, haven't you, Sir?" George asked Fudge, eager to show Astoria off in the lamplight.

Astoria smiled but held back slightly. These were the sort of important people for whom it would be best to fake a lively enthusiasm and Astoria did not feel at all equal to the task.

"Oh?" quirked Fudge, narrowing his eyes slightly in order to focus on Astoria's features. "Oh, yes, yes!" he decided, nodding so quickly that Astoria began to suspect that he had drunk a bit too much himself. "A star student, aren't you?" chuckled Fudge. "I believe the last time we met was at the World Cup! You helped me translate for that wretched Bulgarian Minister! A long belated thank you, dear girl!"

Tracey shot Astoria a look of slightly envious admiration. For Astoria's part however, the task of making conversation with the Minister of Magic while he was drinking seemed like more of a burden than a privilege.

" _Father_ ," whispered Astoria quietly, trying to catch his ear.

"She favors you, George!" continued Fudge, glancing between them. "Similar features, I think, although she's certainly the prettier!"

Across the circle, Draco was peering around one of his father's friends in order to eavesdrop on the queer conversation that was developing between Fudge and the pair of Greengrasses.

"Blue eyes run in the family!" replied George indulgently. "Truthfully though, she takes more after her mother."

Fudge chuckled appreciatively and clapped her father on the back, reminding Astoria of a tolerant and slightly gratified uncle. For her part however, Astoria was too busy obsessing over what her father had just said to smile back. _'Blue eyes run in the family'_. What could he have meant by that? While it was perfectly true that _George's_ eyes were blue, Astoria most definitely _weren't_ ; they were a mossy shade of green. Suddenly realizing that it was possible that her father did not actually know what color her eyes were, Astoria actively reached out for her father's sleeve, desperate to make him hear her: " _Father_!"

"Tiberius!" cried George in warning, his eyes on Mr. MacLaggen's cigar, which was only inches away from the arm of the couch. "Your tip!"

Catching himself before he set the room on fire, Mr. MacLaggen let out a long, boisterous laugh. "You sound like my first girlfriend, George!"

"Now, now!" admonished Fudge, wagging his finger at MacLaggen, "there are young ladies present."

Neither Astoria nor Tracey, who was quite literally leering from ear to ear, seemed to offer up enough of a reason for Mr. MacLaggen to check his behavior, however.

"Come now, Cornelius!" boomed Mr. MacLaggen. "Time was, you were something of a dilettante yourself, if memory serves. Didn't you spend the summer after Hogwarts living with _two_ women?"

Tracey reached out and quietly gripped Astoria's arm between two pinching fingers, trying to express some of the fiendish delight that was blazing in her eyes.

"It was never anything sinister!" insisted Fudge, his boyish face going slightly pink. "We were all interns that summer—our situation was perfectly reasonable!"

"What were their names again?" demanded Mr. MacLaggen stubbornly. "They came in a set, didn't they? Mary-Anne and Mary-Ellen?"

"Oh, enough of this!" chortled Fudge, who was perhaps growing uncomfortable. "We don't want to shock George's poor daughter or her friend!"

"You won't!" burst Tracey, risking some inappropriateness in order to hear this scandalous story finished.

"I think what Tracey _means_ ," Astoria corrected, resisting the urge to smirk, "is that it's occasionally a treat to be shocked."

"See!" cried Tiberius. "You can't use them as an excuse now! Which one of your girls left first?"

"Mary-Ellen," sighed Fudge, waxing nostalgic. "The poor dear..."

Astoria waited to see if Fudge would continue, curious despite herself. When it became clear that this was as far as he was going to grudgingly allow Mr. MacLaggen to intrude upon his memories however, Astoria turned her own attention toward George again.

"Father," she reminded him lightly, in a voice that was far too loud for him to easily dismiss, "it's nearly time for Tracey and I to leave."

"Oh?" asked George a little distantly, checking his wristwatch. "Yes, I suppose you're right. Lord knows we wouldn't want to upset your aunt. Just give me a moment to say my goodbyes."

"I'll meet you in the foyer?" Astoria prompted, hoping to speed the process along.

George did not respond, far too busy shaking hands with the Minister and eyeballing Lucius Malfoy to notice anything that Astoria did.

When he left the room—presumably to bid adieu to Mrs. Rowle herself—Astoria was not surprised to see Mr. Malfoy part with his current companion to escort him.

Fixing her eyes on the mantelpiece clock, Astoria waited just long enough for the minute hand to beat a wary circle around the numeral face before slipping away from Tracey and moving toward the foyer herself.

The sight of the Parkinson family coming down the darkened staircase only added fuel to Astoria's fire by providing her with yet another reason to avoid the library. The last thing she wanted to do was to make forced conversation with Pansy or—even worse—to witness the fine explosion of simpering and cooing that was sure to take place when she spotted Draco and tried to wish him goodnight.

After a moment's contemplation, it occurred to Astoria that this was the first time that she had seen any of the Parkinsons outside of the company of the Malfoys all evening. Perhaps Lucius had invited Pansy's parents to accompany him for the night? Trying to ignore the fact that, because of their similarity in age, this made Pansy Draco's pseudo date, Astoria quietly waited for all three of them to pass.

When Pansy's plump mother finally shuffled past the potted ferns, Astoria allowed herself to slump. For the first time since she had arrived, Astoria found herself indulging her ill-humor, relishing in the fact that there was no one around to watch her grimace or slouch.

Marcus Flint was probably still hooting and hollering merrily with Terrence Higgs by the fireplace upstairs, but it struck Astoria that Mr. Malfoy had probably wanted a private word with her father and he was not likely to have dragged him into the thick of the party. Wondering where two people who did not wish to be disturbed might go, Astoria dithered near the doorway, anxious to remain in the shadows and safely out of sight.

There were so many hallways in the Rowles house, and so many rooms leading off of _those_ that Astoria hardly knew where to start. From what she could tell however, there were two or three doors that must lead into shuttered parlors or music rooms on the first floor. Thinking that it was far more likely her father might have intruded into one of these than any of the spare guest bedrooms, Astoria moved across the hall to inspect her options.

Sure enough, one of the heavy oak doors on the right side of the hall had been left ajar. Moving quietly so that she would not be heard, Astoria snuck up to the entrance and held her ear to the crack. There was nothing but silence on the other side of the wood. Emboldened, Astoria cracked the door a little further and found herself peeking into a very dark, antique tea room.

Instead of the oriental crimson that papered the front rooms, a pattern of be-wigged French milk maids, all frolicking through pastel-hued meadows and fens, held silent sentry over pink-silk upholstered love seats.

A faint halo of light was creeping through the curtains on the far side of the room, exposing the wooden lattice of a set of patio doors. Wondering if it was possible that the Rowles might have access to a small garden of some sort on the ground floor, Astoria slunk past the rose colored furniture and peered through the gap. Outside, a small terrace unfolded against the velvety expanse of a grassy backyard, studded with several small garden beds and bordered by tall trees.

Astoria barely had time to marvel at this bit of pricey real estate enhancement before she caught sight of a cloak near one of the rose bushes. Certain that it was her father's, Astoria leaned forward and pressed her face against the chilly glass, trying to cool her shame-hot cheeks.

"What are you doing back here?" scoffed Draco.

Astoria jumped so hard that her forehead left a smudge on the glass. Soothed by the semi-darkness and preoccupied by the figures in the garden, Astoria had not heard Draco come in and she had no idea how long he had been standing behind her.

"Does it matter?" she breathed back awkwardly, so startled by his sudden interruption that her fingertips were tingling.

Draco came up behind her quietly and craned his head, narrowing his eyes in the direction of the garden.

"My father wouldn't like it if he knew you were spying on him," he sneered, his voice just soft enough to constitute a whisper but somehow much more threatening.

"I'm _not_ spying," Astoria sniffed. "They're too far away for that, anyway."

Draco let out a derisive noise and gave the door a soft push. A whisper of fresh air sucked in through the gap, carrying the sound of murmured voices with it.

Astoria fell silent at once, soothed by the pleasant draft of spring dampness. Out of the corner of her eye, Draco's hand slid down to rest on the door frame beside her. Wondering what he was doing in here, eavesdropping on his father and pretending not to care, Astoria tried to decide if she thought that he had followed her, or stumbled upon her by accident. Resisting the urge to shift away, Astoria focused on the darkened row of bushes outside.

"My father probably just wants some kind of legal advice," murmured Draco, sounding faintly bored. "Your dad _is_ a lawyer, isn't he? I don't know why you care."

"I don't," Astoria admitted, studying the far off figures on the shadowy lawn. "Not _really_ , at least."

"Afraid they're up to something illegal, are you?" sneered Draco, his tone taking on a slightly scornful, taunting edge.

"No," Astoria returned flatly, irrationally annoyed by this. "I don't even _like_ my father, Draco. What difference would it make if he got arrested? They can give him a cell with his ex-wife in Azkaban, for all I care—wouldn't _that_ be ironic?"

This was not entirely true and Astoria knew it. Her father's arrest would actually bother her a great deal. In truth, it was mostly resentment for being left to manage Mrs. MacLaggen (slightly pronounced by the wine she had been consuming) that was speaking for her, twisting her words and sharpening her tone into something tipsy and miserable.

Draco made another little noise and his hand dropped lower against the door frame. Even though his eyes were still fixed on the lawn, it occurred to Astoria that he was standing very close behind her. So close, in fact, that Astoria imagined he would probably jump away from her guiltily if anyone else managed to discover them.

"Switched teams, have you?" drawled Draco, his sentence somehow curt and a little breathless. "I thought it was your aunt that you hated."

Pressing her head against the wood and using the surface behind her as a pressure point, Astoria rotated against the thick curtain just far enough to catch a glimpse of Draco's face through her flyaway hair.

Even in shadow, it was remarkable—startling even—how very much he looked like his father. Still, there was something about the sight of him that she found faintly satisfying to look at, even if he _did_ bear a frightening resemblance to his rather more murderous sire. Perhaps _that_ was why Astoria always seemed to like Draco better in the dark? It really was much easier to pretend that she wasn't asking for trouble when she couldn't properly see him.

When Astoria did not respond, Draco's eyes flicked toward her face uncertainly.

It was a weird moment. Astoria knew that she should probably look away, but the dull sensation of the door pushing into her back was the only thing that seemed to be grounding her. Slowly, Astoria found herself concentrating more and more of her energy on the way that Draco's hand was lingering against the wall near her arm.

" _What_?" Draco demanded shortly, a little flustered by her silent and unswerving eye contact.

Feeling deranged, Astoria let out an unstable breath and turned away again.

"I can find out what my father wanted later, if it _really_ bothers you so much," Draco muttered, clearly thrown by Astoria's refusal to speak.

Astoria mulled this over silently, more intrigued by the fact that Draco was offering to snoop and report back to her than she was by the actual details of Lucius and George's whispered conversation. When it came right down to it, it was quite uncharacteristic of Draco to give anything away for free; least of all a betrayal of his father's trust, no matter how mundane the secret in question likely was.

"It doesn't matter," Astoria decided.

"Then _why_ are you back here?" scoffed Draco dubiously.

"Because everywhere else is awful," Astoria muttered bitterly. "That's the way of things, isn't it? Everything is always either awful or _boring_."

"What? You mean Cormac's mother having an hysterical meltdown?" leered Draco. "Why didn't you just shove her back toward the bar? I don't know _why_ you even tried talking to her."

"She was sobbing her head off because _my_ father had run off with a different mistress," admitted Astoria, feeling a certain savage pleasure as she sabotaged her father's best interests. "Imagine if I _had_ shrugged her off? She probably would have started screaming."

"Are you _kidding_?" demanded Draco, fascinated by this bit of very good gossip and doing a poor job of hiding it. "With who?"

"Mafalda Hopkirk," answered Astoria unkindly, conscious of the fact that, on some wretched level, she was almost hoping that Draco would repeat this scandal to someone who mattered. "She's pretty important at the Ministry, isn't she? You'd think she would be too clever for his antics."

Draco had narrowed his eyes, torn between curiosity and the faint suspicion that she might be leading him on in order to make him look stupid on purpose.

"Mrs. MacLaggen is really more his style, anyway," Astoria continued recklessly. "He should have just stayed with her. I've never known my father to have a girlfriend who wasn't _stupid_ and I don't see why he'd bother to break his pattern now."

The nasal sound of her rapid breathing as it whistled through her nose was becoming a little bit consuming. The darkness was suddenly no longer enough to sedate her and Astoria could feel herself beginning to sweat.

"What color are my eyes, Malfoy?" asked Astoria suddenly, cutting off whatever Draco was about to say. Her eyelashes fluttered against her face as she squeezed them shut, feeling curiously nervous and exposed by her own oddness.

"What?" asked Draco uncertainly, taken aback.

"What color are my eyes?" Astoria repeated. "They're closed, so don't bother looking—"

"I don't _need_ to look," Draco sneered. "This game is _stupid_."

"My father didn't know what color my eyes were tonight," Astoria insisted a little hatefully, as angry with herself as she was with anyone else. "Do _you_ know?"

Astoria waited for Draco to jeer or laugh at her for this shameful revelation but for once he held his tongue. Perhaps her could sense Astoria's desperation because he seemed to realize that it would put him in a position of greater power to take her seriously than it would to shame her.

"They're green," Draco muttered at last, masking his discomfort with scorn as he shifted uncomfortably.

Astoria was not really surprised that Draco had known this, but the sudden need to bite her lip again to keep her chin from shaking _was_ unexpected. Something very warm and heavy seemed to be uncoiling in her stomach, stretching out toward her limbs in a rush of tingling stupidity.

 _Go back and wait for your father in the foyer,_ Astoria's mind seemed to whisper, conscious of the fact that Draco was watching her with a strange, troubling intensity. _Enough of this._

Astoria had already pushed away from the wall when Draco's mouth made contact with her face. Surprised and more than a little confused, Astoria stiffened, trying to understand if she had fallen against him by mistake. Except that version of events did not make any sense. Astoria was certain that she had inched sideways toward the door; which meant that it was Draco who must have lurched forward, only Astoria had been too quick for him because he had missed her mouth by several inches, brushing against her jaw instead.

Blinking very rapidly into a space that was suddenly filled with her own hair and the side of Draco's nose, Astoria reached out blindly, intending to use her hand to keep Malfoy's body at a safe distance. Her fingers betrayed a strange and mutinous instinct the moment they made contact with his shirt however, curling slightly instead of pushing. In the blink of an eye, the world began to slow and become slightly muted.

Draco's shoulders were rigid and something about the way he was holding himself seemed to express a kind of panic, as though he not really planned on trying to put his mouth on her face and he was just as surprised as Astoria was now that he had actually done it. But he _had_ done it and, either because his first impulse had already exposed him or else he was feeling slightly emboldened by the fact that Astoria had not yet shoved him away, Draco soon unstuck himself.

Half expecting Draco to shrug and attempt to play the moment off as some kind of weird slip, Astoria was unprepared when he twitched and pushed her forward instead. Nudging his head in past her hair, Draco used his weight to jerkily encourage her body back against the curtains. He kissed her as encouragingly as he could, perhaps hoping to press some of his own desperation into her. Astoria let him try, closing her eyes in response.

With her eyes closed, Astoria gave up on deciding how she really felt about the matter before she had even attempted to understand her own thoughts. The heavy guilt of Padma's misery had left Astoria feeling mentally weak toward anything that was calculated to indulge her sense of worth, and Draco seemed as though he was literally willing to indulge _anything_ that might provoke some kind of positive response from her.

Safe from Theodore's eyes and weirdly comfortable with the idea of touching Draco's body already, Astoria caught herself arching away from the wall toward him. The moment it became clear that she was trying to pull Draco on top of her instead of push him away, Astoria felt the last cog slip into place. He let out a stunted sound that Astoria took for an expression of relief mingled with elation and Astoria pushed herself up on her tip-toes, dutifully ignoring all of her fears about having to deal with snogging a person she was not sure she even _liked_ in favor of the immediate gratification of Malfoy's mouth.

Draco's motions soon proved to be ruled by a bizarre mixture of greed and the deep desire to be pleasing at the same time. He did not seem to know whether to covetously grab at Astoria or to wait and try to do as she suggested. The way Astoria was pushing up onto the front of her feet _did_ seem to be gradually throwing him off balance though, because he eventually bounced sideways, leaning against the arm of a silky pink chair. Realizing that he wasn't going to frighten her off by moving, Draco sagged back against the cushions and dragged her down on top of him eagerly.

Conscious of the fact that she was sitting on Draco's lap and actively allowing him to invade her mouth with his tongue, Astoria could not help but think of Theodore's warning: _'don't become another Malfoy goon!'_ with a little spasm of self-destructive horror. Even this did not seem to stop her from nudging closer and shivering as Draco managed to find her bare thigh.

Astoria had barely time to marvel at the dexterity that this must have required, as it was surely a feat that he had even managed to find the _bottom_ of her skirt, much less a way into it, before the sound of voices on the patio brought her back to cold reality.

"Draco!" Astoria hissed, trying to push him away so that she could get to her feet.

" _Don't_ ," begged Draco in a low, very subdued voice that she had never heard him use before, trying to stop her from wriggling away from him. A little jarred by the tone of his voice, for Draco wanted for very little in his life and was nearly always too proud and disdainful to plead for things, the sound of footsteps had nearly reached them by the time Astoria managed to get her bearings.

"Draco, that's your _dad_ ," Astoria insisted tensely.

"Fucking _hell_ ," Draco hissed.

Understanding the cause for alarm at last, Astoria nearly fell off the chair as he shot up straight.

It was a good thing that Draco still had some idea where the door that led back to the hall was, because Astoria doubted whether she would have found it as quickly. The black and white checkered floors swam back into view like a memory from a recent dream. Behind her, Astoria heard the patio doors open at the exact same moment that the wooden door she had just pushed through fell shut.

Thankful that she had an excuse to wait in the foyer, as her dad would be coming through to collect her at any minute, Astoria flagged Draco on toward the library mutely, unwilling to really look at him while panic still thundered in her ears.

"Oh good, Astoria!" cried George, pleased to have found her waiting for him as he tramped back into the hall. "What happened to Miss Davis? I thought we were responsible for her?"

0o0

* * *

Two things!:

1\. I'm so sorry there was such a long wait for this update! To make a long story semi-short, I somehow managed to delete half of chapter fifty two when I switched files over from my friend's computer to my new one. The chunk of writing that I had typed out on Microsoft Word was fine, but the part I typed out on Word Perfect came out looking like badly scrambled symbol patterns (imagine the plot of Beowulf being retold using nothing but emojis via text message and you'll be on the right track. AKA, illegible as F***.) After that, I spent about a week procrastinating and lamenting my stupidity for only saving to one zip drive, and _that_ is really what caused the hang-up.

2\. I'm heading out of the country for a day or two tomorrow (happy Thanksgiving, fellow Americans!) and I really, really wanted to get a post up before I went a'travelling. Full disclosure: I probably did a crappier than average job of editing this post in an attempt to finish it up with some time to sleep before I leave. At this point though, I just needed to purge myself of it (I've written this chapter two and a half times and the more I read it, the more I start to see it weirdly). I'll be sure to give it another polish when I get home to nip most of the weird irregularities and typo-stuffs, but hopefully it didn't cause any headaches.

I'm aiming to have the next post up on Monday, but lets say Wednesday at the latest. As always, reviews are such a treat and so nice to read!


	53. Tea and Trumpets

Chapter Fifty Three

Tea and Trumpets

* * *

0o0

Belladonna's house was cold and silent when Astoria stumbled back over the hearth. Reaching blindly for the edge of the couch while her eyes adjusted to the gloom, Astoria tried to make out the time on the nearest clock.

It was much darker here, far away from the glowing haze of the city. After hours of listening to the constant rumble of music and traffic, the distant woods that abutted Belladonna's house seemed to impose on the corners of Astoria's psyche; silent, lifeless and depressing. Guessing that she had beaten her aunt home from London, Astoria stepped aside to make room for Tracey as the floo whizzed her into sight.

Annoyed by her aunt's continuing habit of being conspicuously absent, Astoria led the way up to the attic without bothering to turn on any of the lamps, using her wand to guide their footing.

The past week of constant rain had left behind a certain amount of dampness. As Bonky had not remembered to light any of the fireplaces, the drafty moisture had begun to creep in through the floorboards and below windows. Astoria climbed into bed without changing out of her sack-dress and shivered feverishly against the chilly sheets.

Tracey staggered out of her shoes and wiggled under the blankets, full of anxious energy. Astoria could tell immediately that she wanted to talk, but she herself was feeling very subdued and contemplative. The last thing she wanted to do was discuss Theodore or the party they had just left and her wish was soon granted when Tracey dropped off to sleep.

Alone at last, despite the extreme stillness of her body, Astoria's mind began to come alive and she was soon engulfed by a swirling tempest of mixed emotions.

Her night had been rubbish, of course, but the slow burn of having a secret was beginning to get the better of her. Queerly, the more comfortably Tracey seemed to slumber, the more fervently Astoria began to wish she would wake back up.

Having a secret—even one she was not sure she _wanted_ to have—was starting to feel a lot like having a hundred mice in her belly. It was a perversely exciting sensation, but also a toxic one. It did not seem to be something she knew how to enjoy alone, and yet, did she _really_ want tell anybody?

Astoria rolled over and studied the side of Tracey's face. Her cheeks were now rounded with sleep, her lips parted gently against one of Astoria's pillows, creating the illusion of someone half their age.

 _Astoria had made out with Malfoy earlier._ She couldn't even say why she had done it; it was an act of self-sabotage on a level that she had rarely ever even aspired to, let alone reached. Both of their fathers had been less than fifty feet away, separated from them by nothing more than a patio door.

A part of Astoria almost wished that she had simply decided to fling herself on someone like Marcus or Cormac instead, if only to have the power of being able to reflect on the matter more clearly.

Kissing Cormac would have simply meant spending a week in a state of disgust as she worked to repress the memory of his mouth. It was a moment she would have soon learned to laugh off. The fact that it had been Draco instead seemed much more hazardous to the balance of her happy mental health by comparison.

What a stupid thing to have done, really—especially now that she had gone to such great lengths to convince Theodore that she had no interest in Malfoy. He was already mad enough, Theodore. If he ever found out that she had danced away from harming his own love interest only to make out with a boy who bullied him, he'd probably abandon Astoria and leave the country altogether.

Astoria let out a long breath through her nose and rearranged the blankets around her neck. Deep down, she knew that she had slipped up and done something that she would eventually be forced to pay for, but that did not seem to make her feel any less sweaty or stimulated.

0o0

Astoria was very slow to rise the next morning. Everything, from her eyes to her feet, felt heavy and groggy. Even after several hours of rest through sunshine, there was nothing she wanted more than to press her face into her pillow and do nothing.

Thankfully, this laziness seemed to suit Tracey's temperament as much as her own and they spent a good deal of the morning doing just that. So much so that, by the time they finally did drag themselves downstairs for breakfast, it was past noon and Astoria's body had almost turned the corner toward becoming sore _again_ from lack of activity.

"Where's your aunt?" asked Tracey idly, attempting to take bites out a raspberry scone while laying lengthwise on the small sofa in the sitting room.

"Sleeping," remarked Astoria, smirking as Tracey dropped crumbs between the cushions. "She must have come in late last night."

Truthfully, it was actually something of a relief that Belladonna had come home at all, but Astoria could not think of how to say this without Tracey accusing her of being irrational.

"We should go see Theodore," suggested Tracey slyly. "I want to ask him about Padma!"

It was an overcast day outside; windy and dull. Astoria found herself watching the birds in the budding garden as they danced back and forth, their weightless bodies barely disturbing the willowy branches beneath their feet.

" _You_ can, if you like, but he specifically told _me_ not to visit," Astoria admitted, thinking of Theodore's final words in the hall. "I got the feeling he meant it, too."

" _Why_?" scoffed Tracey, surprised by this. "He didn't figure out that we put Goldstein and Kitty together, did he?"

"No," Astoria sighed, thinking of what a near miss it had actually been. "He's mad at me because I refused to do anything when Padma was crying in the bathroom."

"Oh," said Tracey, absorbing this. "Well, you couldn't, could you? She _had_ to leave first, otherwise Goldstein and Kitty might have given us away."

" _Theodore_ doesn't know that, though," Astoria reminded her, taking a long sip of coffee. " _He_ just thinks I was being heartless…"

"He'll get over it," Tracey shrugged, pulling up her feet to make room for Bonky, who had come in to replenish their toast tray and deliver the mail. "He's probably over it already, come to think of it. Ten galleons says he was up half the night writing poetry about the smell of Patil's hair…"

Astoria snorted, hoping more than anything that this was true. Perhaps it even was? Surely it was possible that Theodore, blinded by his good luck, might have already forgotten to be annoyed? Indeed, in the light of day, this began to seem plausible and Astoria was slightly cheered.

"You've got gobs of mail," Tracey observed, brushing crumbs off her skirt and sitting up straight. "Who sent you _that_ envelope? It looks like it's going to burst—do you suppose Theodore sent you a curse?"

Startled, Astoria turned her eyes toward the post. There were two or three cards that looked like invitations or societal thank-yous (no doubt addressed to her aunt) but Astoria knew at once which envelope Tracey had meant.

So thick that it could have been mistake for one of her father's case files, not to mention tatty around the corners from being tossed about helplessly by the poor owl that had delivered it, was a grimy and spell-o-tape reinforced parcel with Astoria's name on it.

Certain the handwriting was _not_ actually Theodore's, Astoria reached for the envelope, feeling more curious than fearful.

"Who is it from?" demanded Tracey, fighting down a laugh as Astoria struggled to slit the busting top seam.

"Ugh," Astoria moaned, unfolding the first of nearly twenty hand-written pages. "Ursula Flint…"

In the months that had elapsed since Tracey's Eastern Star acceptance, Astoria had almost forgotten her throwaway promise to have lunch with Marcus's grandmother. Ursula had not forgotten however—or else Marcus had reminded her that Astoria was home from school—because the woman was clearly looking to collect.

"What does _she_ want?" Tracey demanded anxiously, dropping her scone.

"Lunch," Astoria muttered. "Tomorrow, at her favorite tea room. This address is in London, can you get away?"

"Why does she want to see us?" asked Tracey in a rush, sounding very nervous indeed. "I'm already in the sorority, aren't I? She's _not_ trying to revoke my acceptance?"

"No!" exclaimed Astoria, promptly wishing she could rewind the conversation. "Mrs. Flint _can't_ do that, I'm sure she just wants to _meet_ us. Worst case scenario, she'll want a favor, Trace."

"What kind of favor would she ask of _us_?" snorted Tracey dubiously. "We're two teenage girls."

Astoria was not sure what to say to this. It was a question that she had not yet managed to sort out _herself_. Truthfully, Ursula's motive seemed faintly suspicious. Astoria _hoped_ that it went no deeper than a desire to know the young girls better. In reality however, it seemed very probable that Ursula _was_ after something and Astoria had an uncomfortably notion that it would be through _her_ —and not Tracey—that the task would most likely be achieved.

"Dunno," Astoria shrugged, afraid of alarming Tracey any further. "She just wants to know what sort of girls we are, I think. I wouldn't worry about it."

0o0

Miraculously able to follow her own advice, Astoria spent the night sorting through her trunk and making it ready for her return to school on Sunday, sparing Ursula Flint less than a second thought.

Struck by the powerful way that this type of organization kept her thoughtlessly busy, Astoria decided to continue on with the theme, preoccupying herself until bedtime by choosing an outfit out for the morning and laying it out carefully near her vanity.

Routine and order prevailed. Astoria was awake, groomed and dressed before her aunt had even changed out of her dressing gown the next morning. Guessing that perhaps _this_ was the kind of rigid self-maintenance that allowed Cassandra to be so productive and yet joyless at the same time, Astoria ate a light breakfast before slipping off toward the kitchens to use the floo.

Belladonna had spent most of the last day in her bedroom, a fact that Astoria was secretly thankful for. Despite having a whole day to do so, Astoria had _not_ mentioned her plans with Ursula to her aunt and she was rather relived by the opportunity to leave the house unseen.

Exactly _why_ she hadn't mentioned the tea engagement was hard to explain, even to herself. Twice, Astoria had been given the perfect opportunity to bring up her plan; once at breakfast and once at dinner the night before, but on both occasions, a deep and powerful sense of caution had risen up inside her, warning her to say nothing.

It was not as though Astoria imagined that her aunt would forbid the meeting—indeed, quite the opposite. But no matter how Belladonna would physically react to the news, Astoria privately _knew_ that the idea of Astoria taking a meal with any of England's most prominent society ladies would make her aunt wildly uncomfortable.

Ursula's circle was a world into which Belladonna was accepted, but _not_ popular. Belladonna was too wild, too willful and frankly, too murderous to have ever made much headway amongst that crowd. The idea that Astoria might cause her aunt to feel insecure by seeking them out for herself was capable of awakening such a strange guilt complex inside her that she had simply remained mum.

The floo deposited Astoria into the weak, grey sunlight of a shop on a wayward corner of Diagon Alley. Shuffling out into the street, Astoria paused in order to get her bearings. The cobblestones beneath her feet were still damp with rain from the night before and a chilly mist seemed to be clinging to all of the street's chimneys, making it rather hard to tell where she was.

It was a drab lot who had crawled out of bed to populate the London streets that morning and the chilly, dirty mist did nothing to beautify the wind-stung, irritable faces that she passed. Soon however, the towering white marble columns of Gringots cut into view and the sidewalk widened out to become smooth and even, swept of all its dirt by shop boys and housekeepers.

Spying the tea shop on a corner at the end of the road, Astoria stopped to linger by a bench beneath the boughs of a dripping maple tree. Fate, sensing that she was early and overdressed, promptly sent a gust of wind to kick up the branches overhead, dumping a bucketful of water onto the hood of her cloak.

The worst of spring was nearly behind them now, Astoria reflected. The world sat trembling on the point of a break through: all it would take was one supremely good day to usher in summer and push back the curtains of winter until next near. In less than a week, this foul weather would seem like a distant dream. Only by then, Astoria would be back at school taking classes while the sun rejoiced over the grounds.

Astoria was soon distracted from these thoughts by the sight of a willowy and very familiar silhouette. Tracey was standing across the street, the collar of the prim sweater set she had gotten for Christmas visible near the neck of her cloak, her unruly blonde bob subdued by about a dozen bobby pins.

"Hey," Astoria breathed, crossing the road.

"Yeah," said Tracey thickly, pulling up out of a weird hunch. "Hi."

Tracey was clutching a small brown bag filled with bird seed. Even as Astoria watched, she went about scattering the mix at her feet, hoping to lure in one or two sullen pigeons.

"I bought this off an old bloke in a plaid suit," explained Tracey, gesturing with the paper sack. "He said his name was ' _Dung'_. I reckon he thought I was looking for drugs. Want a handful?"

Astoria took a large pinch of seed and began to toss pieces toward the bushes, watching Tracey carefully out of the corner of her eye.

"It's the same tea parlor that Blaise's mum likes," remarked Tracey, biting her lip. "The one Mrs. Flint invited us to, I mean. I've been there. Remember when I hunted Blaise down because I needed a date for MacLaggen's Christmas party?"

Astoria did remember and she was impressed afresh by Tracey's gall.

"Shall we?" suggested Tracey grimly, dropping the last of her bird seed and brushing off her hands on her cloak.

A tiny bell jingled overhead as Astoria pushed open the rickety old door of the tea shop. Pink cheeked and very concerned that they had gotten the wrong address, Astoria looked around, taking in what appeared to be a small, square office space. Before the bell had even finished tinkling, an elderly witch wearing a sharply ironed shirt and a suspicious expression fell on them.

"OUT!" the woman yelled, reaching for a broom behind the desk. "No soliciting! Out with you!"

After a lurching, awkward moment during which Astoria actually ducked, Tracey finally managed to get out Ursula Flint's name.

The broom-wielding woman's expression changed at once.

"Flint?" she demanded coldly, leaning sideways to check her guest book. "Then you'll be Miss Greengrass and Miss Davis?"

Astoria nodded her head thankfully, still a little afraid of being expelled and having to explain to Marcus's grandmother that they had been kicked out of the shop before they even managed to reach their table.

"Well, _why_ didn't you say so?" their hostess cried, sounding very harassed. "Coming in through the _street_ entrance? Don't you know what sort of riffraff we get on this side? Muggles and gypsies! Next time, you would do better to use the floo. _Honestly_ , how am I supposed to know who you are when you waltz in without a card?"

Astoria and Tracey exchanged perplexed looks before following the ancient witch around her desk, through a door and into a long hallway.

It was slightly dusty back here and very narrow. Astoria was reminded at once of the cramped, ancient quarters of a boarding house. They passed several doors and old staircases, but the witch who was leading them did not turn so Astoria didn't either.

"Why didn't you mention we were using the back entrance?" Astoria mouthed to Tracey, a little nettled by this oversight.

Tracey, who had never been bothered by the idea of causing a commotion, shrugged.

It took several minutes to reach the parlor and with each passing second, it seemed to become more apparent just how out of the way she and Tracey had been. Embarrassed to have essentially snuck in the back, Astoria satisfied herself by shaking water off of her hood and peering about in distraction.

Through a set of oak doors, a long, low dining area seemed to have taken over what had once been a cozy living room. Several tall windows, glowing softly with steamy condensation, looked out onto a busy main street. The tables were all laid out with white linen, dotting the room like square mushrooms that had sprouted up between the large fireplace on one side of the hall and an old grandfather clock on the other.

Here and there, relaxing as though in the comfort of their own homes, were woman dressed up in their Sunday best. Some were lounging on a variety of couches and still others were meandering like pastel-colored swans, but _most_ appeared to prefer being served from private tea services at their own tables.

Astoria removed her cloak and hung it on the nearest peg, taking as long as possible so that she would not have to admit in front of the old witch that she did not know what Mrs. Flint looked like. When she had finished disrobing and straightening her hair, their old hostess surprised Astoria by ushering them in and bringing them directly to their table.

Mrs. Flint was a formidable looking woman, dressed all in ash grey. Well into her seventies, she had a thin mouth, smooth Mediterranean skin and dark bags of flesh that hung beneath her eyes like the promise of a threat.

When Ursula saw Astoria and Tracey crossing the room, she put her teacup down (despite being early, Ursula appeared to have started without them) and pushed out of her seat.

"Astoria!" she declared in a very deep and surprisingly sultry voice. "You look so much like your mother. I dare say I would recognize your particular breeding anywhere!"

A little disused to hearing her heritage discussed in the same manner that a dog owner might casually mention the pedigree of his favorite pets, Astoria masked her discomfort by dropping into a polite but short curtsey.

"It's very nice to meet you, Mrs. Flint," Astoria offered civilly, reaching out to place her hand on Tracey's shoulder reassuringly. "This is my friend, Tracey Davis. I mentioned her when I wrote to you in the fall…"

"Hmm." Ursula's dark eyes swept from Astoria face, which she had been studying rather severely, to Tracey's. Her gaze lingered there for a moment, no doubt searching for traces of secret tattoos or strange perversions. Satisfied that none were evident, Ursula offered Tracey a half smile and extended her hand.

"This is quite overdue!" exclaimed Ursula brusquely, plucking up her napkin and reclaiming her seat. "To think that I should have been the friend and trusted companion of your grandmother for so _many_ years! The fact that I had never her grandmother until today positively exposes me to ridicule. I suppose that aunt of yours has been keeping you all to herself?"

Astoria chose the seat nearest the window, offering an evasive smile as she sat down, entirely unsure which of these potentially embarrassing topics to tackle first.

"My Marcus speaks highly of you," Ursula snorted, unbothered by Astoria's silence. "I think the word he used to describe you was 'clever' but now that I've _seen_ you, I can only assume he was hunting for a more _polite_ reason for recommending you. You're quite a pretty thing. I may as well go ahead and assume that you are really a fool until it's been proven otherwise."

"Oh, yes, I'm very fond of Marcus," remarked Astoria, fighting a strange desire to laugh as she ignored this bit of unpleasantness. "He's quite charismatic."

"Another _fool_ , if ever there was one!" Ursula grunted. "Still, he's always had an eye for value. You've been inducted into the Sisters of the Eastern Star?"

"Yes," answered Astoria.

Ursula harrumphed, flagging the nearest waiter to bring them more tea. "That much _is_ something. It would not have entirely surprised me if that Belladonna had managed to discourage you entirely."

"My aunt was quite adamant that I join, actually," countered Astoria coolly, moving her hands off of the table so that the butler would not burn her with a splash of his scalding Earl Grey.

"A minor miracle," replied Ursula flatly, raising one of her thin, penciled in eyebrows. "Tell me, what are your subjects?"

Astoria blinked, surprised by the abrupt turn in conversation. "At school?" she ventured, feeling slightly stupid.

"Your etiquette courses!" clarified Ursula intolerantly. "What pins do you wear? That's important, you know. You certainly _look_ like you might favor dancing—"

"Archery and fencing," Astoria supplied warily.

"La!" exclaimed Mrs. Flint, waving Astoria's chosen interests aside dismissively. "You would have done much better by dancing, I'd wager—but that is your aunt's fault for letting you run wild. What about _you_ , Miss Davis?" Ursula rounded on Tracey. "If you're anything like the other, I suppose you studied masonry? Or perhaps _whittling_?"

"Oh, er," said Tracey, glancing wildly between Astoria and the teapot, "I didn't take any—that is, I never went to finishing school at all."

" _No_ finishing school?" Ursula repeated with displeasure, her voice lending the statement a strange, clipped rhythm. Ursula's glittering eyes swiveled back onto Astoria accusingly, perhaps feeling a bit duped. Astoria had been very careful not to mention Tracey's lack of a proper education in her letter for precisely this reason.

While Ursula's look was almost certainly meant to be intimating, it was also inappropriate to the point of the comically ridiculous and Astoria found herself capable of meeting her gaze without losing any of her self-possession.

"Tracey has been complimented at every event that she has helped host," said Astoria carefully. "She was _also_ awarded her full membership last week, after less than a year of junior status."

"Yes," scoffed Ursula at last, accepting Astoria's reassurances slowly, "with _my_ name attached. You _do_ speak admirably well for a young girl, don't you? At any rate, I suppose the Sisterhood must make room for _some_ allowances. We can't all be legacies, can we?"

Considering the fact that Tracey was a pureblood—a pureblood whose family had been free and clear of muggles for a handful of generations, none the less— Astoria could not help but feel that, if this was Ursula's idea of an 'allowance', she had something of an extreme outlook on the matter.

" _Oof—"_ said Tracey, sliding her elbow off the table.

Astoria turned, half expecting the need to lend her napkin to mop up a spill and spotted Blaise Zabini instead, entering the parlor with his mother.

 _Don't!_ Astoria's mentally screamed, dropping her teaspoon with a clatter.

Suddenly very afraid that Tracey would act out or else do something strange while Ursula Flint was watching, Astoria had already begun reaching for Tracey's elbow when Ursula noticed the Zabinis herself.

"Seraphina," Ursula sniffed, sitting up a little straighter. "Back from the Riviera, I see?"

At first, Astoria was not entirely sure that Seraphina Zabini had heard Ursula. Indeed, if she felt any desire to hurry toward them, Seraphina was being very careful to betray no sign of it.

Slipping between the tables at her own given pace, almost liquid in her grace, Blaise's mother came to a resting stop beside Tracey, the fabric of her dress trembling like water in sunlight.

"We returned this morning," Seraphina replied, treating the period of silence between Ursula's question and her response with a mixture of neglect and arrogance, entirely correct in her assumption that _they_ would wait for _her_.

Astoria's tucked her groping fingers back under the table, distracted. It was somewhat common knowledge that Astoria's aunt and Blaise's mother had been natural adversaries from the very first moment they had met. They were both in the same business of marrying for profit, after all, and both far too cruel to play nicely in one sandbox.

Before Astoria had received her first Hogwarts letter, Belladonna and Seraphina's feud had gotten so out of hand that they had both given up the practice of even _pretending_ to be pleasant in each other's company. As a result, despite hearing Seraphina's name mentioned quite frequently, it had been nearly nine years since Astoria had laid eyes on the woman. To see her now, in a room filled with docile and carefully dressed women, was an experience akin to being struck in the face.

The color of a toasted almond and more than a little tall, Seraphina seemed to be delivering herself onto their table in waves: her dazzling good looks dealt the first blow but it was the second, rather more disconcerting impression of shrewd cunning that made Astoria sit back in her seat.

It was not hard to understand where her aunt's dislike for the woman might have originated. Seraphina had managed to marry more carefully than Belladonna, but it was surely her astounding beauty that Belladonna found the most offensive. Seraphina Zabini had the kind of face that Astoria had rarely ever met with outside the glossy pages of fashion magazines and which she had always assumed did not actually exist in the natural world. Without even knowing who Seraphina was, Astoria would have expected her aunt to positively loathe her.

And yet, Blaise's mother seemed to owe her captivating quality to more than just aquiline symmetry or the grace of her limbs. Astoria struggled to put her finger on just what that characteristic was and decided, with a jolt, on the half-formed notion that there was something disconcertingly _broken_ about her. Like a music box that had been turned on its side or a pane of glass cracked into the pattern of forked lightning, Seraphina was a work of art and a warning all at once; beautiful to behold but perilous to touch.

Astoria had never run into this great—almost mythical—nemesis of her aunt's while unchaperoned before, and she suddenly found herself fighting a prickling sense of alarm. She had assumed that Ursula Flint would be the most dangerous foe she would meet that morning, but the arrival of Blaise and his mother had just raised the stakes ten-fold.

"Good afternoon, Mrs. Zabini!" said Tracey brightly. "Do you remember me? I'm Tracey, Blaise's friend from school."

"Oh yes," said Seraphina pleasantly, flashing Tracey a smile capable of causing a traffic collision.

Behind Seraphina's back, Blaise was wearing an expression of tolerant dullness. Despite his affected ennui however, he was watching his mother very carefully and Astoria felt certain that he was waiting to take his cue from her.

Seraphina casually glanced past Tracey and her eyes finally locked with Astoria's.

One look was enough to tell Astoria that there was enough of her aunt in her face to make her identity obvious. Seraphina knew exactly who Astoria was without having to ask. Recalling the greedy interest that Belladonna sometimes betrayed when Astoria casually mentioned Blaise's name, Astoria was not surprised to find a similar look form on Seraphina's face.

"Mrs. Zabini," Astoria demurred carefully, striking first before she became intimated. "I don't think I've seen you since I was six."

At first Seraphina said nothing. Then, she let out a breathless, delighted sound similar to muted laughter. "No indeed," she replied softly, looking very amused. "You've blossomed into a proper little English rose…"

"What's across the hall?" asked Tracey, either unaware of or ignoring the charged energy that the Zabinis had carried in with them. "People keep disappearing through those double doors."

"The greenhouses, girl," responded Ursula roughly, causing Astoria to wonder if Seraphina's interruption was annoying _her_ , as well.

"Blaise," said Seraphina smoothly, never taking her eyes off Astoria, "why don't you show your friend the indoor gardens? I know I always appreciate their splendor more when it rains."

Blaise cast his mother a subtle, surprised glance but readily did as she said.

"Yes, mother," agreed Blaise indulgently. "Come across the hall with me, Tracey. It's warmer there—you'll like it."

Almost certain that this was _not_ what Ursula had had in mind when she had invited them for lunch, Astoria could not help but feel a little annoyed as Tracey flung herself out of her seat.

Before Ursula could tut disapprovingly, Seraphina sunk into the nearest chair and motioned toward the waiter for a cup.

"Tell me, how is your aunt these days?" Seraphina murmured, accepting tea from a butler who had appeared so swiftly that it was a wonder he had not tripped himself. " _Prospering_ , I hope?"

"She's well, thank you," said Astoria stiffly, noticing out of the corner of her eye that Ursula's lips had pursed with distaste.

"And yourself?" Seraphina went on, speaking with the strangely familiar air of a woman who had known Astoria for years. "You must be positively crawling with boyfriends."

"I don't think it at all proper for _you_ to be counseling Astoria about men, Seraphina," interrupted Ursula archly, her tone becoming even harder and more judgmental. "I would hate for you to give her the _wrong_ idea."

"Oh?" quirked Seraphina, definitely amused now. "However so? I've been married more times than you, haven't I Ursula?"

"Yes, but to _what_ _end_?" demanded Ursula darkly.

"The same as yours," insisted Seraphina. "Tell me, how many years has the late Mr. Flint been with the angels?"

Ursula let out a growl of moral outrage and, for a second, Astoria wondered if it was possible that she might just smack the scone right out of Blaise's mother's hand.

"You really are lovely, aren't you?" continued Seraphina softly, still studying Astoria closely. "With a face like that, I'm amazed that Belladonna hasn't positively smashed you to pieces."

Astoria did not know what to say to this. Despite the fact that she and her aunt did little other than bicker with each other, the idea that Belladonna might be capable of doing her any _real_ harm had honestly never occurred to her. The suggestion that her aunt, somehow fearful of being overtaken by Astoria's rapidly approaching maturity, might think to stunt her growth for personal gain was very disturbing indeed.

Not to mention confusing. On the one hand, Belladonna was typically very supportive. Then again, their last true argument (involving Roland Yaxley and a fated polo match) _had_ been settled by a minor poisoning. Perhaps Seraphina was onto something?

"You'll be more pleasing to look at," remarked Seraphina lightly, taking stock of Astoria in much the same manner that Ursula had. "You favor your mother—her face was softer than Belladonna's. Lucrezia was rather less cunning than your aunt, though. Perhaps you've inherited _that_ , as well?"

" _Enough_ ," snapped Ursula. "I invited Astoria here for a civilized meal! Seraphina, perhaps it's time for you to find your son."

Astoria glanced at Ursula, marveling at the strange switch in dynamics that seemed to have taken place. Only moments before, Astoria had not trusted Ursula any further than she could have thrown her. Now, by comparison, it was almost easy to view her as a protective ally.

At that very moment, as if on cue, Blaise appeared in the doorway again with Tracey behind him.

"Lovely to see you again, Astoria," nodded Mrs. Zabini, eyes sparkling cruelly as she swept to her feet. "Give Belladonna my regards."

Astoria watched her go, tracking her feline movements with the skittish intensity of an animal that had just narrowly escaped becoming a meal.

Tracey was all radiant energy but something had shifted in Astoria's head, causing her mood to darken. The longer she sat in her seat, sipping tea and watching the clock, the more uncertain and tense she became.

Blaise's mother was undoubtedly the greater of two evils, but Astoria still could not tell what Ursula's motive was and the effort of trying guess was starting to drain her of energy. Ursula might not be guided by a decades old feud with Astoria's family, but at the end of the day, she must have _some_ reason to leave her house in order to pay for two girl's meals?

Was she perhaps thinking of Marcus? Astoria was quite a bit younger than Ursula's grandson, but the pool of women born into old families within his generation was surely a small one. Perhaps, just knowing that Marcus and Astoria were friends had been enough to provoke her interest? Or was it something to do with Astoria's long dead grandmother? Maybe Ursula felt as though she owed Astoria some kind of obligation?

By the time they finished eating and called for their cloaks, it hardly even mattered anymore. Astoria had seen enough to feel justifiably suspicious of everything and everyone. Her discussion with Seraphina had caused Astoria to seriously regret not telling Belladonna anything about her plans.

Keeping quiet about her lunch with Ursula had been a mistake, Astoria decided, and she began to plot ways to broach the subject at home as they waited for the butler to fetch Tracey's gloves.

After a formal goodbye and a hasty promise to have another meal again soon, Astoria was the first through the floo. The smartest thing she could do _now_ was confess everything to Belladonna and hope that her aunt would be able to offer her some much needed insight without becoming irate first.

The moment Astoria regained her front hall however, it became obvious that this was no longer an option. The silence seemed to speak for itself; Belladonna had gone out _again_.

Irrationally annoyed with her aunt for reasons that were entirely of her own making, Astoria stormed across the hall to check the foyer table for a note. It was frustratingly bare. Nothing, not even so much as an old shopping list had been left to litter its polished surface.

Impatient and bothered, Astoria flung her cloak in the direction of the closet without care and turned to stomp off toward her bedroom. _Where Theodore would not be waiting for her,_ Astoria fumed hotly, _because she had managed to drive him away, as well—her only real friend who was capable of understanding her predicament and he couldn't stand the sight of her…_

Astoria had gotten as far as the first floor landing when the clanging of the front doorbell made her freeze. Astoria's hand gripped the bannister as she listened, strangely rattled by the sound—because who even _used_ a doorbell, anyway? No one with any business being in her house, that much was certain, although it did seem like the sort of thing Magical Law Enforcement _might_ do.

Astoria waited for Bonky to answer the door while a queer surge of dread awakened in her chest. The sound if the hinges squeaking reached her between her treacherously loud bursts of breath. A short but murmured conversation appeared to be taking place, but Astoria could not make a word.

It was only when Bonky Apparated onto the landing beside her with a frightfully loud _crack!_ that the edge of Astoria's dread began to sharpen into real fear.

"There is a visitor at the door, Mistress," announced Bonky, his demeanor curiously subdued in comparison to the usual bile he tended to spout in Astoria's presence.

"Who is it?" Astoria demanded tightly, knowing in her bones that it was the foul presence that had been looming over her house for weeks, manifested. Whatever it was had finally found its way in. "Send them away until my aunt comes home."

"From the Ministry, Missus," returned Bonky darkly. "I is trying, but he is not leaving."

Curiously lightheaded, Astoria turned on her heel and started back down the stairs.

What could have possibly happened that would call for Astoria to intervene on her aunt's behalf? She was not of legal age—she had no authority to speak for anyone. Had Belladonna been arrested?

Thinking fearfully of her aunt's new penchant for travel, Astoria began to prepare herself for a battle that she knew she had almost no hope of winning.

Astoria was almost more shocked by the sight of the person actually standing in her in the doorway than she would have been by Fudge, himself. Clutching a large clipboard and looking as pompous as always was Percy Weasley, alone with nothing by an expression of faint harassment for company.

Perhaps, if Astoria had not known Percy at school or spent so many hours listening to his brothers tell amusing stories at his expense, she might have found him slightly intimidating against the backdrop of her steps in his dark robes. As it was, however, his freckled face was cause for celebration. If it was going to be a fight—and it very well _might_ be—Astoria was not nearly as outclassed as she had feared.

There was very little Astoria could have done other than play dumb for Barty Crouch or Amelia Bones but Percy Weasley was another animal entirely. In fact, if she proceeded with great care, it was possible that she _might_ manage to overwhelm him.

"Astoria!" sputtered Percy awkwardly, catching sight of her. "That is, Miss Greengrass—"

Pleased to find him flustered already, Astoria unstuck herself and moved toward him.

"Percy!" she returned, thankful for the blessing of being able to sound calm under duress. "What are you doing here?"

"I'm just…" Percy tapered off, entirely thrown by Astoria's arrival. Even as she watched, he blinked and took a mistrustful step backward, as though he hoped to consult with the number on the plaque by the door in order to gain some measure of reassurance.

"Are you looking for my aunt?" asked Astoria, beginning to suspect that Percy was probably ignorant of her relation to Belladonna and entirely confused to have found her here.

"I—well, _yes_ , I suppose I must be," Percy returned with a huff, switching tunes and trying to push his way forward. "Is she in, Astoria? I'm afraid it's a matter of urgency."

"She's away for the afternoon," answered Astoria serenely, doing her best keep Percy flustered. "I'll tell her you came by, if you like?"

"No!" burst Percy forcefully, growing slightly red now. "I think I'll wait _here_ , if you don't mind. I've done quite enough postponing on her account already this week, thank you very much."

Astoria _did_ mind, quite frankly, but she could not think of how to express this annoyance in a way that would not make her—or, more importantly, her aunt—seem guilty.

"The living room is this way," Astoria began doubtfully, reluctantly moving aside to show him through, "but really, Perce, she might not be back for hours…"

" _Hours_?" Percy repeated nastily, as though this was just _perfect_. "And I suppose you have _no_ idea where she is, either?"

"Well, _no_ ," Astoria admitted, making something of a show out of her innocent confusion. "I think you'd have better luck coming back tomorrow. Sometimes she gets in quite late—but I can leave a note for her!"

"This is _not_ how intelligent people treat a _summons_ , Astoria!" shot Percy irately, sensing his growing powerlessness and seeking to patronize Astoria instead. "Your aunt was required _by law_ to present herself at the Ministry nearly a week ago!"

"I don't know what you're talking about," returned Astoria in a measured tone, her mind working overtime to test the boundaries of what could be perceived as believable ignorance. "She's been in France quite a bit. I'm not even sure she's _read_ her most recent mail…"

If Percy had been upset before, this news really took the cake. The thought of being backed by the full weight of the law and being ignored irritated Percy; the idea of being so insignificant that he had been over-looked entirely was appalling. Astoria had miscalculated.

"Enough of this nonsense!" sneered Percy. "I have been charged by the head of my office—by Mr. Crouch _himself_ —to bring Belladonna Lestrange to heel! I won't leave until I've seen her. I'll sit here all night if I have to!"

This struck Astoria as highly unprofessional behavior but she could not think of anything that might make Percy budge without having to resort to force.

"I'll tell you what," said Astoria coldly, noticing some of the venom that she had been disguising seep into her voice, "why don't you come back in an hour? I'll see if I can reach her."

"That's _likely_ ," Percy jeered. "You know, your aunt is lucky I didn't march in here with about five officers behind me! Very lucky indeed!"

Astoria did not like the sound of this at all but she also knew that if there had _been_ five officers available, Percy would have done everything in his power to bring them along.

It was very nearly summer, Astoria reflected shrewdly. Between Barty Crouch's recent bout of sickness and the fast approaching third task, it was more than possible that everyone of importance had been tied up for days. Perhaps this why Percy Weasley had been dispatched on such official business in the first place.

The fact that he had come alone was more than a little cheering. It seemed to suggest that his department was understaffed or else operating beyond its means; a state that easily allowed for paperwork to slip between the cracks…

"I don't know where my aunt is," Astoria insisted firmly, "but if you want me to try to find her, you'll have to leave and come back. I can't take you with me and I know for a fact that my aunt would never leave a stranger alone in her house."

There was too much reason in this for Percy to ignore but the idea of having to leave empty handed caused him to turn bright red again.

Percy sucked in a breath. For a moment, Astoria was certain that he was going to refuse. Then, he seemed to get ahold of himself, because he tucked his clipboard under his arm with a smack and said: "One hour, Astoria. Consider it a _favor_. I mean it—if Belladonna continues to flout the law, I'll be forced to call in backup! No more letters or civil house calls!"

Astoria did not take her eyes off of Percy until he had retreated to the end of the driveway to Apparate.

"Bonky!"

For the first time in memory, Bonky responded to Astoria's summons promptly, snapping into sight beside her.

"Who is my aunt visiting?" Astoria demanded stiffly, fighting down a tidal wave of panic. "If you don't want her to be arrested, you'll be quick and spit it out instead of making me fight for it!"

To Astoria's alarm however, Bonky's long fingers suddenly scrabbled toward his chest, clutching at the tea towel he wore for a garment.

"Mistress is leaving this morning without her tea," Bonky grumbled, rocking and back and forth. "Mistresses business is her own…it is not for Bonky to be prying."

"You don't _know_?" Astoria probed shrilly, her fear officially threatening to engulf her.

Bonky did not respond, choosing instead to continue rocking back and forth while muttering faint, grief tinged expletives

"Don't let anyone in until I come back!" Astoria decided sharply, stalking forward to recollect her cloak off the floor. "I mean it, Bonky!" Astoria snarled. "If that man shows up again and demands to wait inside, hit him over the head with the bust of Uncle Alfred and chuck him into the back garden!"

For a split second, Bonky ceased his moaning and lifted his head. One bloodshot eye met Astoria's two normal ones. Bonky nodded swiftly to show that he had heard her—the first order he had ever willingly accepted from Astoria—before vanishing again.

Astoria's hands fumbled clumsily as she struggled to fasten her cloak. She had no idea where to even begin. On the rare occasions that Astoria thought about her aunt at school, she tended to imagine Belladonna pacing her own living room, sherry glass in hand, laughing manically at the follies of her enemies from afar. In reality, it was almost baffling how little Astoria knew about what her aunt did with her spare time.

Only one thing was certain; despite having very few friends, Belladonna always seemed to be incredibly busy. Without so much as a hint to point her in the right direction, Astoria quickly decided that trying to find her aunt with so little time to spare was a fruitless pursuit. Her father was typically just as busy as Belladonna, but also more traceable.

Astoria stumbled toward the fireplace and muttered her father's address through a mouthful of her own cloak, still struggling to make the fabric lay flat and straight.

George Greengrass might not be good for much, but he was a lawyer and Astoria could not think of anyone else to call on. Her father was simply going to have to do in a pinch. There was nothing else for it.

Daphne was the only person at home to greet Astoria when she struggled out of the floo.

"Astoria?" she cried, startled by the sudden intrusion.

"Where's dad, Daph?" Astoria demanded, giving up on her cloak as a bad job and wrenching it off again. A surprised yowl came from the direction of the couch as Daphne's cat sprang up to avoid being snapped by Astoria's hood.

"He's in a meeting!" spluttered Daphne, getting up to coax the spitting cat, (whose fur was now standing on end) out from beneath the writing desk. "What's going on? You look upset—come _out,_ Millard! She didn't mean to hurt you!"

" _Where_ is the meeting?" Astoria pressed, dreading the idea of having to barge into a board room to avoid having to return to Percy without proper legal representation.

"The country club, I _think_ ," Daphne gaped. "Astoria, you _aren't_ going to march down there and interrupt him, are you?"

Astoria did not have time to explain herself. Moreover, even if she hadn't been racing against the clock, Astoria was not convinced that Daphne would choose to understand her predicament.

"Of course not," Astoria lied, tossing a fistful of fresh powder back into the low-burning flames. "I'll wait for them to finish. Sorry about the cat!"

The golden maple of the club's parquet floors swirled up to meet Astoria on the other side. Dizzy from so much rapid travel by floo and slightly dazed by the blinding sunlight, Astoria forced herself to stop and rest her head in her hands by the French doors, willing herself not to be sick.

The slow, tranquil murmur of the club's wealthy patrons was disarming and very at odds with Astoria's own mental state. It was as though she belonged to another planet. No one here seemed to be in a hurry, let alone scurrying to preserve the delicate balance of their disastrous home lives.

Here, the world was perfectly content and at ease; a blur of mundane choices. What kind of cheese went best with pears? Was it more proper to drink a white wine than a red before the cocktail hour?

Feeling very overwhelmed, Astoria fought to get a grip on herself. By the grace of small miracles, she was still dressed rather smartly from tea that morning. She had a chance of blending in and disguising her desperation from prying eyes, if she only tried.

Wasting no time, Astoria inquired after her father directly at the front desk, tapping her foot impatiently as a polite attendant in a white jacket searched for George's name in the guest book. But the boy could not find George's name anywhere, so Astoria demanded that he look again, sweating uncomfortably despite the very reasonable temperature.

At last, glancing at her wrist watch and becoming frantic, Astoria tried asking how many business meetings were being catered that afternoon, planning to march into each one before she located the correct room.

" _Catered_?" the boy mused, scratching his nose with his quill. "None, miss. Although—I see there _is_ a meeting taking place in the library right now."

This was all Astoria needed to hear. She knew exactly where the library was because Draco had brought her and Daphne past it two years ago. Astoria retraced her steps back past the bar and then turned toward the long, silent hallway lined with old portraits. The moment her feet reached the muffled carpeting, Astoria broke into a run.

The library doors were closed, as she had expected the might be, but the complete silence of the place seemed to be doing its best to make her lose her nerve. Astoria pushed her hair behind her ears and tried to catch her breath before barging in to interrupt a table full of adult men who would surely resent her.

"Astoria?" demanded a sharp, drawling voice. Astoria yanked her hand back before her knuckles made contact with the wood.

In the nook by the windows, rudely sprawled out in a way that ensured he could claim half of a table for his feet, was Draco Malfoy. Although he appeared to be perusing what looked like a stolen club directory in his lap, everything about him, from the stunted expression on his face to his lazy posture screamed of extreme boredom. When Astoria turned to face him, he jerked up out of his slouch an inch or so, caught slightly off guard. "Who are you here with?"

The last time Astoria had seen Draco, she had been quite literally in his lap, the willing victim of a very hasty but enthusiastic molestation. The last thing Astoria wanted to do now, in a state of panicky desperation, was deal with the repercussions of that choice.

Almost thankful to have such a distracting list of higher priorities, Astoria pointed toward the library. "Is my father in there?"

"I don't _know_ ," Draco scoffed, trying to stash his stolen club directory. "Yeah, maybe."

Feeling that she had nothing left to lose, Astoria brought her hand back and rapped on the door's wooden surface.

"What are you _doing_?" sneered Draco in surprise, shooting up out of his seat. " _Stop_ —you'll make the librarian come back here. Your father can't hear you in there anyway, the doors are charmed."

"Are you serious?" Astoria snarled. Locating her father had been her only motive; the idea that she might be prevented from seeing him even after he had been found hadn't occurred to her at all.

"It's a _library_ , isn't it?" replied Draco, narrowing his eyes in the direction of the hall, clearly half expecting to spot the Club's unruly resident scholar charging down it already.

Astoria ran her fingers through her hair, positively choking on the desire to scream. She had less than thirty minutes left if she wanted to get home before Percy. Yet here she was, ten feet away from her father, stymied by a _door_.

"Fine—I _don't_ know!" Astoria floundered, trying to decide what to do. "Tell my father to come to my aunt's house when he gets out, will you?" she finally shot, glancing down at her watch again.

Draco's look of confusion swiftly turned into one of annoyance.

" _Please_!" Astoria pressed, afraid that Draco might ignore her request out of spitefulness if she didn't. "I've got Percy Weasley circling my house like a vulture and there's a good chance my elf might decide to brain him with a statue if I don't get back."

"What are _talking_ about?" sneered Draco skeptically, trying and failing to process this information. "What about _Weasley_?"

"I don't have time for this, Draco!" Astoria shot exasperatedly.

"Weasley's actually _in_ your house?" Draco sneered, turning to follow her as she retreated down the length of the hallway.

"He _will_ be," Astoria cut back, wishing Draco would stop following her, as he was slowing her down considerably.

"You _know_ that's illegal, right?" continued Draco scornfully, seemingly unable to leave a matter so ridiculous when it was dropped directly into his lap. "You're _underage_. You don't have to tell that _muggle_ loving ginger anything."

"Try telling _him_ that!" Astoria snapped bitterly. "It was all I could do to make leave the first time."

"He barged in and wouldn't _leave_?" asked Draco nastily, beginning to become offended in Astoria's favor. "Sure, I'll tell him to get lost. You'd practically be doing me a _favor_."

"No," said Astoria shortly, wishing she had said nothing.

"What are you doing? Stay _here_ ," muttered Draco irritably, flustered by Astoria's continued progress down the hall. "Wait for your father. There's no point in going back alone."

"You're in my way!" Astoria complained, extremely hesitant to touch any part of Draco's body. "Just _stop_."

"Why are you always so _stupid_?" Draco sneered, strangely infected by Astoria's foul mood. "Peter Weasley can't make you do _anything_. You're letting someone's secretary boss you around for nothing!"

"It's _Percy_ ," Astoria corrected exasperatedly, pushing past the bar toward the line of fireplaces, "not Peter. I don't _know_ what he can or can't do—he says he's acting for Crouch."

" _Whatever_ ," scoffed Draco, thoroughly missing the point, still hot on her heels. "Ten galleons says he's probably just about as important at the Ministry as his father. _Ignore_ him. He's trying to trick you into talking to him!"

Astoria tossed a fistful of floo powder into the fireplace and disappeared before Draco could shove in front of her and make any more of his opinions known. Belladonna's front hall rushed up to meet her, vacant as ever.

Astoria had barely taken three steps into the room, however, when the fireplace sputtered to life again behind her. Praying that Belladonna had chosen this opportune moment to return home from her shopping, Astoria turned and was annoyed—although not entirely surprised—to find Draco brushing soot off his tie.

"What are you _doing_ here?" Astoria snapped. "You need to stay and tell my dad I'm looking for him!"

"I told one of the servants to do it," Draco shrugged.

Wondering angrily if this was Draco's idea of a fun way to keep his boredom at bay while he waited for his _own_ father, Astoria protests were interrupted before they even began when the doorbell rang.

Right on time, Bonky came tearing up from the kitchens brandishing a knife and the hefty bust of Uncle Alfred, screaming bloody murder.

"Fucking _hell!_ " Astoria hissed, reaching out to snag a fistful of the elf's tea towel, bringing him to a jolting stop mid-leap. "What do you think _you're_ doing?"

"Butchering the intruder who dares trespass upon my mistress's domain!" the elf squealed madly, eyes bulging. "Mistress is NOT AT HOME!" he hollered in the direction of the door. "MISTRESS IS NOT IN!"

"Give me that!" Astoria barked, wrenching the knife out of his tiny hand. "We're not _killing_ any Ministry workers! Open the door and get back to the kitchens!"

"You know," drawled Draco, tossing himself into one of the seats surrounding the hall table, eyes sparkling with cruel amusement, "that elf is starting to grow on me."

Draco expression soon became chilly as Percy Weasley came storming into the room with his chest puffed out.

"So this is it, is it?" Percy demanded, surveying the Belladonna-free space. "It's illegal to ignore a summons, Astoria! I'm going to have to report this!"

"Last time I checked, it was also illegal to question a minor," Draco sneered. "You'll make sure that's clear in the paperwork too, I suppose?"

"I'm not _questioning_ anyone!" declared Percy, positively swelling with indignation as his eyes shifted from Astoria, who was blushing with annoyance, to Draco. "What's happening here is a direction violation—a _flouting_ —of official rules!"

"Sit down, Percy," suggested Astoria coldly, "before you run out of breath."

Percy bristled but reached for the back of the nearest chair. "Yes," he snapped in a clipped tone. "I think I _will_ wait—that seems to be the only to get any attention around here."

Draco waited for Percy to pull his chair halfway out before giving it a swift kick with his foot. The chair slid back a clean six inches, leaving Percy stare at it blinking, forced to either fetch it or remain standing.

Astoria froze with one hand on the table, stunned. It was the first time she had ever gotten any pleasure out of watching Draco bully someone, but it was beginning to occur to her that she really didn't need him to do it for her. A swift and terrible anger seemed to be opening up in her chest; the result of an entire day spent hopping madly from one desperate hope to another. She had been pressed to her limit and she could almost feel herself snapping, becoming something dangerous and unhinged. It was one thing to go out into public and face the threat of being intimidated; but Astoria had not asked for this and Percy was in _her_ home.

"You'll be Lucius's boy, will you?" asked Percy stiffly, his chin trembling with anger.

"Yeah," Draco confirmed, tilting his chin up challengingly, "and he probably pays more than half of your salary, doesn't he Weasley?"

"Bonky!" Astoria snapped over her shoulder, eager to shut down this masculine pissing contest before it even began.

The elf appeared with a crack, crouching on the hearth rug like a wounded animal. He shot one look in Percy's direction and hissed menacingly.

"Bring out tea, please," Astoria ordered casually, taking a perverse amount of pleasure in watching Percy jump hastily away from the fireplace.

" _Mental!_ " Percy muttered darkly, giving up and dragging his seat back toward the table. "What's going _on_ here, Astoria?"

"It would seem that my aunt has gone on vacation," said Astoria calmly, knowing Percy would see through the lie but no longer caring.

"That's no excuse!—" Percy fell silent as Bonky reappeared and slammed a tray down in the middle of the table. "That is to say, the law is the law! You've always seemed like a nice girl. You _must_ understand the position I'm in…"

"I'm sure my aunt never expected to receive any official paperwork," Astoria went on conversationally, helping herself to tea. "You'll her from her soon, I imagine. Unless, of course, you think it would be better to send 'about five officers' out to look for her."

Astoria stirred sugar into her tea, enjoying her ability to parrot Percy's earlier empty threat back at him.

Percy went slightly red, sensing the change that had taken place. Astoria was no longer pretending to play his game; she had officially, and intolerantly, turned against him and he seemed to know it.

"Maybe I will!" returned Percy aggressively, dumping cream into his tea and taking an angry sip. "With four husbands mysteriously _dead_ , it really is a wonder that she isn't used to this sort of thing. This can't be the first time that the Ministry has come knocking. One _might_ think she'd be smart enough to leave a forwarding address!"

Astoria pressed her lips into a cold smile.

"Yeah?" sneered Draco angrily, causing Astoria to jump because she had nearly forgotten he was there. "Interested in mysteriously dead people, are you Weasley? Sounds like a good way to _join_ them, if you ask me."

"Belladonna's first husband worked for the ministry as a Goblin Liaison!" Percy snapped defensively. "It's certainly no secret where he ended up and now I'm beginning to understand why!"

"Suicide, I think it was," Astoria agreed cheerfully, intentionally trying to be disarming. "I don't remember him, of course, I was too young."

Both Percy and Draco turned to stare at her, but whether because the subject was one she almost never spoke about, or because her tone of voice really was a little frightening, Astoria could not tell.

"He used poison," Astoria went on. "It was in his hand lotion. He must have made a paste out of it—with Angel's Trumpet, that's not hard to do—but still, it was quite a dramatic way to die."

"Yes, well," Percy cleared his throat, suddenly uncomfortable. "That's not really the point…"

"Do you know what Angel's Trumpet usually looks like?" Astoria went on, taking great care to keep her voice light and her eyes cold, feeling frankly psychotic.

"No," Percy admitted shortly.

"It's a drooping flower—very pretty, but of course, every part of it is poisonous; the stalks, the leaves, the blooms," Astoria informed him, putting her spoon down with a clink. "It's best to boil them, but Angel's Trumpet can steeped; his breathing would have went first, uncle Tracers. I've been told that part would feel a bit like drowning. After that, he would have begun to hallucinate and then _wheeze_ … No one in their right mind would think to drink it, at least… not _twice_."

Percy Weasley had been watching Astoria closely, hypnotized, but the moment she uttered the phrase 'drink it' she saw his eyes flick down to his own cup fearfully, perhaps beginning to wish he had not taken a slurp of tea.

Percy cleared his throat again, his fingers twitching up to loosen his stiff collar.

"We still have a few bushes in the front garden," added Astoria pointedly, never taking her eyes off Percy. "My aunt continues to plant them…I think they remind her off him."

"Your tea is getting cold," observed Percy, motioned toward Astoria's drink.

"I _like_ it that way," Astoria countered dangerously, hoping Percy would take the hint.

Percy cleared his throat a third time and drummed his fingers against his pant leg, clearly filled with a secret urge to jump up and retreat. "Are _you_ going to have any?" he snapped at Malfoy, unable to think of anything but the tea he had so recklessly consumed in his anger.

"Draco doesn't drink tea," Astoria remarked carelessly, knowing that Draco was too clever to contradict her.

"I'm quite a busy person, it's time for me to be going!" said Percy, leaping to his feet. "Tell your aunt to report to my office the moment you see her!"

"I'll _do_ that," confirmed Astoria unpleasantly.

"Good day to you!" burst Percy in a rush, shooting one last glimpse at Astoria's undrunk tea before grabbing his clipboard and racing toward the driveway.

"Look at him _scamper_!" drawled Draco, his eyes narrowing with awestruck delight as the door literally swung shut, pushing Percy off the top step. "You didn't _actually_ poison him?"

Astoria snorted, lifted her cup off its saucer at last, and took a small sip.

Draco laughed softly, still watching the door Percy had sped out of. "He's heading straight to Saint Mungos, the _moron_."

A strange and sweaty dew was breaking out across Astoria's forehead. She had no idea what Belladonna had done, but she was nearly certain that Percy's hasty exit would not be the end of her worries.

Draco picked up a teacup, peered inside for dust, and poured himself a measure before leaning back in his chair rather cockily.

Astoria refrained from looking at him. It was bad enough that she had kissed him the night before, but she was more than exhausted from having all of her secrets and worries spilled out in the open for him to play with lately. Why was it that every time disaster struck, Draco always seemed to be there watching?

The fireplace blazed to life and Astoria turned toward it expectantly.

"Astoria, darling!" jammered George, patting his hair back into wavy submission. "What's happening? Did we have plans that I've forgotten? The attendant said you were looking for me."

"No, we _didn't_ have plans," sneered Astoria recklessly, feeling all of her anger come rushing back at the sight of him. "Aunt Belladonna's being subpoenaed! I don't suppose, working in law, you might know what the _hell_ is going on?"

"Good Lord, that paperwork went through weeks ago!" exclaimed George carelessly. "She still hasn't sorted the matter out?"

"Oh my _God_ ," Astoria muttered, pressing her fingertips against her eyes. "You _knew_? Why didn't you do anything?"

"It was just a silly thing," said George dismissively. "A minor infraction, something about conserving a lake—the most the Ministry can possibly do is fine her. I don't know _why_ she hasn't taken care of it already…"

Draco snorted, clearly somewhat disappointed by the supposed nature of Belladonna's crime but for Astoria's part, she did not even believe it.

"What are you _talking_ about?" Astoria bit back intolerantly, trying and failing to imagine her aunt fighting for wildlife conservation. "That makes no sense! The woman wears _fur_ in the bath tub, father—she doesn't care about _nature_!"

The fire blazed up again behind George. Surprised, Astoria got to her feet, certain that _this_ would be her aunt. She was disappointed a third time when Lucius Malfoy stepped out of the hearth, followed by a scrawny man in a trench coat, who appeared to be clutching an actual human skull.

 _You're having a dream_ , Astoria's mind seemed to whisper. _These pieces don't fit together_.

But she _wasn't_ dreaming. George had clearly been in a meeting with Lucius, which was why Draco had been waiting around there in the first place. By following her home and leaving word with one of the club attendants, he had unwittingly told his father where to find him, as well.

"Lucius!" quirked George, looking faintly surprised. "I'm sorry, my daughter only wanted a word."

"No matter," said Mr. Malfoy smoothly, surveying the room with private interest, perhaps amused by the notion of being inside Belladonna's home for the first time in _years_. "I was coming here, anyway."

"Oh, I see!" said George, catching sight of Draco.

Draco meanwhile had jolted out of his confident slouch. His eyes darted to his father, filled with a sheepish alertness as he tried to guess whether or not he had just been caught doing something he ought not to have been doing.

"Are you _working_ for Mr. Malfoy?" asked Astoria numbly, distracted by all of the nightmarish puzzle that seemed to be assembling itself around her.

It would certainly make a good deal of sense. George had burned his old bridges with Mr. MacLaggen by sleeping with his wife, moving on to a different mistress and then using his daughter to dump the old one at a party. Of _course_ he was looking for new work; he couldn't very well continue on with his _former_ clients and this made the second time Astoria had found him keeping Lucius Malfoy company.

"In a manner of speaking," admitted George, unaware of the bizarrely powerless situation that this placed Astoria in. "Mr. Malfoy has invested heavily in a new company that requires legal representation. So indirectly, yes, you might say that."

 _You weak, greedy fool,_ thought Astoria accusingly.

Lucius would never be as blind to George's dilettantism as Mr. MacLaggen had been. He would demand his money's worth from her father, sure enough. Then there was Draco, who would surely love to have something to hold over Astoria's head. Well, now he had it. George's career hung precariously on a thread of personal whim and violently hard work. For one blinding, hate filled moment, Astoria hoped he would cut be loose for a fall.

"And who is this?" Astoria spat bitterly, gesturing toward the scrawny man with the skull. " _Hamlet_?"

"No," chuckled George. "This is Damocles Belby. He's a rather famous potion maker. The Wolfsbane won you an Order of Merlin, didn't it?"

"Aye. And pleased to make yer acquaintance, miss," said Damocles, sweeping into a magnificently low bow, leaving Astoria to stare into the empty eye sockets of the skull he was still holding. "Yer father seems like a real straight chap."

"Well, _congratulations_ , father!" declared Astoria savagely, raking her eyes over George's lavender dress shirt. "I've never met anyone so immediately willing to call you a 'straight chap'!"

Behind her, Draco let out a soft, awe-induced laugh but he stopped short the moment Lucius turned to look at him.

"Very funny," returned George, beginning to sound a little annoyed. "I'm sorry, Damocles, it appears that my daughter is in a mood today."

Astoria glared at her father, hating him a little for this comment. If he had only done something— _anything_ , even a warning would have sufficed—when he had noticed that Belladonna was being investigated, the whole matter might not have come crashing down so stupidly. Who was _he_ to talk about moods?

A new sound coming from the direction of the kitchen prevented Astoria from saying anything regrettable, however. This first thump was followed by another and then a low peal of laughter reached her ears. _Belladonna was home at last, and it did not sound as though she had returned alone._

Entirely conscious of the fact that her aunt was about to be blind-sighted by a summons, her father, both Malfoys and a renowned potion maker (whose dubious interests seemed to include werewolves and decapitated humans) Astoria sunk back into her seat, simultaneously miserable and mesmerized.

Belladonna's chuckling drew nearer, followed by the deeper, more masculine tone of second voice. By the time they reached the end of the hall, Astoria was not alone in turning around to stare.

Belladonna came bursting into view only to stop short in the doorway, her face registering astonishment as she took in the improbable situation that was waiting in her living room.

"Good Lord!" Belladonna breathed, positively straining herself to keep from cackling. "Either the universe has finally seen fit to send me a spontaneous French farce or the Ministry has fallen."

"Oh!" cried Professor Vector as he came up behind Belladonna, recoiling in surprise. "What's all this?"

"I don't know," murmured Belladonna wickedly, "but I'm optimistic that it _might_ break out into song and dance."

"Your niece came to my meeting today," ventured George boldly. "She was concerned about you."

"Did she?" asked Belladonna mildly, taking a better look at the assembled crowd. "So you decided to bring the meeting to her?"

Missing nothing, Belladonna's eyes moved straight from Lucius to Draco. By her reasoning, he was the person whose presence seemed the most unaccountable and for an uncomfortable moment, she seemed to fixate on him.

Astoria had gone very still. She could sense an argument straining to break out between her aunt and her father and she was very anxious for this entire, queer gathering to dissipate before they decided to put on a show.

"You might try answering your mail," responded George smartly. "Apparently the ministry arrived, determined to question Astoria while you were out."

"Don't play the part of the concerned parent, George," Belladonna sneered, put out by the implication that Astoria had been miss-managed. "It _never_ suited you."

"Some of us choose to _work_ ," insisted George hotly. " _I've_ got figures to check over and I really don't have time to keep up with your petty misdemeanors!"

"Funny you should mention that," said Belladonna wryly. "By my account, you'll have time aplenty on your hands soon. As of Monday morning, the potion you're working so hard to market is about to become highly illegal."

"I think not, Belladonna," said Mr. Malfoy at last, his long nostrils flaring.

"No? Well, the knotgrass you were hoping to harvest from the lake region to create it most certainly is," Belladonna clarified unapologetically, moving toward the cabinet to pour herself a sherry.

"Dreadful thing, Belladonna," countered Mr. Malfoy smoothly, "but as the sale of knotgrass hasn't been restricted for more than a hundred years, you'll understand why I'm _reluctant_ to become alarmed."

"There's no possible way of outlawing it!" interjected George uncomfortably, disliking the look on Belladonna's face immensely. "Even if their was, there are no notaries willing to sign anything on a Saturday!"

Belladonna took a calm sip of her wine and snapped her fingers in professor Vector's direction, summoning him forward into the middle of the room. "Hark, a notary!" she trilled triumphantly, motioning to imply that Vector should hand George the paperwork he was clutching under his arm.

Lucius shot George a short, cutting look, clearly trying to understand if their was a loophole in the law that might have been missed.

"Conservational bylaws, indeed!" sneered George angrily, reading down the summary he had just been handed. "This is ridiculous! It'll never stand up in court. There's nothing in those lakes that needs to be preserved!"

"Not _in_ them," said Belladonna pointedly, her eyes blazing victoriously, " _around_ them. You're forgetting about the gypsies, George. You'll be displacing their camp and surely you don't want them living any closer to town?"

George blinked rapidly. It was clear that the welfare of gypsies had _not_ occurred to him.

"Auntie!" Astoria cried exasperatedly, having held silent long enough. "This is inane! You don't care about gypsies! Just let dad have his knotgrass!"

"Sit down, Astoria," said Belladonna coldly, never taking her eyes off of Lucius, who had seized the paperwork from George.

"A motion to preserve the northern gypsy encampment," read Mr. Malfoy lazily. "Tut tut...I never thought I would see the day. Signed for by Silvanus Vector on April the fourth at the Leaky Cauldron in—" Mr. Malfoy broke off to quirk a velvety eyebrow, privately amused by something he had seen, "—oh _dear_ , room six hundred and sixty six?"

"Pure coincidence, I assure you," drawled Belladonna, dropping onto the still vacant love seat.

"Very well," said Mr. Malfoy curtly, folding the scroll of parchment with a snap and thrusting it back at George.

"Merlin in Hell, Belladonna!" swore George irately, busy rereading the scroll Lucius had nearly slapped him with. "This Gypsy village is on the same lake your third husband disappeared on! It's exactly the same one! I'm sure of it!"

Astoria let out a low, mortified groan of agony as all of the missing pieces finally, at long last assembled themselves. Belladonna's third husband, Uncle Blishwick, had disappeared while boating in June nearly seven years previously. Officially he had been declared missing. His body had never been found... Was this seriously what the woman had been doing for weeks? Covering up a decade old _murder_?

"No matter," said Lucius, looking curiously unsurprised by this news. "We shall see who prevails in the end. This _conservation act_ , as you've called it, won't stand for more than a month."

"Yes, we _will_ see," agreed Belladonna dangerously.

"I myself choose not to wager on Bella the Mad and her band of vagabonds," Lucius cautioned softly.

"Oh, _please!"_ snorted Belladonna distractedly, her predatory air suddenly giving way to inappropriate merriment. _As though she was merely playing a child's game._ "Bella the Mad? Surely that moniker has already been claimed—or have you forgotten the _other_ one?" Belladonna mimed the unscrewing of a bottle and then chucked her charade prop toward the fireplace drunkenly.

"That impression alone did a wondrous job of bringing it all back," remarked Lucius, repressing a tight smirk. "I'm fighting the urge to toss salt over my shoulder as we speak. Come, Draco. You too, George. It appears there are more wondrous secrets in the deep than knotgrass. I'm afraid we'll need to re-discuss my strategy."

0o0

* * *

Eek, that was a really long break between posts, guys. I'm super sorry, the holidays have just gotten wildly busy around here.

A Few Notes:

1\. Gladys Gudgeon, AKA the ill tempered hostess at the tea room, is actually a canon character mentioned in _Chamber Of_ _Secrets._ She stands accused of writing Gilderoy Lockhart fanmail and having a thoroughly ridiculous name.

2\. Damocles Belby is canon as well (he really did create the Wolsbane potion) and is Marcus Belby's uncle (the one his father doesn't get on with, giving Slughorn a reason not to include him in the Slug Club).

3\. I'm sorry this chapter was so silly (no I'm not, yes I am). I was really hoping to try to get some emotional, Draco-related follow up in before the end, but there just didn't seem to be space with everything else happening (see number 4), so its coming in the next post.

4\. This was the longest chapter to date, because I literally can't seem to stop myself from running on and on about the _weather_. (More than 13,000 words, nearly a third of which, upon rereading, seem to describe the elements.)

5\. The next post will be uploaded on the twenty fifth (as was cleverly suggested by a reviewer). I'm making a good old fashioned Christmas promise on this one (or an oath sworn on any holiday that you prefer). And we all know what happens to people who break Christmas promises...

6\. Seriously though, Hogwarts chapters are much quicker to write (although maybe a little less fun, in my opinion) so it's a totally realistic deadline.

As always, reviews make me heart grow three sizes that day!


	54. The Thaw

Chapter Fifty Four

The Thaw

* * *

0o0

Warm all over and feeling particularly prone to violence, Astoria somehow managed to shoot out of her seat before Draco finished sauntering into the fireplace after his father. Everyone and everything seemed to be crashing down on her and Astoria was beginning to feel outside of herself; overcome by resentment and confusion.

"Astoria," remarked Professor Vector helpfully, trying to hand her the lukewarm cup she had left on the table. "You've left your tea."

" _Don't_ touch me," Astoria sneered coldly, long past the point of caring that he was technically her teacher as she twitched away from him.

Belladonna's eyes tracked Astoria as she crossed the room, but for once—rather tellingly—she made no move to chastise Astoria or correct her rudeness. Unchecked, Astoria was able to gain the hallway and turn toward her room.

Blood thundered in her ears as she pounded up the staircase. With each jerky step, Percy's words seemed to haunt her afresh: _"Mental!"_ he had hissed.

This had bothered her at the time, but she was starting to feel that Percy had the make of it. _Was_ _he really wrong?_ Astoria's house _was_ mental and so was everyone in it. What was wrong with the lot of them? Couldn't they see themselves?

At the moment, Astoria could not even say for sure who she hated more: her aunt or her father. At best, it was fight a between lending her support to a shameless fortune hunter or a murderous fiend and Astoria was of half a mind to wish that neither of them even existed.

The moment she had closed her bedroom door behind her however, Astoria knew that silence would not help her. It was far too easy to fall into madness here, alone by herself, and there was still so much that she did not understand. Only one ridiculous thought seemed capable of permeating the swirling storm inside her skull: _her aunt had been missing for a week because of knotgrass?_

Astoria snorted cruelly and began to take out the earrings she had worn to tea. _Ridiculous!_

Except that Belladonna's absence had not _really_ been caused by knotgrass. Her aunt had actually spent weeks in a panic because of a _murder_ she had committed—a murder that been forgotten about _years_ ago. So long ago in fact, that Astoria imagined Belladonna had spent many a peaceful evening since then assuming she had gotten away with her crime entirely.

Astoria dropped the earrings into a china bowl on her vanity, bristling uncomfortably. A certain kind of surface reluctance nearly always prevented her from digging too deeply into Belladonna's past and Astoria found herself suddenly confronted with the task of gazing into that particular abyss.

It was not a fun topic to think about, after all. Realistically speaking, Astoria _knew_ that her aunt had murdered a string of husbands over the course of her premature youth. Astoria knew this because evidence made it almost impossible to believe otherwise and because her aunt as much as confirmed the fact with her black sense of humor and her easy—almost daily—dismissal of men in general.

Still, beneath her irrational fear that Belladonna's mentality might be contagious—that the desire to murder for gold might actually lurk inside Astoria, as well—was another, even sharper terror.

Astoria had never truly contemplated what might happen if Belladonna failed, or became taken in by her own game—if her aunt were to be tried in court, perhaps? Or proven guilty and brought to justice? _Imprisoned_ , like the rest of her siblings...

Belladonna was literally so _good_ at doing bad things in the name of selfishness that Astoria had never felt anything other than supreme confidence in her aunt's ability to wriggle her way out of a tight situation.

But _this_ was different. Belladonna herself seemed afraid...and any scheme involving Lucius Malfoy as an adversary would most likely be very hard won. What had she gotten herself into this time? Was this the final straw that would break the camel's back? Was it possible that, even here, in her warm and well lit bedroom, a doom was already upon Astoria's way of life?

Astoria faced herself in the mirror; pale, drawn and hungry due to the fact that she had been too busy to eat since breakfast. _If Belladonna went to prison, Astoria's entire world would change._

Where would she even live? With George and her stepmother? Surely there was nothing more depressing than that—and what about the memory of her mother's ancestry? Belladonna was the last remaining link to the disappearing Lestrange family and, loathe as Astoria was to admit it, she was not entirely sure she was ready to let go of that ghost entirely.

The idea that Belladonna probably _deserved_ to be in jail was a concept that Astoria could only think of with satisfaction when there was no real threat of actual imprisonment hanging over their heads. In truth, the idea of her aunt being taken away from her was terrifying; a shattering scenario in which the few scraps of functionality that Astoria still clung to would be ripped away from her.

Despite spending many nights as a young girl thinking abstractly about how much misery her family had likely caused others in order to afford their own comfort, there was no amount of guilt in the world that was powerful enough to make Astoria resign herself to the idea of Belladonna being arrested.

Someday, Astoria would be able to live the kind of life that allowed her to align her actions with her true feelings, but today was not that day. For now, a dreadful peril was too busy squishing all of the morality out of her like a vise for the idea of behaving decently to seem like a valid option.

Astoria slipped out of her formal wear, carefully undoing each button on the back of her dress to avoid doing any damage to the garment when she finally pulled it over her head. Shivering, Astoria swapped her tea-outfit for a more sensible one, forgoing pajamas entirely. Her aunt's idea of loungewear constituted a full face of makeup, after all, and Astoria wanted to be taken seriously.

Belladonna was alone in the living room when Astoria returned to the first floor. A single lamp was lit, illuminating the softly curling fumes of her cigarette. Outside, a full moon was rising against a sorcerously purple sky.

Belladonna looked up when Astoria stopped in the doorway, her expression as exhausted and fearful as Astoria had ever seen it. After a very long pause, Belladonna stirred to life.

"Have you come back to disown me?" she trilled darkly, trying and failing to look amused by the notion.

Astoria shrugged and moved into the room slowly, biding her time in order to think, all the while giving her aunt a wide berth.

"For God's _sake_ ," snapped Belladonna, her voice so changed by reckless abandon that Astoria actually jumped. "Do you think I'm going to gobble you up?"

" _No_ ," Astoria shot back coldly. "Although Seraphina Zabini thinks you might."

Belladonna's closed her eyes. For a long moment, Astoria was certain she was about to be yelled at. Then, curiously, Belladonna seemed to shudder.

" _Does_ she?" her aunt went on, her voice lacking its trademark aloofness. "And _how_ would you know that?"

"I had breakfast with her," answered Astoria flatly.

Eyes still closed, Belladonna raised a hand to massage her temples and Astoria was a little alarmed to notice that her aunt's fingers were trembling.

"Go to bed," Belladonna ordered quietly, sounding utterly defeated.

This was a very tempting command to obey. It would be so _easy_ to slip back across the foyer and pretend the entire day had never happened. Even as Astoria thought about it, she could almost imagine herself slinking off to her room noiselessly, determined to put her aunt's current predicament out of mind. She would be off to school in the morning...she might not have to think about any of this again for months...

"Would you?" asked Astoria quietly, deciding to try her luck instead.

"Would I _what_?" snapped Belladonna, her eyes fluttering open again.

"Hurt me," Astoria clarified numbly, calling upon every ounce of inner strength that she possessed in order to stand her ground while her heart pounded away furiously in her chest.

It was a very strange moment. Belladonna gaze burned into her with an Arctic fury but then the fire seemed to go out.

"Don't be ridiculous," Belladonna muttered, her mouth twitching upward in disgust as she put her cigarette out. "You're my family."

"You've called four dead men 'family'," Astoria insisted sharply, her stomach churning sourly. "It's _not_ a ridiculous question."

Belladonna's eyelashes fluttered. It was the first time Astoria could ever remember seeing her aunt look as though she might hate herself. Too late to backpedal, it occurred to Astoria in the form an insightful flash that _this_ was a conversation Belladonna had probably been hoping they would never need to have. Her aunt let out a long, sick breath.

Suddenly terrified, Astoria's eyes twisted toward the wine glass on the coffee table. For a swift second, she wondered if her aunt would let her get away with pouring a glass but her limbs were shaking so much that even trying for this weak distraction seemed dangerous.

"I nearly had a child of my own once, you know," said Belladonna, breaking the world's most painful silence at last. "Years ago—during my first marriage. Have I ever told you that?"

"No," said Astoria, beginning to wish that she _had_ just gone to bed so desperately that the room was starting to blur in the corners of her eyes.

"My mother—your grandmother—was known for her strong opinions," Belladonna ran on, no longer looking _at_ Astoria but _past_ her. "She was always at her firmest when it came to family. She used to caution your mother and I as girls: 'Love is weakness' she would say and, because she hated her own husband, we would believe her. 'If you're smart, you'll never love anyone except your children.'"

Belladonna blinked and reached for her wine. Astoria, who had by now gone numb, continued to remain frozen behind the armchair.

"Of course, _I_ thought she was mad," admitted Belladonna with a bitter scoff. "She always made it sound as though loving one's children wasn't a choice, but I was fairly certain that it _was_ and when the time came, I chose not to become a mother at all."

"Am I supposed to feel sorry for you?" Astoria sneered, so uncomfortable with the discussion at hand that nastiness seemed to have become her default setting.

"No," murmured Belladonna. "Of course not. I don't even regret it myself—nothing but the method, perhaps. I was very young then, not such an adept hand at potions..."

Belladonna trailed off to horrific effect, bracing herself against the memories of self-inflected pain. The sun had almost entirely set now and the light from the single lamp was beginning to grow villainous.

"Never poison yourself, Astoria," continued Belladonna darkly. "There are no words to describe the agony."

A part of Astoria was dying to point out that her aunt was, in fact, the only person who had ever dosed Astoria with _anything_ but something about the look on Belladonna's face seemed to warn her that a single childish outburst was all it would take to end the discussion entirely.

"Years later, when I found out that I could no longer have children because of my own foolish tampering, I was still without remorse," Belladonna went on, deepening the intrigue further still. "You were born and I ignored the christening. I never even attempted to meet you."

Astoria's fingers were digging into the back of the chair in front of her. She did not even remember reaching for it in the first place...she had been too busy reeling as he fabric of security was yanked out from underneath her.

"I didn't see the point, frankly," Belladonna sighed heartlessly. "Your mother was being investigated. Your father was nothing short of a blithering idiot. I was already _so_ busy without them. The Ministry had just taken Rabastan away and I knew it was only a matter of time before Rodulphus and Bellatrix followed him to Azkaban—skipping all the way, I'm _sure_."

"You could have just _left_ me with my father!" Astoria spat resentfully. "Why go to the trouble?"

Astoria had already heard more than she had wanted to know. It was bad enough having George for a father. She didn't _need_ to know about how aggrieved her aunt was to be saddled with her on top of that. This discussion had to stop before she heard something that would haunt her forever...

"I couldn't, though," confessed Belladonna, staring off in the middle distance over Astoria's shoulder as if in a trance. "You were a year old when we first met. You looked nothing like your father—I had never seen a child so small and perfect. My entire family was gone and there you were in front of me: the first and only miracle I've ever experienced."

Astoria did not know what to say to this. The notion was less disturbing than she had been expecting but all the more confusing for it.

"I knew then and there that I wanted you," Belladonna admitted. "More than any man I had ever met or any sum of gold that had been taken from me, I wanted _you_. In the darkest moments of your wayward, _motherless_ childhood, you have never wanted me more than I wanted you, Astoria."

If the concept of Belladonna being smitten by her first impression of Astoria's babyish cheeks some fifteen years previously had been baffling, it was nothing compared to this.

"You came to me precisely when all was lost," Belladonna mused, "and though you've hated me ever since, I've begun to wonder if there wasn't some greater meaning behind it. I've never been terribly sentimental, but in this case, I believe my mother's advice was sound."

"So you're _not_ going to bash my face in?" Astoria finally managed, too surprised and relived by the turn of the conversation—which indeed, had seemed to threaten total abandonment for a moment—to manage anything more clever.

"No," promised Belladonna thickly, her expression so fiercely earnest that Astoria was left with the sick impression that this oath might be as much to herself as her niece. "At least, not today," she finished witheringly, slumping back in her seat, almost normal again. "In the meantime, it _might_ be nice if you would take a holiday from paranoid suspicion. You're very likely the only child I'll ever have—I'm not about to _murder_ you."

For a long moment, Astoria remained where she was, as unexpectedly touched as she was annoyed by the revelation that her aunt was capable of being maternal since she had clearly made no effort to cultivate the instinct.

Finally, prompted by Belladonna's surprising display of loyalty, Astoria slumped into the armchair, prepared to offer her own.

"You sunk Uncle Blishwick in the lake, then?"

" _Parts_ of him," sneered Belladonna darkly, still resenting her late husband, even in death, for the doddering mess he was capable of creating.

"What do you plan to do about it?" Astoria wondered, trying and failing to see a way forward that did not require placing Lucius Malfoy under the imperius curse.

"It's nothing to do with you, darling," replied Belladonna tiredly. "If it's a fight that Malfoy wants, then he'll have it, but it's hardly a matter to trouble a child with. Don't think on it."

Once again, Astoria reigned herself in, resisting the urge to protest that, at fifteen, the line was rather murky and she _could_ be considered as many parts woman as she was girl.

"Not necessarily," Astoria ventured at last, choosing her words carefully. "No one ever expects me to be a threat because of my age. They don't even _think_ before they speak in front of me. It's entirely possible that I might overhear something useful that would never be said in front of you."

Astoria could tell that Belladonna was far from convinced, but she did at least stop to consider this.

"I mean it," Astoria insisted hotly, eager to make her point seem relevant. "At the Sorority Dinner two days ago, I managed to learn that father has switched mistresses, that the _Minister_ spent the majority of his early twenties living in sin with _two_ women, and that Mr. Rowle is illegally betting a fortune against goblins on the Triwizard Tournament. I was there for less than six hours, auntie, and I wasn't even _trying_."

"Lucius would never be fool enough to discuss sensitive details with you present," Belladonna decided, drumming the rim of her glass thoughtfully.

"I was thinking of Father," Astoria confessed awkwardly. A guilty knife in her stomach caused her to stop just short of adding: _or, frankly, maybe even Lucius's son._

The offer fell out of Astoria's mouth heavily, bleeding a malignant stain into the fabric of their conversation. It was the first time that Astoria had ever offered to assist her aunt in a scheme—but more importantly, it was the first time that Astoria had ever promised to support her aunt to the point of sabotaging father.

 _"_ He _is_ a leaky tongue, to be sure," Belladonna finally admitted, bringing her long fingers up to touch her face. "Any spying you might attempt would have to be subtle and even more cunning. Even then, it would be unwise to put too much faith in anything your father says, as it's entirely possible that Malfoy be will crafty enough to deceive him on purpose for that very reason."

"It's better than nothing," muttered Astoria tightly. "I don't suppose you've forgotten that Mr. Malfoy has an entire legal team at his disposal and you _don't_? What are the odds you'll outmatch him on your own? He's a _giant_. You can't just shove him out of your way."

Belladonna's nostrils flared but she did not dispute this. Instead, she got up from her seat and moved toward the bar.

"I haven't survived this long by going about _pushing_ giants," Belladonna replied whimsically, clearly savoring the metaphor she was about to unleash as she returned to the couch with two glasses, one of which she placed in front of Astoria. "The trick is to _trip_ them, darling. If you can do that correctly, even the tallest of titans can be brought down by a molehill."

"You want to _trip_ Mr. Malfoy?" Astoria repeated dubiously. "That is your master plan?"

"Ashes, ashes..." Belladonna smiled coldly, raising her glass aloft. "They _all_ fall down."

0o0

The train station was surprisingly quiet as Astoria fought her way across the platform the next morning. It was a pale day, hot and uncommitted to either rain or shine. The white orb of the sun created a heavy halo behind the layers of clouds over her head and the ground itself did not seem to know whether it was really dry.

By comparison, the train cars were dark and cool after the close, oppressive atmosphere of the outside word. Blinking to reclaim her vision in the gloom, Astoria stashed her trunk and began to wander the half empty aisles.

Several of the windows had been thrust open to the quickening air and as the Hogwarts express picked up speed, small puffs of warm breeze reached out to flirt with the hem of her skirt as she walked. The smell of brown earth and living greenery was intoxicating, assaulting her senses like a draft of love potion.

The countryside sped past in patches, its fens and forests now cleared of snow, appearing almost tantalizingly fertile and accessible for the first time in months. Resigned to the idea of spending the day in a tin compartment and almost certain that Theodore was hiding from her anyway, Astoria was just about to settle down by herself when Tracey called her name.

After a very long night with her aunt, Astoria was almost sad to sacrifice a morning of watching the landscape slip past in silence. Tracey was not the type to be easily ignored, however, so Astoria governed her feet toward the long, open train car that her friend's voice had come from, trying not to allow the first hopeful and contented mood that she had experienced in weeks to slip away from her.

This particular train car had not been separated into compartments and was instead made up of one long, common area; curiously bright and rather noisy. Tracey was hanging over the end of one of the tables near the windows, pointing and gesticulating at Astoria excitedly. Beside her, Astoria was immediately grieved to find Blaise Zabini but it was the presence of Malfoy, Crabbe and Goyle that turned her off the most.

Even from behind, the sight of Draco's sleek, blonde head was cause for minor alarm. Over the course of a brief holiday, Astoria had managed to secretly snog him, drag him directly into the middle of an almost staged family farce involving murderous coverups, and then capped the whole thing all off by spending several hours in her aunt's company actively plotting his father's defeat. Having to sit next to him for an entire train journey was almost too much for Astoria's nerves to bear.

Like so many things lately, however, running away did not seem to be a socially acceptable option and as a result, Astoria found herself continuing toward Tracey's table without breaking her stride.

"Greengrass," allowed Blaise, who was sitting directly against the window and blocking the majority of the sweet air that was managing to slip through.

"Astoria!" squealed Tracey, almost beside herself. "We've just found out! The Third Task is a maze!"

"Yeah?" asked Astoria, intentionally sitting down next to Tracey, as this seemed to be the only option that did not make her feel light-headed. "How do you know? I thought they never announced the Tasks beforehand."

"Blaise's mother knows someone—a botanist?" Tracey broke off to glance at Blaise, seeking reassurance.

"Her _gardener_ ," Blaise clarified disinterestedly. "The man hasn't touched mother's greenhouses in weeks and he wouldn't tell her why. Mother had to threaten him with a sacking before he finally squealed. Apparently the Ministry is growing a maze on the school grounds and they've been calling in all the help they can find to manage it."

"Can you _imagine_ the look on the poor sap's face when the Ministry came for him?" drawled Draco, sitting up straight in order to do a cruel impression of an excitable old man. " _My country needs me_!"

This was not particularly funny but almost everyone laughed anyway and Draco sagged back down again, gratified by Crabbe and Goyle's guffaws.

Astoria found herself peering covertly at Draco out of the corner of her eye. Nothing about this joke struck her as especially witty but her body had responded to it anyway with a weird, jazzy lurch behind her belly button.

It was very close to the same emotion she had experienced while laying in bed with Tracey; the queer brightness of of a secret rising up out of the darkness inside of her in order to glitter behind her eyes.

 _'See?'_ her mind seemed to insist, using Draco's newest unkindness as proof of what it had been insisting all along. _'He's a prat...nothing good can come of making out with him in dark rooms. If anyone knew, you'd be so embarrassed you'd have to leave the country.'_

But even this rational thinking did not seem to be able to keep Astoria from feeling almost enjoyably giddy over the deception. The last time she had seen Draco, all hell had been breaking loose. Looking at him now, in such a familiar setting while the first heat of summer caressed her skin like a drunken promise stirred up a new type of awareness.

Hiding from the part of her mind that was responsible for governing good judgement, Astoria allowed herself to toy with the idea of how it would feel to kiss him _again_.

The thought alone seemed to grant life to the vague, fluttering movement in her chest, transforming it into something more closely resembling a creature—something foxlike and restless that curled and uncurled itself, mewing.

Pushing Draco down onto a secluded patch of lawn was quite possibly the worst idea Astoria had ever had, but now that it had been thought, its allure was almost undeniable. It was quite nearly the best game she had ever thought up; even more capable of provoking reckless joy than betting a frightening fortune against goblins.

Then, just as quickly as the notion had set upon her, the bubble popped.

Astoria's dad _worked_ for Draco's father now, for God's sake and Lucius himself was actively campaigning to have Belladonna arrested. Then there was Draco, who spent the bulk of his free time slinging racial slurs at first years who had only committed the crime of looking at him the wrong way.

Still, the powerful surge of secrecy mixed with need that had just shot though her could not be entirely ignored. Suddenly seized by the irony of having spent _years_ repressing the idea that Draco was privately desperate to have in a go at her only to realize that there was a part of her that might be inclined savor the idea, Astoria found herself choking on a hollow and disturbed cackle.

This laugh, far too late for any punchline and half made up of a dizzy gagging motion, was enough to make everyone's head turn. Blaise raised an eyebrow but Draco, perhaps used to Crabbe and Goyle's slow reaction time, seemed to assume this was a belated response to his own joke and he shifted smugly.

 _Merlin._

"Your mother is so gorgeous, Blaise," Tracey went on. "Every time I see her I forget how to talk. I can't even picture her threatening to sack someone."

"You _can't_?" scoffed Astoria distractedly, pinching the bridge of her nose to stop the overflow of wild laughter that was threatening to rip free of her throat at any moment.

Blaise's eyes flashed but he responded smoothly: "She seemed pretty taken with _you_ , Astoria. What did she call you— _a proper English rose?_ She hardly ever thinks anybody is good looking, you know. _"_

 _"_ When were _you_ with Blaise's mother?" asked Draco quickly, unable to conceal how much the idea irritated him.

"We ran into her at tea," explained Astoria, still trying very hard hard to control her emotions.

"If I didn't know better, I'd say it _almost_ seemed like she wanted a minute alone with you and Madame Flint," remarked Blaise offhandedly, his eyes sharp and nosy. "I keep trying to imagine how that conversation must have went."

Astoria made a weird hacking sound, the ungovernable laughter that had nothing to do with Mrs. Flint slipping out between her fingertips again.

"Astoria— _what_?" laughed Tracey haltingly, confused by the outburst.

"Nothing," Astoria gasped, wiping away tears of mingled disgust and mirth. "A joke..."

0o0

Theodore did not come out of hiding until the next morning when classes recommenced.

A pale blue sky was blazing in the vaulted ceiling overhead when Astoria looked up and saw him enter the hall. Seated at the end of the Slytherin table in a wildly optimistic bid to tempt him into sitting with her, Astoria folded up her newspaper and waited to see where the shoe would drop.

To her moderate but delighted surprise, Theodore made a direct beeline for her. Safely in his seat, Theodore snatched up the back of Astoria's _Daily Prophet_ and buried his nose in it intently.

"Morning," he muttered across the advice column, suspiciously fascinated by a passage dedicated to meddling in-laws. "Nice day out, isn't it?"

"Yeah," Astoria replied dubiously, taken aback but more than willing to start afresh if he was.

"Yup," Theodore breathed, clicking his teeth tensely. "Sixty _twooo_ degrees."

Astoria's eyes shifted away from Theodore's ever-pale face and became arrested by his sweater. It was one of the annual cashmeres that Astoria purchased for Theodore at Christmas time (last year's, if she remembered correctly) and she could still see the crease from where it had been folded up in its box running down the length of Theodore's arm.

"Yup," said Theodore again, making the same weird snapping sound as he ground his teeth together.

"Ok, no," Astoria sighed, unnerved. "I cant do this."

"What do you mean?" demanded Theodore guilty, tightening the wall of newspaper that separated them.

"I thought you were mad at me!" Astoria insisted, leaning closer. "We had a giant fight and the you didn't speak to me for four days!"

"It wasn't as bad as that," insisted Theodore evasively, his eyes fixed on the doors to the entrance hall.

"Theo, you didn't have to wear one of the Christmas sweaters," Astoria muttered awkwardly, frightened by the lengths he had taken to make good. "I don't _care_ how you dress."

"What?" snorted Theo, tearing his eyes away from the exit to stare at her.

Astoria blinked, thoroughly confused. At that exact moment however, Padma and her friend Lisa Turpin appeared, skirting their way along the edge of the hall. Theodore froze, clutching the paper so stiffly that his knuckles turned white.

" _Oh_ ," breathed Astoria, comprehending the situation at last. It was not _Astoria_ that Theodore had worn the sweater for, but Padma Patil.

"Shut it!" Theodore growled, dropping the newspaper. "Not everything is about you, you know! You've got an ego is the size of Maxime's—"

He broke off again to allow Moody to clunk by, fuming.

"Theo!" Astoria trilled excitedly, cheerfully ignoring the implied suggestion that she was a narcissist. "Have you made _plans_ with Padma?"

"No," scoffed Theodore at once, turning slightly red, giving every outward appearance of being faintly nauseated by the suggestion.

"You got on with her at Cassandra's party," Astoria pointed out, repressing a smirk. "I saw you with her at the end of the night."

" _Yeah_ ," Theo admitted sneeringly, "as well as two people _can_ when one of them is actively weeping about their ex. You know, I think you've had Goldstein's number all this time? He seems like a real arrogant prick to me."

"Singing my tune, are you?" Astoria quirked dryly, unfolding a napkin and reaching for the fruit.

"Did you know that he cheated on her?" Theo went on tremulously, choking on outrage.

"Oh yeah?" remarked Astoria offhandedly, knowing this fact all too well and concealing a wince when a fist of guilt gave her stomach a squeeze.

"Yeah," Theo rattled on, completely missing Astoria's lack of encouragement. "He's _dating_ that vapid cow from your sorority now. Katherine Macdougal, is it?"

"Mhmm," Astoria confirmed vaguely, looking to switch topics. "His loss is your potential gain, I say. You should ask her out now."

Theodore snorted, wildly flustered by the suggestion.

"She finally knows your name," Astoria pointed out gently. "Why not give it a try?"

"Because if she turns me down I'll have to drown myself?" Theodore jeered violently.

"Just ask her to do schoolwork with you," Astoria pressed, resisting the urge to roll her eyes. "Wouldn't you like to at least be _friends_ with her?"

" _Why_ would she ever want to do anything with _me_?" burst Theodore hatefully. "At best, I'll just remind her of the time her boyfriend _dumped_ her, wont I?"

Sensing that they had reached the point in the argument where Theodore would become sulky, Astoria turned back to her breakfast and pursed her lips.

She did not agree with him one bit about this. In her not unlimited experience with the scorned, wronged or emotionally vulnerable, she had noticed that women frequently had a tendency to cling to reassuring male friendships in the way that mothers clung to their children during floods.

If Theodore could only pluck up the courage to actually _talk_ to Padma, Astoria had an idea that there had never been a better window of opportunity for him to meaningfully insert himself into her life.

Afraid of coming across as crass or opportunistic at Padma's expense, however, Astoria held her tongue. She had already learned her lesson about meddling in Theodore's emotional affairs and she was not eager to repeat the experience again any time soon.

0o0

On the bright side, Padma's break-up was exactly the ice breaker that Astoria and Theodore had needed. After Herbology, Astoria found him waiting for her at the top of the hill and they set of for Care of Magical Creatures together, chatting as though nothing had ever been amiss.

"Merlin it's bright out," Theodore complained, bringing his hand up to shield his eyes against the high noon sun.

"It's _glorious_ ," Astoria sighed, wanting more than anything to sink down onto the finally green lawn and press her face into the earth before any of Hagrid's monster's could singe her eyelashes off.

Sweating profusely in his nice sweater, Theodore tugged on his book bag and scowled.

Hagrid was waiting outside his cabin with several open crates at his feet. Dreading the idea of raising another generation of Skrewts, Astoria allowed herself to be jostled toward the back in the crowd.

"What's _this_?" demanded Tracey hotly, stopping short at the bottom of the slope. "If there are more mutants in those boxes, I swear to God, I'm doing a runner. I don't care _what_ kind of letters Snape sends home about it!"

"They're Nifflers!" declared Hagrid proudly. "Treasure hunters, they are. Yeh'll find 'em down mine shafts and the like mostly. They're attracted to sparkly stuff..."

Pansy let out a horrific shriek as an animal very closely resembling a furry pig sprung up from one of the boxes and attempted to snatch the watch off her wrist.

"There yeh go! See?" cried Hagrid.

"Well, _I'm_ staying," ventured Astoria smugly, cheered by the sight of Pansy's flailing limbs and terror-struck expression.

Hagrid had dug up and tilled a wide patch of earth by hand for this particular lesson, scattering false gold into the hole like shimmering earthworms. At his instruction, each member of the class shuffled forward to select a Niffler and then set it loose in the dirt.

"I've got a prize fer whoever picks the niffler that digs up the most!" Hagrid called out over the crunch and spray of soil.

It was easily the most fun Astoria had ever had in Care of Magical Creatures class. She took to the game at once, elated by every coin that her niffler retrieved and brought back to her, never mind the mess it made in her lap.

"So I was thinking," said Tracey, crouching low beside Astoria, who promptly let out a squeal of delight that border-lined alarm as her niffler burst back the surface of the rocky pool. "I want to have a look at the secret maze."

"Maze?" asked Astoria distractedly, counting her coins. "What maze?"

"The one they're building for the Third Task," said Tracey, lowering her voice further still.

"Oh!" Astoria exclaimed, keeping a watchful eye on Ron Weasley's slightly larger pile of galleons. "How would we find it? Do you know where it is?"

"It would have to be somewhere big wouldn't it?" whispered Tracey conspiratorially. "Someplace on the grounds?"

"Like the plot of woods where they held the First Task?" Astoria wondered, trying to guess what sort of prize Hagrid might have bought and whether it was actually worth winning. What if it turned out to be a wood engraving of Skrewt?

"Isn't it _obvious_?" drawled Draco, who had been eavesdropping unnoticed, hidden in plain sight by the commotion the nifflers were causing. Astoria's false gold clattered in her startled fingers as she jumped.

"Not really," scoffed Tracey primly, unaffected by Draco's sly arrival. "The location is supposed to be well hidden, isn't it?"

"Sure," Malfoy jeered, "only it isn't that hard to piece together, is it?"

"The Tasks are top secret," Tracey argued fruitlessly. "Of _course_ it'll be hard to find—"

"Do _you_ know where it is?" asked Astoria directly, cutting Tracey off before she could tempt Draco into making them both work for the information.

"The quidditch pitch," scoffed Draco, twitching his shoulders up into a lazy shrug that did not quite match his eyes. "No one has been using it all year."

0o0

It took several hours for Tracey start believing what Astoria had accepted almost immediately: Malfoy was likely quite right. The quidditch pitch (already capable of seating hundreds of people) was the perfect place for an event and it _had_ been deserted for months. Who knew what kind of wonders might have been cultivated there by Ministry workers and borrowed personal gardeners since the fall?

Thinking back on the mysterious maze-like hedges that had sprung up along the edges of the garden at the Yule Ball, Astoria had never been so convinced by a guess in her life.

Unfortunately, however, Draco was the one who had put the pieces of the puzzle together first and this seemed to give him enough of a reason to involve himself in Astoria's and Tracey's plans. All throughout Arithmancy, he continued to interject.

"We should sneak down after dinner," said Tracey, checking the grade of the homework assignment she had just been handed back.

Astoria averted her eyes from Vector's face as he handed over her own set of equations. Astoria's homework for this topic was always rubbish after all, and the image of Vector responding to Belladonna's summons at the snap of a finger was not one she wished to relive.

"Sure, if you want to run right into security," sneered Draco once Vector had finished with them and continued on down the table. "What a _stupid_ plan. There's a view of the pitch from the cliff near the owlery—that's probably the best place to have a look."

"The best place to have a look at _what_?" interjected Theodore warily.

"The Maze that the school is using for the Third Task!" hissed Tracey intolerantly. "Keep up!"

"I don't _want_ to keep up," Theodore scowled.

"Do you think we should we wait until dark, Astoria?" pressed Tracey, ignoring Theo entirely. "Or do you think it would be better to head down after dinner?"

" _I_ probably shouldn't go at all," mused Astoria crankily, holding up her essay, onto which a large black 'D' had been printed in Vectors thin hand. "Finals are in less than a month. I'm going to fail for sure this year."

"Yeah _right_ ," drawled Malfoy carelessly. "Not in this century, Greengrass."

Knowing that Draco was undoubtedly thinking of Vector's new role as her aunt's loyal servant, Astoria shot him a hard, threatening look.

All things aside, however, Astoria was anxious to see if the maze truly existed with her own eyes. It was where the last Task would take place—and where Astoria's final bet with the Goblins would be won or lost. Surely having a look was the smartest thing to do?

"After dinner," Astoria decided. "The teachers will be angrier if they catch us down there after dark. We'll shoot for sunset."

0o0

The sky was a brilliant, tropical orange when Astoria and Tracey exited the castle after dinner. Everything, from the sprawling lawn to the far off forest, was the inky color of emerald velvet in shadow; the air as warm as a bathtub even in semi-darkness.

Delighted to be outside without a cloak on, Astoria linked her arm through Tracey's and willingly came to a halt at the edge of the courtyard to 'wait for the rest'.

Assuming that 'the rest' must mean Draco and perhaps Blaise, Astoria was a little surprised by the crowd that soon appeared. Apparently unable to keep his mouth shut about their scheme, Malfoy turned up moments later with Maudlin, Luc, Alec _and_ Blaise Zabini.

"Ria!" Maudlin yelled, beside himself at the sight of her.

"Never move to Britain!" Astoria called back, observing the lively tan he had managed to reclaim in just under two weeks at home. "The climate works against you!"

"Don't let me forget, I've got a package for you from my father," continued Maudlin.

Alec, pale and crooked as he ever was, came to a slouching stop and produced a sleek, rather villainous looking cigar from one of his pockets. He lit it with his gold zippo and stood, observing the humming hills, exhaling contentedly.

Draco quickly chose the direction and (with a little unnecessary help from Maudlin), they followed his lead out around the west tower.

Half tempted to kick off her shoes, Astoria picked her way across the grass behind them, satisfied to remain silent.

"We're going the wrong way," Maudlin insisted for perhaps the eighth time as they began the ascent up the slope that would bring them closer to the owlery. "Isn't your pitch on the _other_ side of the castle?"

The moment they reached a recognizable path however, Astoria was able to reorient herself and she began to understand what Draco was getting at.

From where they were standing on the dirt track that looped up toward the tower, Astoria could see nothing but sky. But if they were to continue upward and out onto the rocky shelf, it would most certainly put them within pointing distance of the quidditch field.

"This way," said Astoria confidently, pushing past Maudlin and choosing the thickest cropping of rock she could find.

A moment later, huffing and puffing, they had all filed out onto the edge of what could only be described as a cliff and even Maudlin fell silent.

Below them, sprawling into the middle distance—much larger and wider than a standard-size quidditch pitch had ever been—was a giant maze, wreathed in mist. Everything, from its thick, sinewy hedgerows to the dark gaping mouths of its pathways was enough send shivers down Astoria's spine.

Not only was it ominous, it was _massive_. Harry Potter would be the size of an ant in a field as he worked his way through it...

"Oh shit," swore Luc.

Privately agreeing with this summation, Astoria leaned back against the castle wall. The new-summer heat had vanished. She was cold again.

"Someone is moving down there," said Alec calmly, still puffing on his cigar.

Astoria turned to look. It was true. At the far edge of the maze stood several people of different heights, all in a cluster together. Even from a very great distance, Astoria could make out the corn-silk shine of Fleur Delacour's hair.

"That's Bagman and the champions!" laughed Tracey. "God, this Task is going to be _excellent_."

Astoria wished she could share Tracey's enthusiasm. Still, if Harry knew what was coming, he would surely be able to train for the event appropriately? It wouldn't be like last time...Astoria wouldn't have to convince Dobby to help her save Harry from himself.

"That's not what I was talking about," corrected Alec, gesturing with his free hand. "Look over there."

Astoria followed his finger curiously. At first, she couldn't make out what he was talking about, but then...

"What _is_ that?" Draco sneered, disturbed by a scuttling, furtive motion near the west side of the maze.

Alec shrugged but Astoria stood up on her tiptoes, almost certain that she had just seen a very familiar flash of dark velvet. _Goblins_ , she decided, unsurprised by this trickery but annoyed just the same.

"We should get out of here," muttered Maudlin after a long silence, looking as unnerved as Draco did. "I don't like to think what will happen if we're caught spying. We look suspicious and I bet Delacour can see us here."

They all moved back toward the slope in wordless agreement. It was a much sharper journey going down than it had been going up. By the time they had reached the bottom where the path ran, Astoria had bruised her hands by grabbing at rocks to keep from sliding.

Nearly all of the light from the sunset had disappeared, either blocked by the hill or else fading at the source. A darkening night was softly unfolding and the sound of crickets chirping in the far off trees grew steadily louder.

Luc let out a soft, whooping sound and ran forward to kick at a stick. Astoria knew at once how he felt. Now that the maze was no longer in sight, there was something faintly mystical and invigorating about the blue air and she almost wanted to charge out into it herself.

Their group grew looser. Maudlin had joined Luc and was punting the same stick further and further down the lawn for them both to chase. Blaise was trying to impress Alec with his knowledge of Cuban cigars; a conversation that Tracey was clinging to every word of. Draco was... Astoria paused next to a lilac tree that had been planted in the shade of the castle, suddenly aware that she had no idea what had happened to Malfoy.

"That was an awfully short person spying on the maze," drawled Draco, and Astoria understood that he had drifted away from Maudlin and come up behind her. "One of _your_ friends?"

Astoria put her hand on one of the lilac branches, reaching for the fuller blooms that seemed to be growing near the top.

"Probably," she confirmed with a smirk, toying with the idea that the best and most hilarious way to keep a secret was to tell it and then pretend to be joking. "Ragnuk is a filthy cheater of course, and from what I hear, Hodrod is no better."

"What's a _Ragnuk_?" sneered Draco, edging under the branch that Astoria was pulling on.

"Goblin king," said Astoria nonchalantly, resisting the urge to laugh when she caught a glimpse of Draco's disbelieving face.

Tracey let out a wild shriek of laughter on the lawn and Astoria's desire to laugh quickly turned into an even stronger urge to roll her eyes.

"Does he even like her at _all_?" Astoria wondered, giving voice to a question that had been bothering her for some time.

"Who?" asked Draco, following her gaze toward the green. "Zabini? Probably not. If he liked her, he'd have had her by now. Davis is three drinks and a sly look away from crawling into his dorm bed to wait for him on the _best_ of days."

Astoria bit her lip in response to this brutal sizing-up, torn between annoyance and a queer desire to groan at its truthfulness.

"You should tell him to stop messing with her, then," Astoria suggested tightly, finally getting her hand on a flower that was in full bloom. "It's kind of sick if you think about it."

"Why?" Draco sneered. "It's her _own_ fault."

Draco was standing so close that the smell of his shirt was nearly as tangible as the fabric it was made up of.

"Please?" Astoria sang, her voice dropping low and becoming dangerously teasing even to her own ears. "I'd love you for it, you know."

Surely Draco knew that she was messing with him, but this alone did not seem to be enough to prevent Astoria's words from having an effect.

"Yeah?" scoffed Draco quietly, his expression shooting for ambivalent and missing its mark by about a mile.

"Why not?" continued Astoria recklessly, unsure why her energy always seemed to take such a turn toward goading. "Zabini's always talking badly about you when you're not around. You may as well pay it back to him."

"You _really_ want me to tell your best friend's walking obsession to stop talking to her?" drawled Draco softly, instinctively thrilling to the idea even if it was foolish. "If Davis found out, she'd kill you."

"She'd only find out if _you_ told her," Astoria returned easily, "and I wouldn't love you for that—I'd _probably_ skin you."

"You've got a real thing for meddling with the private business of really _boring_ people," Draco observed a little disdainfully, somehow overlooking the fact that she had just threatened to fillet him.

"They're not boring," murmured Astoria firmly, pulling the green leaves off the stem of her lilac bloom. "I have my aunt to thank for the meddling trait, though. The older I get, the more I think that she's given me a _complex_."

"Try siding with your father, then," insisted Draco pushily, oddly motived to peruse this topic.

"What?" scoffed Astoria. Then, realizing that she had put her foot in it, she darkened. "Oh. Help him have my aunt potentially _arrested_ , you mean? Why would I ever do that?"

"Because it's _smarter,"_ insisted Draco cockily, drawing himself up somewhat. "Your dad works for _my_ father now, so _that's_ the sort of team you'd be on. I don't suppose I even have to tell you what _that_ counts for? It's not all about him, anyway—choosing his side is the best way for _you_ to come out on top."

 _On top and firmly in your pocket,_ Astoria added inside her head, hating the idea at once.

Deep down though, Astoria knew that allowing Draco to believe she was indifferent to Belladonna's mad plan probably _was_ the smartest way to handle this. It would certainly be easier for Draco to think that Astoria was unlikely to offer any secret opposition against his father. Not to mention it considerably raised the odds that he would unwittingly slip up and tell her something that she ought not to know.

Still, Astoria couldn't quite bring herself to do it. It was only an act, but it was a repugnant one and she was not certain she had it in her to pretend convincingly.

"I'm staying out of it," Astoria insisted coldly.

"I'm serious, Astoria," snapped Draco, looking as though he was fighting very hard to avoid sneering. "Your aunt _isn't_ going to win," he cautioned, narrowing his eyes in the direction of her face. "You can't _actually_ think she's going to force my father into funding a _Gypsy_ reservation, can you? Even the Minister can't stand that lousy lot, and he pretends to tolerate _muggles_."

Even with so many other things to focus on, Astoria could not help but feel that this was an interesting choice of words to describe Fudge, who always came across as rather fatherly and harmless in mixed society. _Pretends to tolerate muggles._ Well, wasn't _that_ telling?

"I don't care," said Astoria bitterly, wanting to drop the topic entirely. "I—"

Astoria broke off, distracted by something moving in the distance over Draco's shoulder. They had been standing under the tree for several long minutes now and Astoria was surprised by how dark the lawn had become without her noticing. The mist that had been hovering over the maze at sunset appeared to have moved inward, curling across the sloping grass like grasping fingertips. Maudlin and Alec were still in sight, but they had kicked the branch so far that they had very nearly left Astoria and Draco behind. Meanwhile, nearer at hand, Astoria was certain that she had just seen something move in the nearest outcropping of forest.

"What?" demanded Draco almost hostilely, clearly disturbed by the notion that someone might have been watching them.

"Over there," Astoria breathed, inclining her body in the direction of the bushes she had seen shudder.

"Let's go," Draco muttered, perhaps thinking of the goblin he had seen on the quidditch pitch as his hand inched toward the wand in his pocket.

"Don't!" Astoria hissed with a lurch of dread, recognizing the shape at last, her own arm flashing out to stop Draco in his tracks. "It's _Moody_."

Sure enough, seconds after Astoria had made this terrible pronouncement, Moody's lurching figure appeared through the gloom, skirting the edge of the woods and moving very quickly in their direction.

Either because he was very afraid of being caught out of bed after hours or—more likely—because Moody had once tortured him with a bit of fancy Transfiguration, Draco immediately began to push toward the tree.

"It doesn't matter!" Astoria whispered sharply, painfully aware of the fact that Moody could see through solid objects. "His _eye_. Be still!"

Draco froze and suddenly the only sound Astoria could hear was his shallow breathing. Moody drew closer, hobbling along on his false leg, looking very much the part of a crypt keeper in the gloomy mist. Astoria closed her eyes as he became level with them and counted to ten. When she opened them, he had already passed by, his head down low, as though reading something inside his cloak.

"What is _he_ doing out here?" sneered Draco suspiciously, reclaiming his confidence only after Moody was long past their stretch of castle wall.

"Dunno," Astoria breathed, a little chilled. "Checking for intruders or some other mad business, I expect."

This made a certain amount of sense, but it could not entirely undo the creepy way he had been walking or the fact that he had continued straight past them without looking.

"So much for _constant_ _vigilance_ ," drawled Draco gleefully.

"Yeah," Astoria muttered, throughly unnerved. "Let's catch up with the others."

0o0

* * *

Ug, late again. To be fair, it's very possible that I wasn't factoring in holiday parties or wine-fueled family board-game competitions when I made the original schedule for this post. I really thought I would have it finished and tightened up sooner. Sorry, guys.

In any case, if anyone is wondering what in the sly hell Moody is up to, this chapter happens to run parallel to canon-time on the night that Barty Crouch Sr. breaks into the grounds. So essentially, he _too_ is preoccupied by _murder_.

The next chapter should bring the plot up to (at least the start of and hopefully the finish of) the Third Task, which is where things are really going to go off the wall, because Voldemort. So, there should be that to look forward to.

Until then, reviews are the ultimate treat!


	55. Dream Land

Chapter Fifty Five

Dream Land

* * *

0o0

"Have you heard?"

Astoria had been on the verge of sealing a letter into an envelope in the deserted common room. Now she looked up with a jolt, startled to find Fred Weasley's face suddenly hovering over her expectantly. Astoria flipped over her letter to conceal her aunt's address and eyed Fred's sleep-tousled hair.

It was just after six o'clock in the morning but a bright band of light was shining confidently outside the tower windows. The dawn had broken, as warm and moist as a cake. Despite the hour, a balmy heat was already mounting its way toward the curved eaves overhead, promising to become steadily more scorching as the day progressed. Still, Astoria was not used to seeing either of the twins out of bed before before breakfast and she did not think that it was hot enough in the dormitories yet to have driven Fred below.

"No," said Astoria tentatively, her mind flashing to the goblins. " _What_?"

"Barty Crouch broke into the grounds last night!" declared Fred, slinging himself into a seat and propping his slipper-clad feet up against the upholstered arm of the chair next to him.

"Are you serious?" returned Astoria, stunned. "Because of the tournament? You _aren't_ going to tell me he was caught _cheating_?"

"Nah," continued Fred darkly, his freckly white ankles peeking out below the cuffs of his short pajama bottoms. "Apparently Harry and Krum found him raving like lunatic near the woods."

"You're kidding! This happened last night?" Astoria demanded, her thoughts flashing wildly to the grim specter of Professor Moody in the fog. "What do you mean by 'raving'? Like he was drunk and stumbled in from the village?"

"Yeah, _something_ like that," Fred agreed. "Only when Harry went for help, Crouch _cursed_ Krum and then made a run for it, so I don't know about intoxicated so much as _off his rocker_. The teachers found Krum face down on the lawn and had to revive him. Harry reckons Crouch stunned him."

" _What_?" Astoria gaped.

This did not track at all with anything that Astoria had ever heard about the notorious Mr. Crouch at home, nor did it match up very well with the stiff, bristle-comb caressed figure that he tended to present in public.

Fred raised his eyebrows and nodded shortly. "Odd, right? Only a week or before the last Task and Percy's boss has suddenly lost his mind—"

A sound near the dormitory stairs caused Fred to fall silent. Astoria turned to peer at the doorway as well, but it was only George who came slouching in.

"That's not all," continued Fred in a rushed undertone. "Hey, George, over here!"

George ambled toward them, yawning deeply.

"Tell Astoria what Karkaroff said to you over break," Fred commanded sternly, lifting his legs off the arm of the chair so that George could sit down.

"Hewannabet," mumbled George, stretching his arms upward through the gentle air, unkinking his joints noisily.

"He what?" asked Astoria, fighting to keep up.

"He's wants to place a bet on the last Task," clarified Fred, cutting across his groggy brother rather impatiently. "He went to Ragnuk, but Ragnuk sent him to _us_."

"Yeah," rejoined George, "apparently the goblins told him we were handling all of their bets on the Tournament within the school grounds."

Astoria was not exactly surprised to hear this, not when she considered the tip-off that Marcus had given her at the Rowles during the Easter Holidays: ' _You're his financial security blanket. Without you, Ragnuk's not expecting to turn a profit...'_ It was on Astoria's mind to mention this warning but Fred had not finished.

"You're forgetting about Hodord," insisted Fred tightly, his stern eyes locked on his brother's face.

"That's right!" exclaimed George. "Karkaroff complained about having to come to us in order to work with Ragnuk because apparently _Hodrod_ took his bet without passing him off to anybody."

"Which means that Karkaroff is betting against _both_ goblins for the last Task," Fred pointed out irritably. "What do you make of that?"

"Dead dodgy," George mumbled. "Only we can't exactly tell Karkaroff to piss off, can we? Not if Ragnuk sent him our way on purpose."

"What are you _talking_ about? Of course we can!" grumbled Fred. "Karkaroff's a creep even without the shady backroom deals. We're better off shot of him, if you ask me."

"Why would he want to place a bet with both goblins?" wondered Astoria, incapable of feeling anything but suspicious of Karkaroff's motives, no matter how odd they were.

"Dunno," George shrugged, his voice still thick with fatigue. "Probably just trying to maximize his earning potential."

"Then why not just bet twice as much against Hodrod?" Astoria pointed out. "Why split up his wager?"

"That's what I said!" muttered Fred. "It's shenanigans, is what it is! He's up to some kind of foul play. I can _smell_ it."

"Who did he want to bet on?" Astoria wondered mildly. "Two tickets for Krum? That what he's trying for?"

For a moment George was silent. "Well, no," he admitted warily. "He wanted to bet on Diggory."

"You didn't tell _me_ that!" snapped Fred.

"Why was Karkaroff alone with you, George?" Astoria asked, her eyes beginning to ache after so much pinging from one twin to the other. "Where were _you_ , Fred?"

"I was in the _loo_!" exclaimed Fred emphatically.

"Alright, alright!" scoffed George, finally shaking off his fatigue. "But it's not _so_ weird, is it? There's a decent chance that Diggory will win! He's tied in first place with Harry right now. So, _maybe_ Karkaroff needs the money more than he cares about school loyalty! We can understand that, can't we?"

"But that doesn't even make sense!" Fred groused. "He can't win anything _extra_ by betting on two champions! Only one person is going to win!"

Astoria tucked the letter she had woken up so early to write into her pocket and stood up. This entire situation was vexing and it was terribly early to have to contemplate yet another sign of potential danger tied to the rapidly approaching Third Task.

"What did you tell him, George?" she asked, moving toward the window to peer out at the sunrise winking cheerfully off of the lake.

"I took his bet," admitted George stoutly. "I can't see any reason to cause a fuss with Ragnuk—especially not now, when we're so close to being rid of him!"

"How much did he wager?" Astoria wondered warily. Her fingers tightened against the windowsill in anticipation.

"About a five hundred galleons," said George, raising a hand to silence his irate brother before Fred could start in on them. "We've done more than that before! He's a grown man with a job, he'll pay up!"

"Unless he does a Crouch and runs off on us!" Fred protested loudly.

"He's not going to run!" argued George. "Think about it! We know where he works! He's the headmaster of Durmstrang—and he _must_ know that Ragnuk will track him down even if _we_ can't. Karkaroff would have to disappear to Antarctica to outrun that lot."

Astoria's thoughts moved fluidly from the topic of Karkaroff's flight potential to the strange warning that Ludo Bagman had given her at the Yule Ball: _'He's a dangerous fellow. Not a man to cross. I'm very sorry that I ever had dealings with him. I hear he's been having a spot of trouble with his left arm…'_

"Bagman warned me about Karkaroff, remember?" Astoria muttered, suddenly chilled despite the gathering heat. "At the ball. He made it sound as though we should watch out for him."

"Yeah, well, Bagman would know all about that, wouldn't he?" snorted Fred. "Defaulting on debts is his _real_ sport. I don't care how many quidditch matches he's been to."

They were all quiet for a moment, although Fred continued to occasionally huff and puff wordlessly behind her.

"Well," Fred finally sighed, "what's done is done, I guess. We should get dressed, George."

"Try not to worry, Fred," Astoria murmured.

She listened to them both remount the stairs to their dormitory without taking her eyes off of the grounds. The approaching Task was beginning to seem like the date of an execution that had been marked far in advance but try as she might, it was very hard to maintain any sense of real foreboding with the sun shining so cheerfully.

Waves gently lapped at the banks of the sprawling lake. The grassy lawn, shorn and green, rolled toward the water with a liquid elegance all its own, almost begging Astoria to forget about her troubles and run out to meet it instead.

Fondling the corner of the envelope in her pocket, Astoria finally managed to wrench her eyes away from the scene beyond the window glass. She was anxious to make a trip to the owlery before breakfast and if she did not move soon, she would run out of time.

0o0

Breakfast was a loud, chaotic affair. The sudden arrival of such promising summer weather seemed to have driven half of student body out of their usual seats and into the courtyard.

Snatching a piece of toast off the end of the Ravenclaw table, Astoria made her way toward the steps, guided by the gusts of warm air surging about her ankles like surf.

People in house robes of every color were hanging about near the benches or else sprawled out on the grass, enjoying the first flush of morning sunshine. Eager to make herself one of them no matter who she had to sit with, Astoria fixed her toast in her mouth, hoisted up her bag and set off past the water fountain.

She had not even made it as far as the walkway before someone hailed her.

"Ria!"

Astoria turned in the direction of a squalling female voice and spotted Tracey near the mossy eaves. Too delighted by the weather to be properly annoyed by the way that Tracey's had so enthusiastically taken to stealing Maudlin's childhood nickname for her lately, Astoria refrained from complaining and tossed her schoolbag down near the stone wall instead.

"I can't believe it's Potions this morning," Astoria sighed. "Can you imagine being underground on a day like today?"

"I'm always underground," scoffed Tracey, snagging a bit of Astoria's toast crust. "Not all of us get to sleep in towers like fairy princesses."

" _Who's_ a fairy princess?" demanded the smooth, disinterested voice of Blaise Zabini, appearing behind the water fountain, followed by Draco Crabbe and Goyle. "Oh," Blaise leered, pretending to finally catch sight of Astoria, "of _course_. Who else?"

Astoria smiled tightly and took a very pointed, predatory bite out of her breakfast.

"What are you two on about?" demanded Draco rudely, perhaps eager to stop Astoria's method of communicating with Blaise using nothing but her teeth.

"Nothing," said Tracey quickly, as eager and rushed as she always was in Blaise's presence. "Astoria just can't bear to think about spending the morning in the dungeons."

"Well, _I_ for one don't blame her," Draco sneered, eyeing the already splendid grounds a little disdainfully, as though even _they_ left something be desired. "You know, considering all the funding that goes into this place, you think they'd at least be able to afford a decent garden."

"Who needs a garden when we have a maze," chuckled Blaise. "Although if what Hundin was saying at breakfast is true, Krum might disagree with me."

"What happened to Krum?" asked Tracey, displaying a level of such dedicated interest that Astoria was certain she was faking it.

"Who knows," scoffed Draco scornfully. "Alec didn't have the whole story. Something about Krum getting injured. Take away his broomstick and that duck-faced goon always _waddles_ as far as I can tell—I suppose he probably just tripped himself up in the dark."

Astoria let out a smug little laugh before quickly diverting her attention toward a pulled thread in her skirt. For the first time in a long while, Astoria knew a bit of gossip before the Slytherins did and the effect was almost shamefully enjoyable.

"Something you want to share with the rest of us, Greengrass?" asked Blaise.

"Not really," returned Astoria boldly, smirking unpleasantly right back at him.

The bell rang overhead. Tracey, who had been shooting Astoria sidelong looks of poisonous displeasure, sprung to her feet, keen to follow Blaise _and_ outpace Astoria's hostility at the same time if she could manage it.

More than willing to let Tracey have Blaise all to herself, Astoria slowed her pace. The moment that Tracey had put several feet between them, however, she reached out to snag Malfoy and ended up catching his tie.

Realizing that she was attempting to hold him behind, Draco's eyes flicked down to Astoria's hand and then back up again toward Blaise almost curiously.

"Zabini can _see_ you, you know," he drawled.

"I know," returned Astoria almost lazily, unduly amused by the notion of denying Blaise anything. "I also know _exactly_ what happened to Krum, but I'll only tell you if you promise not to tell Zabini a wicked word of it."

A flash of something in Draco's expression told Astoria that he had not expected this quirk, but it seemed to speak to his sense of amusement on such a deep level that he quickly put aside any annoyance over Astoria's determination to single Blaise out.

"Alright," he shrugged softly, looking very pleased with himself, "but if the story's rubbish I'm not going to bother hiding it."

"It's not rubbish," Astoria continued. "Krum didn't trip over himself, he was attacked."

"By who?" scoffed Malfoy, narrowing his eyes. "Or should I say 'what'? Hagrid forgot to hammer down the lids on his crates again, did he?"

"No," snorted Astoria, "I'm coming to it—this is the best part."

Astoria maneuvered her elbow so that Ernie Macmillan and Hannah Abbot could slip past her, effectively providing a buffer for their conversation against Tracey and Blaise.

"Now, I've heard this second hand," Astoria cautioned, dropping her voice another octave. "It's staying anonymous, so don't bother hunting for a name."

" _And_?" Draco pressed, displaying what Astoria felt to be a wildly hypocritical impatience considering how many times she had been on the other side of _his_ slow and smarmy news delivery.

"Barty Crouch broke into the grounds last night," said Astoria quietly. "Harry and Krum found him—apparently he stumbled out of the forest, ranting and raving like a mad man."

" _What_?" drawled Draco slowly, as taken aback by this news as she had been. Astoria didn't blame him for his surprise. Much like herself, most of what Draco had heard about Crouch as a child had probably had very little to do with his current position as Head of the Department of International Magical Cooperation and much more to do with his former position in Law Enforcement. Even if Draco did keep his promise and never said a word to Blaise, Astoria was prepared to bet her goblin fortune that Draco would write the entire story out in full to his father before the week was out.

"Mhmm, and I'm not done," Astoria continued. "I mean, obviously having the head of a Ministry department come staggering out of the woods seemed incredibly strange to Krum and Harry, so they separated."

" _Never_ ," jeered Draco softly, more than able to guess what came next.

"Harry took off for the castle to find help," Astoria confirmed. "By the time he got back, Krum had been stunned out flat and Crouch had disappeared again."

"Are you _kidding_ me?" Draco breathed, exhibiting equal parts delight and scorn. "That'll be the end of Crouch's career when people find out. Two decades too late."

"Maybe," Astoria agreed carefully, finally coming to the heart of the matter and regarding Draco's face closely. While snubbing Blaise was amusing, her real reason for sharing this story was somewhat more complex and she wanted to judge what Draco thought of it by his reaction rather than his words. "That's assuming that Crouch actually did stun Krum, though. It's hard to prove he did anything considering no one can find him."

"He _ran_ off?" burst Draco gleefully. "Honestly! Although, Crouch has probably been ready to snap for a decade. It's not even that surprising—not when you think about who _else_ runs the Ministry. You know, it _really_ wouldn't stun me if Crouch has been half-mad for years? I don't expect anyone would have even bothered to report him with all the _other_ lunatics on staff."

"Someone else could have attacked Krum though," suggested Astoria slowly. "There's no proof it was Crouch."

They had reached the castle steps. Astoria bit her lip and raised an eyebrow, attempting to express her meaning without having to verbalize it, afraid of being overheard. After a long moment, Draco narrowed his eyes again.

"You can't mean _Moody_?" he scoffed.

Astoria forced her physical motions to remain very casual, but allowed her eyes to dart over Draco's shoulder to search the hall.

"He _was_ wandering the grounds, wasn't he?" Astoria went on in a low voice. "We _both_ saw him."

"Yeah, so what?" sneered Malfoy. "Moody's a fruitcake with a peg-leg. I couldn't count how many times I've seen him creeping about if I _tried_."

"In the woods by the quidditch pitch, though?" asked Astoria pointedly. "Five minutes before sunset?"

Draco let out another one of his nasal scoffing sounds but Astoria could tell that she had unnerved him because his doubt no longer seemed to reach his eyes.

"Think about it," Astoria murmured. "Even if Moody _didn't_ do anything wrong, he was still in the exact same patch of woods that Crouch was in at almost the exact same time. Moody couldn't have missed Crouch by more than five minutes—and this is _Moody_ we're talking about, not Flitwick. He can see _through_ the trees. You don't find that at all _strange_?"

Draco paused to consider this, his face fixed into an expression of dubiousness. " _Please_ ," he finally jeered, perhaps unwilling to allow Moody to be diabolically clever out of spite. "The man's a _joke_."

"Yeah," Astoria sighed, "I guess."

As much as she did not want to admit it, she was a little relieved that Draco had not found her theory impressive. A part of her had secretly wanted nothing more than to hear it dismissed.

"Who cares what Moody does, anyway?" Draco went on, leaning lazily against the doorway. "Dumbledore only hired him for a year, you know—the tosser's done at the end of June."

Astoria let out a forced laugh before finally allowing the current of bodies to force her down the hallway toward class. It took the entire morning to really put Professor Moody out of mind, however. Distracted and denied the pleasures of the outdoors, Astoria soon found herself moving from lesson to lesson, following her regular pattern blindly like a piece of wound up machinery. From Potions to History of Magic she traipsed. Then off to lunch.

It was not until Professor McGonagall ended her class by writing the date of their upcoming final on the blackboard that Astoria finally felt herself begin to wake up.

"Less than a week!" Astoria hissed moodily. She pressed her textbook down against the library table in order to glower more directly at Theodore's face. "Why does this _always_ happen?"

"Probably because neither of us even _owns_ an assignment book?" suggested Theodore carelessly. "I don't know why you're so worried. You'll pass your exams—you always do."

Astoria clucked irritably and uncorked her inkwell. She knew that Theodore had a point, but it was one that more closely reflected her behavior in _previous_ years. Much had changed since the end of her Third Year, after all. Especially when Astoria thought about how many nights had she spent hiding in the library with Theodore in those days, mortified by the fact that her sister was no longer speaking to her.

Fourth Year had been an entirely different animal. Between the Tournament, the goblins and Maudlin's distracting presence, Astoria could not remember the last time she had even taken _notes_ from a textbook, let alone read something for pleasure.

"Test me on these?" Astoria pressed, withdrawing a list of runes from a folder and attempting to pass them across the table.

Theodore took the scroll mutely, his eyes locked on the nearest bookshelf.

"What?" demanded Astoria, following Theodore's gaze.

" _Nothing_ ," said Theo hastily, making an unnecessary show out of straightening the parchment that Astoria had handed him.

But it was _not_ nothing. It was Padma Patil and Lisa Turpin, who were both standing in the shadow of the nearest bookshelf and speaking in comfortably loud whispers together, unaware that they were being watched.

"I don't know about History of Magic," complained Lisa, wrinkling her pointy nose. "Poor Binns and his sleepy voice—Lord, I _always_ nap when he starts rattling off dates."

"Yeah, well, at least your study partner didn't run off with a bimbo and half of your old classwork," snapped Padma, clearly in no mood for Lisa's petty histrionics. "History is the least of my worries. _Katherine_ whats-her-nasty-face keeps trying to talk to me and I've got Arithmancy hanging around my neck like a noose."

It was not exactly hard to spot that Padma was on edge, making what Astoria did next almost as great of a surprise to herself as it was to Theodore.

"You too?" Astoria called, hanging over the back of her chair, subconsciously attempting to appear trustworthy and engaging.

Padma blinked, surprised to find that she and Lisa were not alone among the books. For a moment, a frown of annoyance seemed to flirt with her brow but then, perhaps because Astoria's own lack of skillfulness in Arithmancy was renowned, she popped a hand onto her hip and let out a gust of breath.

"This whole year!" Padma sighed, raising her eyes toward the ceiling. "I can't stand another minute of this place. Seriously though, what are _you_ going to do about Arithmancy, Astoria? You're worse than I am."

Astoria's smile tightened, feeling that this was a bit of a rude response, even if it _was_ true and she had asked for it by eavesdropping. Her determination to tolerate Padma cheerfully quickly loosened it again, however.

"I don't know," Astoria sighed falsely, ignoring Theodore's looks of increasing alarm. "I _usually_ just study with Theodore—"

Astoria broke off to smother a yelp. Theodore had kicked her so hard under the table that she could actively feel her pulse catch and then proceed to pound in the fibrous blood vessels behind her eyes.

"Oh?" quirked Padma. Her eyes moved toward Theo and softened with recollection. If the insult of having been ditched by her last boyfriend in public had not yet ceased to sting, Padma's memory of Theodore's unexpected kindness that evening did not appear to have faded either. "Are you good at Arithmancy, then?"

Theodore stared at Astoria, panic stricken and desperate.

"He always gets me through!" Astoria ground out brightly, gnashing her teeth together into something that more closely resembled a grimace than a smile.

"I didn't know that," reflected Padma, studying the side of Theodore's face curiously. "Do you tutor?"

Lisa Turpin shot Padma a carefully guarded look of disbelief. Clearly _her_ idea of a pleasant evening did _not_ involve studying with a stand-offish Slytherin more prone to chain-smoking than laughter. Considering the show Theodore was putting on however, Astoria was not entirely sure that she blamed Lisa. _Speak,_ Astoria pled silently.

"I've never tutored before," grumbled Theodore stupidly. Then, perhaps realizing his mistake, he began to clear his throat so forcefully that he might as well have been attempting to force up a grapefruit.

"That's not true," Astoria cut in quickly, hoping to cover up the weird sound Theodore was making as much as undo the effects of his foolishness. "You help _me_ all the time."

"Does he?" Padma turned back toward Astoria appraisingly. " _That's_ how you squeak by, then?"

"If it weren't for Theo, I never would have passed last year," Astoria lied, intentionally forcing herself not to bristle at the assumption that she was incapable of passing a class on her own merit. _Accept the gift, Theodore, you stubborn git._

 _"_ Do you think you could help _me_?" Padma pressed.

"If you want," Theo mumbled, unwilling to look directly at Padma's honey-colored face.

Lisa made a tiny sound of objection but Padma, thankfully, was having none of her friend's attitude.

"That would be amazing!" Padma gushed, rummaging about in her school bag to find what looked very much like a Hermione-esque study schedule. "If _you_ don't mind, that is! I have Gobbstones on Friday, so that won't work. What about Thursday? Oh, unless you're in the Chess Club, of course—I know they meet in the afternoons."

Theodore, who had never joined a club in his life, finally turned to stare at Padma incredulously.

"He's not a chess player!" Astoria supplied helpfully.

"Perfect," breathed Padma, looking relived. "Then Thursday works. You're _sure_ you don't mind?"

"I don't mind," Theodore repeated, his tone far away and faintly echo-like.

"Great!" Padma beamed. "Let's meet in the room of Atlases. I hate how noisy it gets in the main part of the library."

Theodore nodded, his large nose somehow less pronounced by the way he had forgotten to glower over it at her like like an owl.

"Alright," concluded Padma winningly, earning Astoria's approval by ignoring Lisa's half-hearted eye roll. "Thanks."

Astoria let out a pain-laced breath as soon as both girls began to retreat toward the hall.

"Now is your chance, Theo," she snapped, bending over to rub her leg. "Go ahead and have a fit, if you must."

Far from having a meltdown of any sort however, Theodore appeared to have retreated into a deep, zen-like state of thought.

"I didn't know Padma was bad at Arithmancy," he finally ventured, somehow forgetting to be angry about the forcible hand Astoria had just played in encouraging new study habits.

"Yeah," shot Astoria dryly, hardly able to hear Theodore because of the ache in her shins. "Who ever would have guessed?"

0o0

The mood in the castle began to change as they moved into June. The lazy thrall the sunshine had cast over Hogwarts slowly began to tighten its fist, molding the dough-like construct of daily routine into something more anticipatory than relaxing.

An undercurrent of pervading tension once again became Astoria's constant companion, even as everyone else around her began to show signs of excitement. They were now less than a week away from the Third Task and Fred and George had taken to running hourly checkups with her in the hall, reporting new bets and staring dully at the numbers in Astoria's notebook as the sum continued to grow ever larger.

"You _do_ realize what this is the worst it's ever been, don't you?" remarked Fred one afternoon, repressing his terror more expertly than he had for either of the previous Tasks.

Astoria nodded, fully capable of appreciating the situation they were staring down the proverbial gun barrel at. Numbers, after all, did not lie and they had plenty of _those_ to back Fred up.

For instance, it seemed to be a fact that Astoria and the twins were sitting on eight thousand galleons worth of earnings from the Second Task (the pool from the First Task, although profit-yielding, having been entirely spent months ago in an effort to buy out Ludo Bagman and assuage Ragnuk's rival, Hodrod).

The current sum of gold they had riding on the Third and final Task however seemed to be hovering near the mark of _ten_ thousand; an alarming discrepancy, no matter how many times Astoria re-tested her addition.

This two thousand galleon gap glaring back at them between the sum of gold they possessed and the gold they could potentially owe was worrisome enough. When Astoria took the trouble to adjust her numbers to reflect the final sum after she doubled their bet back against Ragnuk, the inflation became so extreme that it was very nearly funny.

 _Twenty thousand galleons_. That was their magic number. Whenever Astoria took a moment to consider what twenty thousand galleons might look like in one place, she was forced to quickly conclude that it was quite enough to fill a decent portion of a Gringotts vault—let alone a single purse.

"I have a confession to make," muttered George, all mock seriousness, his eyes fixated on the notebook. "Fred and I have been holding out on you. We've got about a hundred galleons squirreled away from the sale of Canary Creams."

Astoria blinked and leveled her gaze at George. As if on cue, all three of them burst into manic, desperate laughter.

"That'll hold them off!" Fred howled, oblivious to the small clique of second year Hufflepuffs that had paused in the hall to watch as he slapped his knee.

The short but charged conversation that followed involved the unfolding of a wild fantasy, one in which the three of them managed to escape a pack of skull-cracking goblins using nothing but Canary Creams as a distraction.

No one could deny the chill that followed when the laughter died, however.

"We'll make it through," Fred muttered, wiping at his eyes. "Just keep pushing forward. That's all we can do."

0o0

On Thursday morning, precisely thirty one hours before the Third Task would make or break their collective futures, Astoria sat down to breakfast and discovered a pile of letters waiting by her plate.

"Mail came. Your aunt and your father both sent you something," remarked Tracey, gesturing toward the post with a slice of bacon and a sly grin. "So did _Roland Yaxley._ "

Overlooking the fact that Tracey had clearly been molesting her mail, Astoria hastily flipped to the third envelope in order to read the return address for herself.

Sure enough, printed out in extraordinarily careful (to the point of being _almost_ retentively fussy) handwriting was Roland Yaxley's name and office code.

"What do you think he wants?" demanded Tracey eagerly. "Why haven't you ever told Cassandra that he writes to you? Lord, the _look_ on her face alone would make any retaliation she could dream up worth it!"

"Because he _doesn't_ write to me," muttered Astoria, privately thinking that it might be wiser to open her aunt's mail first, just in case something was in motion.

" _Never_?" Tracey cried. "Hurry up! The suspense is killing me!"

Astoria tore into Belladonna's letter, tucking it under the lip of the table so that she might be able to read its contents in privacy. The message was surprisingly short and lacking in her aunt's typically dramatic style.

 _Astoria,_

 _Visiting the school tomorrow for the final Task. I'm expecting to have a word with you_ — _don't slip off to celebrate without seeing me. In the meantime, be sure to assure your father that all is well._

 _Aunt Belladonna_

Astoria squinted at this short, hastily composed paragraph before refolding it and starting in on her father's decidedly more jocular message.

 _Astoria!_

 _Darling, I do hope all is well! I've been meaning to send you a letter for weeks and weeks. Even now I can scarcely believe the date I've just written, but there it is, winking back at me! You understand, of course. You know how it is here_ — _the mad dash!_

 _More to the point, I've been invited to attend the final Triwizard function tomorrow and it crosses my mind that you were rather cross when we last spoke. What a confusing scene that was! I do hope you don't hold it against me? Perhaps we can sit down to tea in the morning, before all the hullabaloo? I know the Yaxleys will be in attendance. Wouldn't it be nice to steal a moment with them without your aunt breathing down our necks?_

 _Much Love,_

 _Father_

Astoria snorted, wondering if George had somehow tipped her aunt off as to his uneasiness or if Belladonna was truly beginning to experiment with the concept of omnipotence.

The third letter continued to squat against her breakfast dish; the greatest mystery of all. Astoria slit the top and yanked out Roland's note, unsurprised to discover that it had been composed on stiff, monogrammed stationary.

 _Astoria,_

 _It occurs to me that we have never written to each other before. As family, it seems long overdue for us to fix this._

 _First—supposing that you are not opposed to such a scheme_ — _let me express that it is my intention to strike up a regular discourse with you. Otherwise what is the point?_

 _Second, having grown tired of running into you at school functions and behaving like a stranger, let me be the one to personally inform you that I will be arriving at Hogwarts tomorrow before noon._

Astoria looked up from the letter, appalled.

"What time is the Task tomorrow," she shot at Tracey.

"Sunset," returned Tracey, her half-shrug turning into something faintly more leersome. " _Why_?"

"No reason," Astoria muttered, balling up Roland's note.

"Are you hatching a plan?" Tracey pressed, impatient to be a part of whatever shenanigans she imagined that Astoria was dreaming up.

"No," said Astoria tartly, doing her best not to become irritated.

"Come _on!_ " Tracey whined. "You're obviously messing with Cassandra. I won't tell anyone, just _admit_ it. _"_

"I'm really not," Astoria returned, racking her brains for any possible reason that might explain why Roland Yaxley and her father both seemed so determined to arrive at the castle before noon. "Are we holding some kind of mixer tomorrow?" Astoria went on desperately. "Are the Sisters providing drinks?"

"I don't think anything official is lined up," Tracey shrugged. "I know Pansy mentioned that Cassandra wants us all to wear white, but what _else_ is new? She never said anything about serving. We've just got one exam tomorrow, you know. It should be a proper holiday!"

Astoria bit her lip, eyeing the wadded up note in her fist. She had no idea what made Roland Yaxley think that she _cared_ whether his sporadic visits to the castle went unannounced or not but the fact that he was seeking to right this imaginary wrong struck Astoria as worrisome. While it was true that they _were_ distantly related, it certainly wasn't as though they had been raised together. After all, Roland had to be at least ten years her senior and it was entirely possible that they had only met six or seven times in total.

Only one thing seemed certain: the whole matter positively reeked of trickery, but whether it was Belladonna's mischief or her father's, Astoria did not dare to guess.

"What did he want anyway?" asked Tracey, her gaze still fixed on the crumpled parchment.

"Nothing," said Astoria shortly, irrationally but instinctually wary of Tracey's curiosity.

"It's just odd, isn't it?" Tracey fished, carefully helping herself to more oats. "Especially if he's _never_ written before—"

"He says that he's coming to the castle early," said Astoria, dimly aware of the fact that she was justifying herself. "My aunt must have reminded him to tell me."

Safe in the knowledge that Tracey knew too little about her family dynamics to spot the unlikelihood of this theory, Astoria distracted herself by tidying up the pockets of her disastrous book bag.

It was hard to imagine that Tracey would ever actively spy on her, but Astoria's discomfort at the idea of Belladonna and Alistair's bizarre inheritance battle being discussed over breakfast at the Slytherin table was extreme. Thankful when the bell rang, Astoria departed for Herbology at top speed.

It was a radiant and dry morning, so warm that the atmosphere inside the greenhouses felt topical. Astoria did her best to concentrate, re-potting Bubotuber seedlings without dashing dirt everywhere or sustaining any injuries.

When the hour was done, she promptly peeled out of her cardigan, exposing the back of her white school shirt to the blistering sun as she began her walk down the sloping lawn toward Hagrid's cabin.

Care of Magical Creatures was the least of Astoria's worries as far as marks went, mostly because she could not imagine herself failing a test that had no written portion. What _did_ concern Astoria, however, was the potentially fatal nature of Hagrid's exam; a fear that soon proved itself to be entirely founded when she reached the crest of the hill and spotted two massive crates standing open on the grass.

"I can't believe any of those things are still alive!" muttered Theodore, darting off the path to catch up with Astoria. "They've been eating _each other_ for months!"

Astoria shrugged, so mentally fatigued by her own private life that the threat of being devoured by a monster was rather less riveting than it had once seemed.

Hagrid quickly set them to their task, giving them an hour to groom his remaining two Skrewts for scale rot. This chore soon demonstrated itself to be very unpleasant, particularly once it became obvious that the only way to actually _reach_ the underside of a Skrewt's grimy and magically-impervious underbelly was by charging at one and employing a running slide tackle.

Ill-suited to the brutal task of manually knocking a fully grown Skrewt onto its side, Astoria was gradually pushed toward the back circle with several of the other girls to wait for a chance with one of the sponges.

"Is anybody else _watching_ this?" drawled Draco, his gaze fixed on Neville Longbottom, who had just been tossed a clean ten feet into the air. "Can you even imagine what that Skeeter woman could do with this?"

"Someone should be taking pictures!" agreed Tracey, actively following the exam's commotion with the enthusiasm of a spectator who favored a grim sport.

Astoria shot Draco a sly glance, taking in his obvious height advantage over Neville and the clean, un-frayed cuffs of his unblemished sleeves.

"Mhmm," Astoria agreed, feeling the unfairness of the word rather keenly as Seamus Finnegan stooped to pick up Neville's loofa and was promptly trampled for his efforts.

"Come on now!" called Hagrid. "Take it in turns—you in the back! Yer up!"

Draco's arm dashed out to smack Crabbe in the chest, indicating that _he_ should push forward first. To Astoria's moderate surprise, Crabbe did as he was told without complaining.

" _Really_ , though!" Malfoy continued snidely, giving his wrist watch a quick check before dropping his arm again.

All-too aware of the _real_ scrubbing that would begin once the Skrewts were sedated, Astoria thoughtlessly reached out for Draco wrist, eager to see how long the wait until lunch might be.

Quickly angling the miniature clock face toward the light, Astoria suffered a swoop of self loathing in response to the surge of excitement she felt when Draco did not snap away from her.

"If that hairy oaf thinks he's going to make me hang around to after class to _clean_ , he's got another thing coming," sneered Draco distractedly, his eyes on Astoria's fingers.

It was mark of how much Draco's cowardice was capable of annoying Astoria that she suddenly found herself disagreeing with this decidedly sane—if somewhat spineless—sentiment.

"Where's Harry, anyway?" asked Tracey, pushing up onto her tip-toes to survey the crowd. "I thought we would've seen him. _He's_ always up for a wrestling match."

"He's got a pass, remember?" sighed Astoria, knowing this subject would probably annoy Draco but making no effort to dance around it. "The Champions are all exempt from finals."

"Of _course_ they are," sneered Draco bitterly.

Astoria opened her mouth to speak and was cut off because the nearest Skrewt had let out a tremendous burst of flame. When the surrounding grass promptly caught fire, sending out long tongues of flickering light across the scorched earth, Astoria took hold of Tracey's hand and began to pull her blindly back up the hill.

"Is this it, then?" laughed Tracey, stopping to catch her breath in the ashy fog. "Class dismissed?"

"Absolutely _mental_ ," Draco sneered, following them up out of the smoke. "How my Father, of all people, hasn't forced Hagrid into an early retirement is _beyond_ me."

Goyle lumbered along behind Draco, panting heavily. Crabbe remained missing, no doubt caught in the hailstorm of flaming greenery and slashing stingers below.

"Does it bother you that Dumbledore's always getting the best of your dad?" cackled Tracey, jabbing Astoria in side with her elbow.

"What do you mean _getting the best of him_?" Draco snapped. "That doddering old fool is on his last leg—someday soon Fudge is going to wise up. He already listens to everything _else_ my father advises him."

"Like what?" asked Tracey brightly, trolling for gossip.

"What's it to _you_?" Draco sneered, casting Tracey a disparaging look. "You needed color heraldry explained to you at Christmas. You wouldn't understand a word, even if I did tell you."

Tracey's smile flattened into a fat, vindictive grimace.

"The half-giant would be a distant memory, _that's_ for sure," Draco plowed on heatedly, unable to stop himself from ridiculing the moment. " _God_ , even the youngest Weasley would have been sent packing years ago."

Astoria paused, her concentration flickering between the distant but morbid display in front of Hagrid's cabin and Draco's strange choice of wording. The _youngest_ Weasley?

"Are you talking about Ginny?" Astoria frowned, curious to know what he thought Fred and George's sister might have done to merit expulsion under a different administration.

Draco blinked haltingly. "Why not?" he finally tried, shooting for disinterested but coming off evasive, as though he had caught himself just short of saying more than he had wanted to.

Astoria suddenly found herself squinting in the direction of the smoke-shrouded sun, sensing the invisible thread of a larger concept knitting itself together even if she could not quite define its shape.

She could only think of one time when Ginny's name had been brought before the school board—surely it was only natural that she had been discussed in the aftermath of the scandal surrounding the Chamber of Secrets? Still, even with Dumbledore out of the picture, wouldn't Lucius have had a hard time convincing eleven other adults to banish a First Year girl for something she obviously had not done?

The rest of the class began to stagger up the hill, clutching at newly-singed robes but Astoria was too busy spying on Draco to pay them any mind.

No, she decided. The only way the Board of Governors would have kicked Ginny out was if the Diary—the only _real_ proof of her innocence—had never been found. But why would the Malfoys have any connection to this piece of history? Or at the very least, why would Draco awkwardly insinuate that they did and then try to backtrack once he realized that he had done so?

"Because of the Chamber of Secrets, you mean?" Astoria pressed, painfully aware of how obvious her prying must sound.

"Sure," scoffed Draco, raising his chin. "Why not?"

"What have you lot been doing?" demanded Maudlin, sounding both stunned and very near at hand. Realizing that they had reached the castle steps, Astoria came to halt.

"Just finishing up lessons with Astoria's favorite teacher," called Draco snidely, perhaps hoping to cover up his own slip with a distraction.

Behind Maudlin, Alec was biting his thumb, amused beyond words by the faint cloud of smoke that was still hovering over Seamus like a halo.

"Astoria's favorite?" repeated Maudlin mildly. "You always _did_ love an underdog."

"That's the trouble with Durmstrang," mused Alec. "Our underdogs have all been _so_ thoroughly squashed into submission that they've become reliably dull." He sniffed the air almost wistfully. "Nobody has set fire to anything in _ages_."

Astoria laughed and shook ash out her hair. Sensing another chance to steal a glimpse at Malfoy, she straightened back up, peered sideways and jolted. Draco was _already_ glancing at her out of the corner of his eye, perhaps trying to weigh his damages. Her vision snapped back onto Alec, where it danced distractedly.

 _You don't even want to know,_ Astoria assured herself. But with an aunt who was fighting a battle against Lucius Malfoy and needed nothing more than a piece of terrific blackmail to emerge triumphant, Astoria was not entirely sure how true this was. _Actually_ , the niggling little voice inside her head insisted, _maybe you do_.

0o0

* * *

Ugh, that was a long wait for a building chapter! I really couldn't shove the necessary set-up _and_ the last Task into the same post, but the Third Task _is_ coming and (in my opinion, at least) is gearing up to be pretty juicy. I'll probably put it up in two chapters (we'll see if I can reign myself in and make it one, but I have my doubts already) and hopefully it will mostly conclude the fourth year.

In related news, I know my posting schedule has been totally bananas lately. I had an incredibly busy holiday season this year (so much traveling that I'm only returning to normal life this week). The end of all the vacation fun should put me back on track for weekly posts again, however, so by my best guess I'll have the first half of the Third Task posted on Sunday. With a little luck, the second half will make its appearance in the middle of the week that follows. (Two posts in less than ten days is the goal, as I haven't done any rapid updates in recent months and I miss them.)

As always, reviews are the best!


	56. Merry-Go-Round

Chapter Fifty Six

Merry-Go-Round

* * *

0o0

Astoria stared at her reflection in the full length bathroom mirror, adjusting the straps of her dress with steady but numb fingers. Outside, the first trickle of voices could be heard; every wail and shriek of laugher reaching the tower windows in a state of shockingly unaltered clarity.

It was almost noon already and Astoria's morning exam was long over. She had been lingering in the tower ever since, obsessing over the details of her outfit with eagle-eyed cynicism, unwilling to pull herself away from the drippy, porcelain-lined safety of the bathroom.

Heaving a deep breath, Astoria studied her mirror-image closely, trying to understand if she _looked_ as nauseous as she felt. If the terrible churning sensation her belly was anything to go by however, this did not even seem possible.

For months, but most particularly over the last few weeks, Astoria had been doing her absolute best to avoid thinking about the Third Task at all. The only way to curb her fear, she had reasoned, was to resist obsessing over it. On the rare occasions that she _had_ contemplated what was coming, she had only permitted herself loose flashes of terrifying insight. There was no point in panicking over the inevitable, she had decided. Why torture herself?

Now that the day had finally arrived, Astoria was beginning to question her choice of coping mechanism. Instead of feeling confident, she felt unprepared. The sudden inability to depend on mental detachment was jarring and as a result, she found herself flirting with the edge of a dizzying panic.

Nothing felt right. Even the most mundane details seemed determined to reach her brain upside down and backwards. The white dress she had chosen was one that she had worn many times before, but today, she saw it in a new light; its brightness reminding her of nudity and its lack of sleeves making her feel very vulnerable.

Astoria fixed her shoulder straps for the hundredth time, pleading with herself to sharpen up. Panic was by far the worst side-effect of allowing the moment she had been dreading to sneak up on her. Physical discomfort she could have lived with, but fear was a hungry thing and she had been starving it for too long. Even now, she could feel her terror working hard to swallow up her wits.

 _You don't want to be here_ , Astoria's eyes confessed to their reflected twins, _this mental loop is draining you_. _Just go downstairs._

Her real eyes were right, of course; the suspended state of boredom and agony was not making her feel any better. In fact, she was close to to ripping out all of her hair in clumps.

Finally convinced that the bathroom was worse than the lawn, Astoria gave herself a spritz of perfume and moved toward the door. She paused in the dormitory just long enough to collect her pearls, shivering a little at the whisper of wind stirring the crimson bed curtains.

It was a fine day outside but the weather did not seem to be able to touch her mood. Groomed, adorned and shaking, Astoria dropped to her knees and dug about in her trunk until she located a long-buried victorian hand fan between a few pairs of old socks.

The ivory handle was more yellow than white after so many years in storage, but the allure of having a screen to hide her face behind appealed to her immensely. Thankful for the divine inspiration that had reminded her of it, Astoria flicked it open and shook off the dust, pleased to find that the pastel silk was still lustrous and soft.

0o0

All of the doors to the empty Entrance Hall were thrown open to the blustery afternoon when Astoria reached the first floor, filling the room with a hint of far away freshness.

Relieved that crowd had not yet begun to form, Astoria moved toward the long hall windows. The lack of chaos seemed promising. Perhaps she was not running as late as she had feared?

There were only about a dozen people visible in the courtyard beyond—most of them students. Between the arched pillars that supported the walkway, however, Astoria thought she could make out the daunting form of Augusta Longbottom.

"Astoria, Astoria, _ASTORIA_!" sang Tracey excitedly, bounding up out of the dungeon passageway.

Astoria turned just in time to brace herself for the impact of Tracey's manic grasp.

"What's going on out there?" demanded Tracey, running a hand down the length of her own dress. Astoria's eyes followed this gesture dully, noticing as she did so that Tracey was wearing the same outfit she had borrowed from Astoria for the MacLaggen Christmas party over a year ago and never returned.

"No idea," Astoria breathed. "I just came down."

This was perfectly true. Although her father and Roland had both expressed a desire to come to the castle early, neither of them had given her any indication of where she might be able to find them. Astoria did not even have the smallest idea of where to start looking.

"Look, that's Neville's gran!" insisted Tracey, taking her turn at the window. "That means people are here, lets go find them!"

Unable to think of a better plan, Astoria followed Tracey out into the dazzling sunshine, privately thankful to be trailing in the wake of someone else's enthusiasm.

The courtyard was bright and pleasant but not nearly active enough to hold Tracey's interest. Guessing that the altered quidditch pitch might be the most intriguing fixture on the grounds, they set off across the sloping lawn in the general direction of the maze.

"This is so scattered!" lamented Tracey after a moment's walk, spotting Pansy and her parents standing in the shade of a tree by the lake and scowling.

"The Task doesn't start until dusk," Astoria reminded her absently, keeping her eyes peeled for Fred and George or—she couldn't stop herself from picturing them—Ragnuk's pack of slippery goblins.

"Where are _your_ parents?" asked Tracey at last, tired of wandering aimlessly. "Are _they_ here yet?"

Astoria shrugged and continued to fan her clammy face in silence.

"Are you alright?" snickered Tracey, finally catching a glimpse of Astoria's green, lifeless pallor. "Only you look like you might be sick..."

"We'll see," Astoria panted, gesturing with her fan toward Maudlin and Luc, who were both sitting outside the Beuxbatons carriage. "Come on, this way."

Astoria did not know what had made her choose to seek out Maudlin and Luc's company, but as she drew closer and noticed Cassandra and Emilie lounging on the grass between them, she began to regret her choice.

"Ria!" called Maudlin warmly. "I thought you would be with Draco and Alec!"

Astoria transferred her fan into her opposite hand and allowed Maudlin to pull her into a one-armed hug.

"No. We haven't seen _anyone_ ," complained Tracey. "Do you think Blaise is with them? Are you two _drinking_ in broad daylight _?_ "

This last question was in direct reference to the very obvious cocktail glass nesting in the grass at Luc's feet.

"Of course they are," answered Cassandra scornfully. "Luc would probably cherish an actual _death_ in his family if he thought that it meant no one would take him to task for cracking into a bottle of scotch before lunch."

"This is an international sporting event!" argued Luc, visibly affronted.

"Not to mention the end of my academic career!" added Maudlin passionately, paying no mind to Cassandra. "As of this morning, I'm officially finished with my tests. I can't even _be_ expelled anymore. Do you have any idea what that feels like?"

"No," Astoria breathed, so envious of his freedom that she could feel herself choking on it.

"Come in and I'll pour you something," Maudlin insisted, his arm still around Astoria's shoulders. "The teachers are too busy with guests to pay _us_ any attention."

Astoria did not even allow herself to contemplate this offer. She had too much left to do to risk drunkenness, no matter how tempting an escape into hazy fantasy might be. There was no getting around the fact that she would not be able to relax until long after the sun had set and a champion had been named.

But Maudlin was in almost impossibly good spirits, and Astoria could not remember a time when she had felt less in control of her her own voice. Sensing that it would be easier to just let him put a glass in her hand than it would be to come come up with an excuse for resisting, Astoria followed Maudlin into the carriage.

"Seven years. Can you believe it?" called Maudlin as he rifled through cabinets. "Do you know, I don't have a _clue_ what I'm doing in the fall?"

"Must be nice," murmured Astoria absently, playing with a tassel on one of his velvet throw-pillows.

"I mean, yeah," agreed Maudlin somewhat falsely. "Of course, everyone keeps _saying_ that I ought to look into internships. But really, what's the point? I'm _already_ rich, right?"

"I suppose," Astoria allowed, taking the glass he was handing her and making a mental note not to sip from it by accident. "I'm sure Aston can set you up with a great stock portfolio."

"No!" scoffed Maudlin quickly, tellingly anxious to negate this suggestion. "I mean, I'll do _something_ —I just haven't figured _what_ yet. Its all a matter of timing, you know..."

He was talking to himself now. Maudlin broke off and allowed his eyes to stray toward the lone dormitory window. Cassandra and Emilie were both clearly visible on the lawn outside, picking blades of grass between their fingers.

Astoria studied Maudlin out of the corner of her eye, suddenly very afraid that he might be in a secret state of burgeoning self-crisis. If there had ever been a time when she was less suited to the task of helping him down from an existential ledge, it was now. Astoria tried to shift the topic.

"You could travel," she suggested half-heartedly.

"That's what _Emilie_ wants to do," Maudlin admitted in a rush, but even in a low voice, Astoria could not help but notice the bitter inflection he had given his girlfriend's name. " _Christ._ Can you imagine?"

"It doesn't sound so bad to me," Astoria pressed optimistically. "You love Italy. Go there."

" _You've_ never had to sit through a whole meal alone with her, have you?" demanded Maudlin tremulously, his eyes still boring a hole into Emilie's cheerful, unknowing face.

"She's _boring_ , Astoria," he admitted lowly. "There's no way around it. I've been dating her for three years and I feel like I'm slowly becoming stupefied. And _now_ what? I'm an adult? Does it have to last _forever_?"

Astoria slowly turned toward him. Despite Maudlin's suggestive name, it was quite unlike him to become confessional. His typical habit, as Astoria understood it, was to either repress all things unsettling and unseemly, or else to studiously rework them with a corrective spin. Because of this, for as long as Astoria had known the Mendels, Maudlin's mother had never been referred to as 'absent', but as a great lover of travel. In the same way, Aston was never described as being 'disappointed in his son'; he was simply stern.

"You're being too hard on yourself," said Astoria carefully, afraid of saying something that might directly prompt him to break up with his girlfriend—a mistake that Cassandra would surely force her to pay for later.

"Am I?" muttered Maudlin quietly, repeating the question to himself as he downed the last of his drink. "Yeah, I probably am. Do you need another?"

"Mine's still fresh," Astoria reminded him softly, a little concerned by both his sense of distraction and his rapid consumption of liquor. "Be careful, you have hours to go until sunset."

"Yes, _yes_ ," Maudlin sighed, regaining some of his usual carelessness as he waved away her warning.

"Ria!" Tracey exclaimed, pouncing the moment Astoria made her return into the sunlight. "Where did you get _that_?"

"Inside, but here—take mine," Astoria pressed, passing over her cup. "I might walk back up to the castle to search for my aunt."

"But we've finally found people!" exclaimed Tracey in surprise. "Do you want me to come with you? I was thinking Blaise might turn up _here_."

"No, you stay," Astoria insisted, edging toward the incline of the hill. "I'll be back."

Astoria had barely made it up the first slope before she heard Maudlin demand to know where she was going. Instead of slowing down to tell him, she sped up.

The courtyard was only a little busier than it had been but somehow much livelier, populated by many colors other than the standard Hogwarts black. Here and there, clusters of people stood about chatting, congesting the pathway in their obliviousness.

Astoria hesitated at the end of the walkway to search for Belladonna but a flicker of recognizable blonde hair in the sunlight distracted her. Afraid Mr. Malfoy was about to sneak up on her once again, it took a moment for Astoria to realize that the flare of recognition had been caused by Draco's mother and not Lucius at all. Narcissa was standing near the fountain with Pansy and Mrs. Parkinson, freshly back from the lake.

Astoria slowed down to spy on them between the stone arches, unable to resist her own curiosity.

While it was not uncommon for Narcissa to be out in public, she had long remained something of an enigma to Astoria. Unlike her husband, who frequently went out of his way to either impose his will upon the school-board or—failing this—strike up a verbal feud with her aunt every few months, Narcissa had never provided Astoria with any reason to speak to her.

Intrigued but mortified by the idea of being caught staring by Pansy, Astoria's eyelashes fluttered rapidly, trying to soak up as much detail as she could before she would have to look away.

The differences between Pansy's mother and Mrs. Malfoy were striking. One was short and solidly built; the other tall, slim and just a little distant. Even as Astoria watched, Pansy's mother was obligated to push back the brim of her garden hat (which matched her ample rose-colored robes) in order to gaze up into Narcissa's flaxen face.

Astoria subconsciously leaned forward. Her cheek gently grazed against the cool stone of the archway.

She had always assumed that Draco looked a little too much like his father to bear any real resemblance to his mother. And he typically _did_ , especially in the moody candlelight of the evening parties where she had been most likely to spot mother and son together. But here, in the full brilliance of daylight, Astoria thought she could trace quite a bit of her son's less-guarded expression in the softness of Narcissa's chin.

At that moment, a pack of Ravenclaws went by, jostling Astoria's shoulder.

Shaken awake to the awkwardness of what she was doing, Astoria quickly set off along the stone walk again, continuing to glance into the yard for signs of her aunt. It was an effort not to look back. The sight of Mrs. Parkinson's squareness had done something strange and unkind to her mood.

Up ahead, a large table had been dragged outside and situated near the end of the yard. Piles of pamphlets and newsletters fluttered in baskets, one or two escaping on the draft to flutter across the pathway like ground-birds.

Suspecting the Sisters of the Eastern Star were responsible, Astoria stopped to dither over the handouts. A subscription ledger laid open under the wind-swept tablecloth, bearing the names of at least twenty people requesting that regular newsletters be delivered to their door. Astoria hastily read down the list, hoping to spot her aunt's signature and thereby confirm her arrival. The sound of someone speaking her name out loud caused her to pause and look about in surprise before she could finish.

Standing in a small circle on the mossy grass below the eaves, Draco and Alec appeared to be in conversation with Blaise and his mother, Seraphina.

Certain that her name had come from other side of the open stone wall but conscious of the fact that she wasn't in their direct line of sight, Astoria came to the awkward realization that they must be talking _about_ her—not to her.

"Astoria Greengrass? She's almost hilarious," Blaise could be heard saying smoothly, safe in his mother's company. " _Really_ mother, she's one of those girls that think looks count for everything. If you knew her any better, you'd loathe her."

"And you would know that _how_?" challenged Draco haughtily, his profile obscured by the archway. "Everyone knows she hates you, Blaise. It's no surprise that she doesn't talk to you."

Astoria's eyes flickered toward Seraphina, who alone was fully visible, trying to understand if this counted as support in her corner or an invitation to even crueler gossip.

"And why do you think _that_ is _?_ " returned Blaise condescendingly. "She knows _I_ see her for what she really is—a stuck up control freak. _You've_ just never been able to look past her face long enough to notice the stone-cold psychopath hiding behind it."

"Darling, really!" murmured Seraphina indulgently, placing her hand on Blaise's arm. "You're so instigating!"

It could not have been more clear that Seraphina was entirely unbothered by her son's behavior. It was only for the sake of correctness in general that she was endeavoring to check his attitude and Astoria loathed her for it.

"What does that even mean, Zabini?" demanded Draco roughly, swapping his passive-aggression for outright annoyance. If he had been capable of overlooking the implication of Astoria's madness in relative silence, the charge of being fixated on her face seemed to have crossed the line.

Alec chuckled, doing his best to remain neutral.

"I'm not saying you're the only one," Blaise went on vindictively, surprising even Astoria with his need to tear her to pieces. "The real trouble is, she's pretty and she _knows_ it—that's why she thinks she gets a free pass to act like a little bitch to everyone."

"Blaise!" chided Mrs. Zabini delightedly, swatting her son's arm with the same finesse of a lion flicking its tail.

"Seriously, though," Blaise sneered. "People are supposed to think that she's _interesting_? Give me a break! The poor girl is so insecure it hurts. I can hardly listen to her talk without sobbing."

"Ria!" panted Maudlin loudly, huffing and puffing as he came jogging up the hill. Astoria went cold as a pair of hands seized her shoulders from behind. "Where did you run off to? Oh look— _there's_ Alec!"

Without giving her so much as a chance for her to dig in her heels, Maudlin pushed them both forward into the light and onto the moss-coated cobblestones. Every head present snapped in their direction and, with the possible exception of Seraphina, Astoria thought she might have known that they had been talking about her simply by their startled expressions.

"You've found me," murmured Alec, tickled pink by Maudlin's awkward timing.

If Astoria's day had been heinous before, it was now officially painful enough to make her break into an unnatural sweat.

"About time!" Maudlin pressed impatiently. "I thought we were meeting at the carriage an hour ago. Astoria's had time to run off on me, already."

"I'm supposed to be finding my aunt," Astoria stuttered, trying very hard to fixate on Maudlin in order to avoid having to look at Draco or the Zabinis.

"Oh _God!_ " burst Maudlin unexpectedly, suddenly seized by tipsy dread. "Your aunt is _here_?"

Mrs. Zabini smirked delightedly.

"You've got moss in your hair, Greengrass," leered Blaise, indicating the side of Astoria's face that had touched the stone arch earlier. He reached forward, perhaps intending to put a cap on his disdain by giving a lock of her offending hair a smug tug.

Astoria's nerves were too shot for this sort of thing, however. Her fight or flight instincts raced to respond to the threat of his touch with the same intensity that they might have reacted to a hovering wasp.

Without thinking, Astoria raised her hand and violently snapped open her fan. The ivory webbing between the silk was shorter than a ruler, but punishingly solid; Blaise's fingers collided with a savage, bone-deep crunch next to her ear.

A flush of something shaky and rejuvenating flooded Astoria's body upon impact. Hitting Blaise in front of his mother was probably the stupidest thing that Astoria could have possibly done, but it felt so good to take a swing at _something_ that she could not immediately regret doing it.

Blaise let out an undignified yelp and recoiled. Astoria chased him down with the full force of her blazing glare, daring him to try again. Clutching his hand and attempting to look amused by her antics, there was no doubt that Blaise had learned his lesson. Beside him, however, his mother's lovely face had gone as cold as ice.

"I haven't seen Belladonna in _years_ ," mumbled Maudlin darkly, overlooking Astoria's passion for assault in favor of searching the grounds for Belladonna. "Does she look different? Will I recognize her while she's still far _,_ _far_ away?"

"You'll find her largely the same, even if she has _aged_ a bit around the eyes," remarked Seraphina cooly. "Will you step away with me, Blaise? I've just spotted the Rowles."

Blaise shot Astoria a look that promised violent retaliation before following his mother across the lawn. The moment they had cleared the fountain, Alec let out a gust of breath that whistled like steam.

"What?" Astoria snapped, fanning herself irritably.

"Me- _ow!_ " leered Alec suggestively, flexing his fingers to imitate a set of cat claws. "A saucer of milk for Astoria!"

This was too ridiculous to be ignored but Astoria could not seem to summon any sense of shame. Even now, she could feel courage returning to her limbs and unsticking her tongue. If this was going to be her last day on Earth, she vowed, she _wasn't_ going to spend it as a pale-faced mute _. Blaise be damed._

"Who even carries a fan anymore?" drawled Draco, pink-faced with elation. "The _sound_ that thing made!"

"Is your aunt taller than you, Astoria?" asked Maudlin, pursuing his paranoia over their conversation. "She likes to dress like a witch no matter what the occasion, right? Black and red and _menacing_ all over..."

"She _is_ a witch, Maudlin," answered Astoria calmly, spotting Belladonna in the flesh near the castle steps. "She dresses like herself."

"Yeah," agreed Maudlin darkly, "the biggest _witch_ of them all..." Satisfied that he would not be snuck up on, however, he finally seemed to remember himself. "Did you just hit that boy?"

"In front of his mother nonetheless!" leered Draco mistily. "What a _sap_!"

"You're uncommonly fond of hitting people," observed Maudlin with a frown. "Even when we were children. Whenever we played boardgames, you always became frustrated and tired to smack me—"

" _What?_ " scoffed Astoria sharply, unable to recall a single instance in which she had ever laid hands on Maudlin.

"He shouldn't have touched her," scoffed Malfoy, oblivious to Belladonna's shadow bearing down on them. "It's his own fault, the loudmouth!"

The whisper of possessiveness in Draco's tone was far too slight for Maudlin to notice, but Astoria was not so sure about Alec.

"Auntie!" called Astoria stoutly, thankful for the interruption. "You're _here_!"

Maudlin, who had clearly done a poor job of swooping the vicinity, pivoted and let out a strange, shivery sound somewhere between a gasp and a hiss.

"Astoria, darling!" Belladonna trilled. "Is that Seraphina making such a hasty escape?"

" _Haasss_!" exclaimed Maudlin, shooting halfway out of his skin.

"Goodness," remarked Belladonna, switching targets, somehow unfazed by this dramatic reaction to the sight of her face. "If it isn't little Maudlin Mendel! Five years and you haven't grown an inch!"

Maudlin made an indignant face and spluttered, undone by his morning-long fascination with a liquor bottle.

In a move that expressed far more confidence than she actually felt, Astoria took her aunt by the arm and urged her into a stroll.

"You wanted a word in _private_ ," Astoria reminded her pointedly, seeking a leisurely pace.

"I suppose I did," Belladonna drawled, giving up Maudlin as easy prey. "Have you seen to your father yet?"

"No," answered Astoria, turning their steps toward the castle, guessing that its halls would be emptier than the grounds. "Have _you_?"

"I have. He's by the lake with Alistair Yaxley," admitted Belladonna. "I assume _that_ little reunion wasn't your idea?"

"Father and the Yaxleys? Obviously not," returned Astoria, certain that this needed no further proof. "But dad _did_ mention that Roland and Alistair would be coming in his letter." Astoria hesitated before adding, "Roland wrote to me as well."

"Oh?" quirked Belladonna, raising an eyebrow.

"Mhmm," Astoria confirmed, steering them both across the entrance hall and into the leather-bound silence of the Room of Portraits.

"Good lord," whispered Belladonna softly as she studied the familiar furniture, her eyes suddenly far away. "Nothing has changed here in hundred years! I _hated_ school, you know. Even as a girl, I used to count down the days until summer..."

This came as something of a surprise to Astoria, who had almost never heard a student confess to loathing Hogwarts. But then again, Belladonna was the most contrary woman that Astoria knew; perhaps it was time to stop letting her aunt surprise her?

"Why did you want to talk to me, Auntie?" Astoria sighed, heaving herself onto the edge of the comfortable sofa.

The steady ticking of the clock and the suffocating essence of dust in here were almost intoxicating. For a moment, Astoria toyed with the fantasy of simply falling asleep and pretending the Third Task did not exist until it was already over.

"You look worn," observed Belladonna keenly.

"I haven't been sleeping well," Astoria admitted. "There's too much to think about."

"I hope that isn't on my account," Belladonna tested.

"Not really," Astoria sighed. "Did you manage to actually _talk_ to Alistair and Father or did you just glower?"

"I spoke with them," said Belladonna, sucking on the inside of her cheek. "I've been here since breakfast."

Astoria raised both of her arms emphatically, wondering why it was that Belladonna always seemed to love making Astoria chase her about.

"Don't be cross," tutted Belladonna. "I've had a chance to see Roland, too. He certainly seems quite taken with Lady Rowle's oldest niece. Cassandra, is it?"

"Yes, just like I have mentioned in _several_ of my letters," returned Astoria stubbornly.

"What a foolish pair they make!" laughed Belladonna unkindly. " _He_ is so full of false pleasantness that everyone around him withers when he speaks, and the girl is so desperate to facilitate that they _both_ become loathsome."

Astoria smirked quietly. "If I didn't know any better, I'd almost think you sound offended."

"Offended?" mused Belladonna. "No, not entirely. Perhaps I might be, if _you_ had ever truly thrown your hat into the ring...but as it is, Miss. Rowle has got our Roland purely through her own convenience—a trait you would not have to work hard to overthrow."

Astoria snorted.

"What?" quirked Belladonna wryly. "You imagine she's enslaved him by means of a wicked sexual thrall instead, do you?"

" _No_ ," chuckled Astoria truthfully.

"I thought not," Belladonna continued, unable to entirely conceal how boring she found the idea of an affair without debauchery.

Astoria's lips twitched.

"In any case, I suppose we must forgive her," Belladonna mused. "She behaves far more sensibly than _you_ do. In light of family fortune, he would make her a prudent match—particularly if he manages to rob you of _your_ inheritance before he's thirty."

"Auntie!" Astoria objected, unwilling to follow Belladonna down this path yet again.

"I'm only arguing that her actions are genuinely understandable! Well, everything _except_ this strange fascination she seems to have with baby-colors," Belladonna sneered, gesturing vaguely toward Astoria's white dress. "Half of your Sisterhood is roving about the grounds in matching pink headbands. Can you imagine?"

"That's her chief sin, is it?" Astoria croaked, no longer able to contain her amusement. "Her love of a subdued pink?"

Belladonna pursed her lips and turned her back on Astoria to study a photograph on the bookshelf. "You know what you plan to say to your father when you see him?" she asked, sobering slightly.

"Not really," Astoria admitted. "What do _you_ suggest?"

Belladonna let out a long, slow breath before turning, self-doubt etched into her expression like fatigue.

"Assure him that everything is well," decided Belladonna at last, her tone no longer playful. "But, Astoria..." Belladonna hesitated, perhaps trying to decide on her exact choice of wording.

"What?" Astoria quivered.

"You'll need to defend me somewhat," managed Belladonna uncomfortably. "Once George believes that you take his view on things, he'll do his best to make me seem ridiculous."

"Why _wouldn't_ I defend you?" returned Astoria, beginning to fully appreciate just how underhanded her task could become. "For that matter, how do you know that he'll say things that aren't true? Suppose he accuses you of cynicism and serial marriage? What am I supposed to say then?"

"There can be _too_ much truth in any relationship, darling," argued Belladonna. "The point I am _trying_ to make is that if you _don't_ defend me at all, it's possible he will begin to question your authenticity. You're very likely to play the devil's advocate in conversation, you know. You frequently defend fools. Just put an end to his wit before it can run long."

Astoria mulled this over quietly.

"You've also spent the last four years living almost exclusively under my care!" continued Belladonna with unnecessary defensiveness. "It's more natural that you should defend my name than slander it, even if you _do_ pretend to agree with him!"

"I don't know what makes you think I don't know how to act!" sniped Astoria resentfully. "There are plenty of things that I'm bad at. Manipulating a conversation has never been one of them..."

Belladonna tutted again and for the briefest moment, caught in that attitude, her lurching pauses and air of self-doubt seemed to take on a more visceral power. Was it possible that Belladonna's desire for Astoria to refrain from mocking her had more to do with her _own_ peace of mind than it did with battle tactics? Was she afraid that Astoria would listen to everything her father had to say and slowly begin to agree with him?

"Were the Malfoys ever questioned after the Chamber of Secrets was opened?" asked Astoria, switching gears.

Up until now, Astoria had not been entirely certain whether she should mention this hunch, but the guilt suddenly clenching her insides proved to be a powerful motivator.

"Hmm?" murmured Belladonna, her brow knitting into frown. "Good Lord, I shouldn't think so. Why?"

"No _real_ reason," Astoria admitted. "Just a feeling I had a few days ago..."

Belladonna had gone very still. While it was clear that she had never heard of anything to this effect, she did not seem inclined to dismiss the notion. "Go on."

"Draco was complaining after our last Care of Magical Creatures class," Astoria continued, trying very hard to suppress the feeling that she was committing a minor betrayal. "It was the smallest thing, really..."

Belladonna let out a impatient huff, waiting for her to come to the point.

"He was going on about how his father could have had Hagrid sacked years ago if it weren't for Dumbledore," Astoria let out in a rush. "That was the case he was _trying_ to make, anyway, but then he said something _else_ about how, under similar circumstances, he thought Ginny would have been expelled too."

Belladonna drummed her magenta-lacquered fingernails against the couch thoughtfully.

"When I asked him if that was because of the Chamber of Secrets, he clammed up and went the color of turned milk," Astoria finished.

"As opposed to what? His normal complexion?" Belladonna snorted.

"Draco sometimes pretends to know more than he does," Astoria rationalized, afraid of making something small seem meaningful without proof. "When he hesitates, it's usually because he's afraid of saying too much."

"How astute," remarked Belladonna curtly.

"He does it a _lot_ ," Astoria stressed, careful to mask any signs of the intimacy that had led her to this observation in the first place.

"Run along and find your father," replied Belladonna absently, her thoughts bent inward again. "I'll say goodbye before I leave."

"You're not staying?" asked Astoria in surprise.

"To watch four little boys get lost in a garden?" Belladonna snorted. "I fancy I have better things to do with my time."

0o0

After less than half an hour inside, the grounds had managed to change on her again. Gone was the blaze of noonday sun, replaced by golden aura that crowned the tree line. The smell of woodsmoke coming from Hagrid's cabin now overwhelmed the scent of the greenery.

Astoria had barely taken six steps toward the lake before she was intercepted yet again, this time by Marcus Flint.

"Greengrass!" bellowed Marcus.

Astoria turned and spotted him waving enthusiastically beside what _appeared,_ rather confusingly, to be a tall coat rack. Curious as to why so much furniture seemed to have been dragged outside, Astoria did a swift double take and let out a horrified gasp.

"I don't believe you've met my girlfriend, Priscilla?" beamed Marcus, his eyes glittering knowingly as Astoria recoiled. He motioned toward the frail, impossibly thin human being that Astoria had just mistaken for an actual stick with arms. "Prissy, Astoria. Astoria, Prissy."

Astoria extended her hand, trying very hard to maintain a polite expression. Priscilla's chilly fingers touched Astoria's for less than a fraction of a second before she reeled them in again like baited fish hooks.

"Prissy, sweetheart, they're handing out cakes in the hall," murmured Marcus suggestively, turning his girlfriend by the shoulders. "Why don't you head in and revive yourself a bit?"

Certain that this was a losing battle, Astoria was very surprised when Priscilla willingly struck out across the grass in silence.

" _Oh my actual God!_ " Astoria hissed, dropping all pretense of common decency.

"I _know_ ," leered Flint, raising his wary eyes heavenward and shaking his head. "Rich as _fuck_ though, I'm telling you..."

"I thought she was a coat rack!" Astoria breathed in astonishment. "How do you keep track of her?"

"If I had a sickle for every time I've lost her, I wouldn't need to date her in the first place!" laughed Flint rather horribly. "She's always disappearing. Sometimes I wonder if she has another lover to race off to..."

"You'd probably be better off wondering whether she's gotten herself trapped in the revolving door behind you," muttered Astoria. "Are you sure she can _lift_ a free cake?"

"Now, now!" warned Marcus smugly, shaking his finger in her face. "That _is_ my girlfriend you're talking about."

Astoria raised the proverbial white flag, too overwhelmed to continue.

"But enough about me. Today is _your_ big day, isn't it?" whispered Flint conspiratorially. "Confess. _How_ are the prospects on the Task?"

"You know I can't tell you that," Astoria teased, turning her head away in a prim imitation of Cassandra.

" _Oh_ , that's right. It's just you and the Weasley boys who are in on _that_ secret," leered Marcus, pretending to recall what he already knew. "Speaking of the Weasleys, I hear yours are looking to expand into the joke-shop industry."

"Say they are," Astoria tested, privately marveling at Flint's impossible ability to know more than he should. "What's it to you?"

"Oh, nothing, I've just got a little something I've been cooking up," continued Marcus lightly. "I was hoping you might pass my idea along."

"Are you kidding?" laughed Astoria, sensing a foolish trap.

"Not at all. It's an idea for a candy. All the pieces come in one color, but the flavor is always different," explained Flint, his eyes sparkling wickedly. "I wrote the slogan out for you on my way up north. Want to see?"

Marcus produced a creased receipt upon which he had hastily scrawled a short paragraph in pencil. Astoria unfolded it and read:

 _'One hundred percent flavor. One hundred percent surprise. Just open your mouth and close your eyes! ! !'_

 _"_ Yeah?" egged Flint, shooting her a very baited, half-cocked grin. "What do you think?"

"One exclamation point might sufficed," observed Astoria wryly, trying very hard not to grin in spite of herself.

Marcus cackled gleefully.

"Go find your girlfriend, Flint," Astoria admonished lightly, tucking the slogan back into his shirt pocket. "Use a compass if you have to."

Marcus's hooting laughter dissolved into a distant howl as Astoria continued down the hill, taking the most direct path toward the lake. She had no real way of knowing if her father would still be there but, for the first time all morning, Astoria seemed destined to find what she was looking for on the first try.

Dressed in a white day suit that only Alec could have envied, she soon spired George holding court on the pebbly beach. Near and around him, a storm of Astoria's least-favorite people seemed to be gathered, laughing and commiserating. Astoria had been expecting Cassandra and Roland, but the sight of Alistair Yaxley and Lucius Malfoy was nearly enough to make to turn around again.

"Father," Astoria murmured, sticking to her guns and wading in.

"Astoria, my love!" declared George, putting off Bertie Higgs to embrace her. "You look as prim as a cup of tea! What have these sorority girls done with you?"

Several feet away, Cassandra smiled flatly, perhaps resenting this verbal reminder of Astoria's inclusion in her Sisterhood.

"We always wear white for occasions, Mr. Greengrass," she interjected easily. "Although _some_ of us wear stockings."

Astoria let out a tense breath, refusing to rise to Cassandra's bait.

"I thought we were supposed to have tea this morning," Astoria pressed, eager to keep her father engaged.

"And we _would_ have, if you could have been found!" returned George merrily. "But no matter, I'll have dinner in the village and return with the rest. Have you picked a favorite champion yet?"

"Not really," Astoria lied, surprised by how easy it was to pretend that all was well and careless in the world when the reality was so decidedly the opposite. "Of course, I favor Hogwarts."

"Naturally!" George beamed. "Speaking of school, when do you finish?"

"In a week or so," Astoria shrugged, resisting the urge to berate George for not knowing when her holiday started. "I suppose I'll be staying with my aunt again?"

This was a bit of a foolish question as Astoria had stayed with her aunt for the bulk of every summer since she had started school, but now did not seem to be the time to point this out.

"Mm!" projected George, clearly inspired. "Not necessarily! I'm traveling through most of July, but I shouldn't be going much further than France. Perhaps, if you don't mind spending a bit time with the Mendels, we might manage to work something out with my schedule? I _know_ Aston adores you—and I hate to think of you all cooped up in that haunted house with no one but your aunt for company!"

"I'd love to get away!" chirped Astoria, shooting her father an eager, conspiratorial glance over the top of her fan. "We travel so well together!"

While it was clearly not appropriate to discuss the details of their strange family dynamic in public, it _was_ surprisingly easy to reassure her father simply by being agreeable. After all, Astoria already typically spent a week with the Mendels every August. She could see no reason—outside the obvious planning fiasco that George was bound to cause—not to rearrange her travel dates. All things considered, Astoria thought that this was getting off rather easy. From the way Belladonna had been talking, she had come prepared for much worse.

"If you're sure, it's settled!" declared George, plainly surprised but very pleased to find Astoria so willing. "I know your aunt will kick up a fuss, but I'll see to her."

"You always do," Astoria demurred, continuing to outdo herself.

"I _do_ , don't I?" agreed George jauntily before motioning toward Roland. "Oh! Your cousin has been asking after you, you know. It really is abominably rude to keep so many of your relations waiting!"

George flashed her a winning grin. Thankful to have been spared the worst, Astoria returned it.

"We were talking about work, Astoria," called Roland pompously, angling himself to include her. "It's no wonder you've been avoiding us."

George and Cassandra both chuckled indulgently but George was already backing away, ferreting over toward Bertie Higgs again.

"You'll be happy when the tournament is over?" Astoria tried almost cheerfully, determined to fake it until she made it.

"Quite," returned Roland. "Of course, the tournament only accounts for half my problems these days. There's always a new calamity around every corner."

"Your cousin has been promoted again," supplied Cassandra helpfully, employing the sisterly tone she occasionally used around Astoria in public. "Haven't you, Roland?"

"Are you important enough to have a secretary now?" Astoria laughed.

"Two, in fact," puffed Roland. "The better is a bloke named Terrence Hibbs—not much older than you are, maybe you remember him? _He's_ a real up and comer."

Terrence was actually quite a bit older than Astoria was, but she knew better than to quibble. In any case, she _had_ met him before, even if the entire basis of her knowledge about him with that he had once played seeker for Marcus Flint. Her thoughts flashed back to Terrence as she remembered him at the Quidditch World Cup, hanging about outside his father's tent with with Marcus and Draco. He had seemed likable enough. For a moment, Astoria allowed herself to grieve Terrence's bad luck in having Roland for a boss.

"There's a witch as well, but I hardly ever think about her," Roland went on. "I keep forgetting _her_ name, to tell you the truth. Then again, her only purpose seems to be fetching coffee and answering letters."

"Because she's a girl?" asked Astoria, unable to entirely conceal her annoyance.

"Because she's not _good_ at anything," returned Roland baldly. "I read their field notes every day before closing, you know. Hibbs can hardly contain himself—scrawling ideas and reminders on the front and pack of every page. The silly girl just makes lists and tucks them away the minute she can."

"Maybe that's because all you ever do is send her out to pick up your lunch," Astoria snapped, realizing that her father had wandered off and removed any obligation to remain pleasant.

"What a queer idea," mused Roland slowly, torn between thoughtful amusement and scorn.

Cassandra made a clicking noise, perhaps eager to break up the tension, but this was no longer necessary. The sunlight was becoming steadily more golden and slanted. The shadow of the dock was officially beginning to creep down the beach, announcing the promise of sunset. All around, people were making dinner plans, eager to strike out for Hogsmeade before they lost track of the time and missed the Task over a poorly timed meal.

Untroubled by hunger because her stomach was starting to hurt again and fairly certain that George had left for Hogsmeade without her anyway, Astoria bid a short goodbye to Roland and Cassandra.

She had now checked everything off of her list, had lived up to every outside expectation: Belladonna had been met with, George soothed and Roland sent away. It was time for her own battle to begin.

The clock in the entrance hall declared that it was six o'clock as Astoria remounted the steps. _Two hours until the Task begins,_ Astoria reminded herself. _It'll all be over soon._

"Ah-storrrr-eeeeia!" sang a loud voice on the other side of the hall.

Astoria turned away from the clock to look at Maudlin, lounging with his usual comrades and a few of the Slytherins near the staircase. Even from a distance, he gave every appearance of being even more intoxicated than he had been the last time she had seen him. Astoria hesitated, eager to ignore him but afraid of being pursued all the way into the Great Hall as a punishment.

"What?" she deadpanned, giving in at last.

"C'mere!" Maudlin insisted, shoving Luc out of the way so that she had a place to stand. "One of your classmates just solicited me!"

"Huh?" grunted Astoria before quickly changing her mind and thinking the better of asking questions. "You know what, I don't even want to know. I'm not in the mood..."

Maudlin _was_ in the mood, however. Almost doubled up with laughter, he reached blindly for Astoria, trying to balance himself. Emilie, Flora and Pansy all hovered behind him in their white dresses, looking a bit like nervous fruit, flattening hems and scuffing their shoes. Alec, who could normally be counted upon as a voice of common sense, was nowhere to be seen.

Astoria shifted away from Maudlin's reach, uncomfortably aware of Emilie's silent but potent gaze.

"She wanted me to buy a pin for her house-elf liberation group!" Maudlin finally managed. "She's trying to set the bloody help free! What a riot! Draco says she's in _your_ class!"

Astoria had not even noticed Draco, but there he was as well, quietly leaning against the wall and watching Maudlin sway with a strangely triumphant shimmer in his eyes.

"You mean Hermione?" Astoria guessed, thinking of the collection tin her housemate had taken to rattling about in the common room. "She's been doing that for months. Anarchy hasn't broken out yet, has it?"

" _Wait_!" wheezed Luc breathlessly. "Are _you_ a member?"

"No," Astoria bristled, dropping her voice and searching the hall for signs of oncoming teachers. "Listen, you and Luc should eat something."

"Oh, _please_!" snorted Maudlin distractedly, still facing Luc. "Astoria, of _all_ people, in an elf-help group? You have no idea, Luc!"

"What does _that_ mean?" asked Pansy, her head snapping about sharply at the whiff of potential embarrassment in Maudlin's wording.

Emilie meanwhile continued to blink her somber eyes mutely, betraying nothing but an indulgent calm despite the way that Maudlin was actively trying to grab hold of Astoria's skirt.

"You need to have dinner before Maxime gets a look at you," Astoria snapped, cutting him off before he could answer. "Remember what she did to Luc at Christmas? Do you _want_ to recite lines in the rain?"

"Maxime can't do anything to me now. _I'm_ a bloody graduate!" countered Maudlin cockily, tipping his chin up in such a smug way that Astoria almost wished Maxime _would_ catch wind of his antics and fry him on the spot. "I'd like to see her try!"

"Yeah," responded Draco drawlingly, obviously savoring the idea. "Wouldn't _that_ be a treat."

Astoria shot Draco a swift scowl but he remained unmoved by it, apparently content to watch the scene play out. He took no initiative to help Astoria urge either boy toward the Great Hall.

"Come on," Astoria insisted, giving in and reaching for Maudlin's sleeve.

"Astoria!" burst Maudlin, struck by a memory and forgetting that she was already standing directly beside him. "Remember my _father's_ old elf!"

"Yeah," Astoria muttered, hoping Maudlin would know better than to share this story out loud.

"Hah, hah!" wheezed Maudlin joyfully, pulling Astoria into an awkward, waltz-position inspired hug. "That game of Hide and Seek! You know the one! When the elf fell off the roof!—"

"Maudlin!" Astoria hissed, digging her fingers into his arm as her cheeks burned. "If you don't _shut up_ right now, I'm going to drag you out to the lake and drown the ever-loving _shit_ out of you!"

"You _wouldn't_ ," guessed Maudlin darlingly. He hesitated, hiccuped and squinted at her face. "Or maybe you _would_..."

"We should all eat before the Task starts," decided Emilie, finally seeming to feel that enough was enough and lending her long over-due assistance. In one fluid and clearly practiced motion, Emilie placed a firm hand on Maudlin's back, encouraging his slumping posture away from the curve of Astoria's side. "Come with me Pansy?" she continued rationally. "We'll find Cassandra. She's always been the best at talking sense into him."

Astoria relinquished her grip on Maudlin's arm, relived and yet—perhaps irrationally—just a little annoyed.

While she did not much enjoy the job of being Maudlin's human crutch, Astoria couldn't help but feel the sudden shift in group dynamic. It was as though Emilie was determined to ignore Astoria's assistance completely, if at all possible

Maudlin pivoted to stare at his girlfriend, and his obvious surprise at finding her still present was almost insultingly obvious. "Astoria!" he cried hopefully, reminding her of an amnesia-struck child with a bottomless propensity to remain startled. "Were _you_ trying to eat?"

"Not with you, I'd wager," murmured Draco, his voice too low to be of much notice.

" _Oh,_ but Cassandra is with Roland," recalled Emilie worriedly. "Stay with Maudlin, Luc. We'll be back."

Considering the fact that Luc was nearly as intoxicated as Maudlin was, it was hard to see much logic in this plan but Astoria allowed the trio of girls to pass by without saying a word.

"You're the worst sort of ass, you know that?" Astoria seethed, rounding on Maudlin the moment Emilie was out of earshot. "This is a school and it's not even dark yet. I never see you this drunk!"

"Yeah?" mused Maudlin unkindly, swaying toward the windows. "First time for everything, I guess."

"Grow _up!_ " Astoria snapped. "You just sent your girlfriend off to fetch Cassandra!"

"Think she'll break up with me for it?" Maudlin sneered back humorlessly.

"You're breaking up with Emilie?" shocked Luc, properly astonished by the idea. "You never said..."

"Of course I'm not!" scoffed Maudlin, catching himself at the last possible moment, perhaps remembering that Luc was not only an unreliable friend but _also_ Emilie's cousin.

Luc's frown quickly dissolved. "Oh, who am I kidding? You two will end up married and you know it!"

"Yeah," agreed Maudlin flatly but his expression of distaste could not have been more clear. "I need to sit," he finally muttered, surprising Astoria somewhat by dipping out of English into his more native French. "I'm getting the spins."

"Not in the hallway," Astoria cautioned, taking pity on him and changing languages herself in order to minimize his confusion. "There are dozens of Ministry officials hanging around. Even if you _can't_ be expelled, they can still fine you."

Draco let out a sound of deep-rooted irritation, no longer entirely capable of understanding them, but Astoria ignored him.

To Maudlin's credit, this was the very first time since the delegation from Beauxbatons had arrived that Astoria had ever felt obligated to carry on a conversation that any of her peers would not be able to follow. She supposed Draco could live with the inconvenience until Maudlin was at least capable of standing again.

"Oh, who gives a shit?" scoffed Maudlin, sagging down onto the flagstones. "I can afford a fine!"

"Emilie will come back with Cassandra if you _don't_ move," Astoria managed, willing herself not to shout. "Is that what you want?"

"Such wet blankets!" Maudlin moaned, giving in and allowing Astoria to grab him by his wrists. "The both of them!"

This earned a chuckle from Luc, whose family loyalty did not seem to stretch much further than a reluctance to see his cousin be dumped.

Astoria pulled hard, but Maudlin was surprisingly heavy and her struggle to force him onto his feet did not make much headway.

"What are you _doing_ , Maudlin?" Draco finally snapped, the force of his mercurial glower burning through the back of Astoria's head. "Trying to make her sit in your lap? Just get _up_."

"Huh? Oh—" Maudlin blinked in the direction of his own hands rather bashfully. He returned to English at once. "Was I already down here when Emilie left?"

"No," sneered Draco, somehow managing to regard Maudlin with less pleasure and more intensity at the same time.

"Good," Maudlin muttered, shifting clumsily upright.

"Why? She's not wild about watching you hang off of other girls?" suggested Draco cruelly, closing in for the kill.

"What? You mean Astoria?" jolted Maudlin. "Emilie wouldn't notice _that._ Not something _to_ notice! Known Astoria forever..."

Astoria shot Draco a hard look, unable to entirely understand his motive. Maudlin was clearly too intoxicated to be taken seriously and all Draco was doing was baiting him into saying something foolish. Sure enough, his work was cut out for him.

"Hah!" Maudlin laughed hollowly, obviously looking for a way to backtrack. "Can you imagine if we _did_ end up together, Astoria? What would my father's job at our wedding even be? Would he give you away or stand next to me?"

Why Maudlin had waited to say _this_ in a language that Draco could understand, Astoria would never know. Draco fell back against the wall, positively shining with cold triumph.

"Look, Alec's back," observed Luc, pointing over Astoria's shoulder. "I think he's going in to dinner, let's catch him!"

Astoria stooped to pick up the fan she had dropped, happy to see them go before the idea of her and Maudlin's pseudo-incestuous wedding ceremony could become an object of discussion.

If she gave them all a moment, Astoria figured she might be able to double back to the Hall alone. Perhaps Fred and George would finally turn up at the Gryffindor table? She wanted a word with them badly...

A soft chuckle distracted her from her thoughts. Astoria nabbed the fan off the floor and turned. Maudlin and Luc were halfway toward the double doors, but Draco was still lingering against the wall, looking strangely pleased with himself.

"You know," drawled Draco thoughtfully, his pale eyes flickering toward Maudlin, "I really don't know _why_ anyone would bother to date him. He's dead weight!"

"Go tell _Emilie_ that," Astoria shot back, deeply resenting the way that Draco had stood by and watched as she struggled.

"Why bother?" returned Draco resentfully. "If he had said your name _one_ more time he'd have broken the record—and what was _that_ about you and his dad!"

"I don't know what you were expecting," Astoria snapped in return. "He's hammered. You practically put the words in his mouth for him!"

"No I didn't," Draco sneered, his eyes narrowing. "Even if I _did_ , it was still a fucking _weird_ thing to say."

This much was undeniable, but Astoria had reached her limit for needless anxiety. She was in no mood to humor Draco's petty jealousies. There were still bloodthirsty goblins to be attended to—bickering over Maudlin's queer choice of humor was the least of her concerns.

She opened her mouth to say just this when a curious thing happened: a warm gust of air snuck in through the window, carrying with it a whispering reminder of the balmy afternoon outside and just the softest note of Draco's cologne.

Astoria froze, oddly affected by this unexpected and soothing caress. An invisible wave of softness seemed to rise up and break gently over her head. Of their own accord, her thoughts flashed to the memory of what Draco's limbs felt like when they were heavy with sleep; the feeling of his shallow breathing against her hair.

Astoria blinked, trying to clear her head but it was almost too late. After so many hours of dread, even this second-long reprieve from terror was enough to make her want to weep. Despite the fact that Draco was clearly willing to watch her suffer to prove a point, Astoria wanted what that hint of scent had suggested so much—what even _was_ it? Safety? Distraction?—that she was suddenly fighting a mad desire to cling to his shirt and bury her face against whatever exposed skin she could find.

This was a mad whim, of course, but in the blink of an eye and without so much as a word being said, Astoria had switched from being on the verge of saying something rude to subconsciously plotting ways that she might be able to trick Draco into touching her.

 _Cut it out_ , the voice of reason in her head hissed. _Carry the game, Greengrass. Go find Fred and George._

But she did't want to find Fred and George. She didn't want to talk about goblins at all. Draco was clean, unburdened by Maudlin's battle with approaching manhood and, in his own way, utterly fixated on her. Without thinking, Astoria acted on the first impulse that came to mind, channeling her inner frustrated eight year old as she did so—she pushed him.

It was not a hard shove. Considering their differences in height and strength, it should not have even been enough to move him, but Draco had not been expecting the nudge. He swung out of his half-cocked slouch and his back bumped against the wall.

Astoria waited for him to react, anticipating a nasty ' _what the hell, Greengrass?_ ' or at the very least an ' _are you kidding?_ ' Instead, Draco's eyelashes merely fluttered with perplexed annoyance.

" _Okay,_ " he muttered slowly, re-straightening his shirt. Astoria bit her lip and pushed him backwards again, this time more pointedly.

Draco's half-sneer vanished, his grey eyes turning bright and sharp as he correctly detected the hint of something sexual in her manhandling.

He looked like his father again, but for the first time ever, Astoria did not let this fact get in her way. If anything, she privately thrilled at the unfortunateness, perhaps because she was more comfortable with the idea of Draco being wrong than she was with allowing him to feel right.

Orange sunlight was flooding through her eyelashes, lending the moment a slightly unreal quality. Astoria pushed up and kissed the corner of Draco's mouth, her stomach responding with a breathless quiver that probably had at least _something_ to do with the fact that she was acting like a lunatic.

There was a baited pause. A weird little noise on Draco's part as his shoulders twitched forward. Astoria tilted her head back, suddenly as boneless as gelatin, her fingers scrabbling against his shirt as he kissed her. The hand fan dug into her ribs between them. Draco snatched it out the way—the permission to dismiss an obstacle so recently used to hold another boy at bay provoking a surge of violently triumphant satisfaction on his part.

Voices were coming from the direction of the Great Hall but they did little more than reinforce her desperation. Astoria could _not_ be caught in the hallway snogging Draco Malfoy like he was the last man on earth, after all. Time was limited. She pushed herself against him, wetly invasive and baffling, knowing the countdown had already begun.

For several long seconds, Astoria's ears thrummed with the sound of her own heartbeat and the curiously dense rustle-thunk of fabric and unsteady elbows against stone. _It's fine,_ the thread of her consciousness reassured. _It's already June. You won't have to see him again all summer._

But if Draco's brain was wise enough to know that Astoria kissing him might be her idea of a joke, the rest of his body was responding without fear of a punchline. A nervy greediness trembled in his limbs like a plucked string. Astoria arched her back, shamefully inclined to encourage that energy to a still-higher frequency.

Her fingers brushed against something cold in the fabric of Draco's dress coat. Realizing that she had nearly forced a small disk resembling a casino token out of his pocket, Astoria stopped the offending trinket from clattering toward the ground with her fingers.

"What're you doing?"

Astoria jumped as Draco's voice ghosted against her mouth, thick with distraction and a heady desire to reclaim her attention.

"Robbing you," Astoria smirked softly, flipping the coin over between her thumb and her index finger.

It was not money, that much was certain. For a moment, Astoria assumed that she had never seen anything like it before but then she spotted a familiar etching. It was an Andros the Invincible coin.

A relic of a bygone age, this particular form of currency had only ever been minted by the Ministry once, during the height of the Grindlewald crisis. Worth less than half of a knut at the time, it had never achieved any real popularity. Nowadays however, perhaps due to relative scarcity and the suggestive nature of their engravings (Andros was famous for producing a patronus the size of a giant, after all) the little tokens were sought after as protective talismans or good luck charms, worth more than their coppery weight in real gold.

"That thing doesn't matter," Draco breathed without even taking the time to recognize the coin in her hand. "Chuck it, I don't care."

But this was not exactly true. Once or twice, as a very small child, someone in Astoria's family _might_ have been thoughtful enough to sneak a lucky coin into her luggage before a long journey, but that was a big _might_. It had been years since she had seen one in person. Surely it would be terrible luck to throw one out?

Astoria found herself considering Draco's jacket—a dark sports coat classic—struck by the realization that it was not something he could comfortably wear over his school uniform. In all likelihood, the coat hadn't been touched since his last visit home. The coin was probably the work of one of his parents.

Assuming that Lucius was not a fan of showy sentimentality, this left Narcissa as the most likely candidate. The more Astoria thought about it, the more it seemed like something a mother would do. But the fact that Narcissa was willing to resort to unreliable whimsy in order to safeguard her defensive and ungrateful son's well-being was not something Astoria wanted to think about.

Andros the Invincible's shiny, rounded profile glistened at her accusingly.

She was playing with Draco right now in the same way that Daphne's cat liked to play with trapped mice; somewhat cruelly and with great energy. Nothing in the world could have made her feel more guilty about this than the token in her hand, the sole purpose of which seemed to be offering tangible proof that _someone_ in the world did not think of Draco as a chew toy. To his mother, he was an object of genuine adoration and no matter how willingly Draco seemed to line up for Astoria's mistreatment, her mounting discomfort could not be undone.

Goose-bumpy and filled with a suddenly unshakable self-loathing, Astoria could already feel herself leaning away from Draco when the sound of approaching feet gave her the sharp dose of reality she needed to jerk away completely.

0o0

* * *

Oh Astoria, _please_. When was the last time you made it through a whole summer without seeing Draco? The LIES we tell ourselves...

Well, this chapter is being posted way later than I had planned. I usually have a pretty good reason for delays, but the scenario this time was totally foolish. I'm kind of ashamed to admit it, but television happened. I finally got my own HBO-Go subscription and I've been dead to the world for a week. Seriously, I signed up thinking I would catch up on some Game of Thrones (I've read the book series but I've been fickle about keeping up with the show) and the next thing I know, I'm three seasons deep and battling an electronic device addiction. The signs were super chronic too; you've seen them before, I'm sure. I didn't go out. I stopped associating joy with sunshine. I began to eat Cup of Noodles in my bed without a trace of self-loathing. Phone calls from people I formally considered friends became little more than dangerous distractions posed to pull me away my singular purpose—journeying across the imaginary land of Westeros...

No, but in all seriousness, I'm sorry for sucking. It was a deep, dark hole that I'll try not to fall down again soon.

In other, more related news:

1\. I might have actually lived up to the 'M' rating in this post with all the public drunkenness and swearing. My apologizes if this chapter was a 'clutch-your-Grandma's pearls' level of in love with dropping F bombs.

2\. The next post will be given over to dealing with the actual return of Voldemort and the resolution of the goblin problem (I'm actually pretty fond of how this plays out), so stay tuned.

As always, reviews are the best!


	57. Shadows and Hedgerows

Chapter Fifty Seven

Shadows and Hedgerows

* * *

0o0

Astoria blinked stupidly in the direction of the oncoming sound, working hard to disengage her fingers from the fabric of Draco's shirt. Whoever had just shouted was very near at hand; just behind the doors to the Great Hall and still half obscured by wood, if she had to guess. She could certainly hear the muffled conversation approaching, but she could not yet _see_ the people having it, leaving just enough time to move away from Draco if she could make sense of her limbs.

She brought her hands up and broke Draco's grip. He sniffed stiffly and slouched back against the wall, perhaps trying to process the fact that Astoria had just molested him in broad daylight.

"We'll get better seats if we go down now," babbled Tracey's recognizable voice, still many feet away. Next moment, her willowy limbs came into view as she backed up through the doorway and into sight. "Of course, some of the parents are probably already waiting there—oh, and I should find Astoria first!"

"Would you?" drawled a second, more controlled voice, laced with such self-amusement that it could only belong to Blaise Zabini. Tracey took a slinky step backwards and sure enough, half of Blaise's face appeared behind her. "That would _really_ put the cherry on my sundae, now that you mention it."

Astoria tilted her head, so distracted by Blaise's leering use of the words "cherry" and "sundae" that she was no longer consumed by thoughts of being discovered alone with Draco.

"Oh!" cried Tracey, feeling the weight of Astoria's intense scrutiny. "Ria! You're already here!"

Astoria stared back at Tracey mutely, trying to process this change in dynamic, surprisingly detached from the painfully obvious way that Draco's tussled hair seemed to stand out like a sore thumb in the corner of her eye.

Ironically, perhaps because of her dull-witted pause, neither Blaise nor Tracey seemed to immediately notice that anything was amiss. _Guilty people startle more,_ thought Astoria. Still, she wished Draco would smarten up his crooked tie...

"I think we're heading down," breathed Tracey. "Are you coming?"

It was as though Tracey was speaking to her over the stretch of a very great distance. Astoria could hear her well enough, but her attention was irrationally focused on Blaise, whose smug eyes were dancing punishingly back at her, provoking a tug of anger up Astoria's spine.

"Yeah," Astoria returned dully, feeling as though she had no choice. It was not as though Tracey really needed Astoria to walk her down to the pitch, but Blaise's leer was enough to make the hairs on the back of her neck prickle. "Sure."

 _Better to go down early than lose track of them,_ Astoria decided, scrambling to think of where Fred and George might be likely to turn up in the stands. There was nothing she could do to change the outcome of the tournament, but if Blaise was planning to do something rude, Astoria had a hunch that he might get it out of the way faster if she was there to witness it.

It was the day that just wouldn't end. Astoria threaded her arm through Tracey's, trying to fake enthusiasm. In truth, she had already gone over the limit of her daily tolerance for catastrophe; but if the world was so determined to drown her in a sea of unnecessary attacks and misfortunes, she might as well try to tread water a little longer.

Draco ran an absent hand through his hair and the vaguely dazed look on his face began to give way to flickering triumph. He pushed away from the wall and Astoria forced herself to refrain from watching him too closely.

"There's a sport!" drawled Blaise, clapping Draco on the back.

Astoria tightened her grip on Tracey's pale forearm but the clammy sensation of foreign skin rubbing against the inside of her elbow was not as soothing as she had hoped it would be.

Outside, the lawn was growing steadily darker and somehow hotter. The blustery afternoon had managed to keep the heat at bay, but any remnants of a cheerful breeze had tapered off, leaving behind a sweaty, charged atmosphere. Halfway down the front steps, Astoria was already resisting the urge to pant.

"Where's Maudlin?" asked Tracey brightly, striking out for the path and dragging Astoria along with her.

"Choking down his dinner," volunteered Draco behind them smugly. "He's so bloody _drunk_ he can't stand up straight."

Blaise snickered but Astoria did not turn around. Up ahead on the path, Ginny Weasley was walking with Fleur Delacour's little sister, Gabrielle. Both of them were wearing matching berets and giggling excitedly. A new thought struck her—perhaps _Ginny_ might know where her brothers were hiding? But how could Astoria ask about them without drawing unwanted attention to herself or the twins?

"Blaise touched my leg at dinner!" breathed Tracey giddily, leaning close to whisper into Astoria's ear. "Beneath the table! He left his hand there the whole time!"

I was all Astoria could do to keep from pulling a sick scowl. This news—if it could even be _called_ news—did not please her at all.

All paranoid narcissism aside, Astoria had a terrible feeling that Blaise's new, predatory energy was the byproduct of a desire to make Astoria suffer for hitting him earlier. The sudden turn around in his behavior was suspicious, after all—shouldn't he still be glowering at her? And making a move on Tracey certainly _seemed_ like the sort of conniving thing that Blaise might do for fun.

But even if Astoria was correct in thinking this way, it seemed frustratingly impossible for her to suggest the idea to Tracey without offending her. What exactly did Astoria propose to insinuate? That Blaise might only be paying attention to her in order to annoy _Astoria_? Surely that would sound terribly vain, even to someone with Tracey's dramatic sensibilities?

Astoria tensely contemplated her options, certain that it would be an easier topic to broach if only she had done something truly villainous—but as it was, she stood accusing of nothing worse than knuckle-checking Blaise with a fan. Hardly a capitol offense. _In front of his mother, though..._

Astoria craned her head just far enough to peek back at Blaise and was rewarded by the cruel angle of his repressed smile. As though drawn to her gaze by magnets, Blaise's eyes snapped over Draco's shoulder onto hers and his cocky leer deepened.

"Sounds _creepy_ to me," Astoria sneered as she turned back around, hoping to plant a seed of doubt in Tracey's mind without having to thoroughly explain herself. "God, it's _hot_ out here..."

"Are you kidding?" demanded Tracey a little tartly. "It's not _creepy_! It's fantastic!"

"Oh, what are you _talking_ about?" sneered Astoria carelessly. "He's _weird_ , Trace!"

"Not _really_ ," Tracey shot back, her tone ringing with a wavering warning that Astoria was bothering her.

There was an awkward pause. Astoria's free fingers crept up to pull at the front of her dress, exposing her skin to the non-existent breeze. The mixture of heat and tension was making it hard for her to breathe...

"You've seen him with his mother," Astoria muttered defensively. "She practically licks his ear whenever she talks to him—it's _freakish_. Can you even imagine what they must be like when they're alone together?"

"So what if he's close with his mum?" snapped Tracey defensively. "I think it's nice! Not everyone has to _hate_ their family, you know!"

"I _know_ that," Astoria shot back, irrationally stung by the light, but _throughly_ implied, insinuation that she didn't know what a normal family was like. "I'm _only_ saying—"

"Yeah, I _know_ what you're saying," Tracey bristled, yanking her arm sideways in order to relinquish it from Astoria's grasp, "and it's a bit rich, if you ask _me_!"

"What's _that_ supposed to mean?" demanded Astoria, surprised that Tracey had wrenched way from her. It was not normally in keeping with Tracey's spirit to get so worked up.

"Nothing!" Tracey snapped, but her mouth continued to work mutely, hesitating, gripped with a desire to utter something more dire.

" _What_?" Astoria pressed, becoming a little angry herself.

"I just don't see what's so _wrong_ with Blaise!" returned Tracey accusingly. "I mean, Maudlin's too drunk to watch the Task, but you think _he's_ ok!"

Tracey's hand shot up and for a sick, jazzy moment, Astoria was afraid that she might try to jab her in the chest with it. Instead, Tracey ticked up a finger, clearly keeping some kind of a tally.

"And there's also _Draco_! He terrorizes people for sport—including your friends—but _you_ say he's all right, so I guess I should just suck it up?"

"Huh?" Astoria grunted, thoroughly taken aback. It was on her mind to mention that Draco did not tend to inappropriately simper over or _stroke_ his mother in public but this was not the point that Tracey was trying to make, nor was she finished speaking.

"Basically, anyone who is obsessed with _you_ is fine, no matter how shitty they are!" Tracey shot stingingly. "Is that it, have I got the measure of it?"

There was too much truth in this to be entirely ignored but Astoria had never been confronted by the idea so directly and she soon found that she had no idea how to defend herself. What was worse, it was also beginning to occur to her—with a corresponding twist of dread—that Tracey's aggravation seemed a little too precise and thought-out to be entirely spontaneous.

"And I don't really _care_ if your aunt doesn't like the Zabinis, either!" Tracey sniffed, covering all her bases. "That doesn't make them _weird_ or _freakish_ in my book!"

Clearly Astoria had gone about this is the wrong way. She shouldn't have tried blindly insulting Blaise; it had only given Tracey the wiggle room she needed to make any argument against him seem unfounded or ridiculous.

"Tracey, that's not what I'm talking about," Astoria managed tightly, terrified by how rapidly their conversation was spiraling out of control.

"Your aunt has never been _that_ nice to me, you know!" Tracey sneered haltingly, her eyes very bright and almost frighteningly reckless. "Why should _I_ avoid Blaise just because his mum probably dated someone that Belladonna fancied in school? It's not like _I_ owe her anything!"

Astoria sucked in a breath, unable to think of anything clever to say. They had slipped so far away from where they had started that Astoria could sense the argument she had been trying to make withdrawing from view.

"Stop it!" Tracey hissed shrilly, premeditating Astoria's thoughts and punctuating her point by stomping her foot down on the grassy turf. "Why does everything always have to be about _you_? I don't _care_ that you don't like Blaise, so just _shut up_ about him!"

The burn in Astoria's cheeks reached boiling point.

"What are you two on about?" called Blaise, casually cutting in from somewhere over Astoria's shoulder.

A few feet ahead, Draco and Blaise had come to a standstill. Several first year Hufflepuffs had wriggled past them when Tracey had stopped to stomp about and as a result, they were now separated from the boys by a rapidly-gathering river of traffic.

"Nothing!" Tracey called back cheerfully, her eyes still uncharacteristically furious and fixated on Astoria. "Be right there!"

"Are you _kidding_ me?" Astoria sneered, hating Tracy's display of false brightness even more than she mistrusted Blaise.

"Nope!" spat Tracey doggedly, pronouncing the 'p' with such force that the letter popped off her lips like a pressurized cork of syllabic annoyance. "And, quite frankly, if this is how _you're_ going to act, I'd rather watch the task with _them_!"

"Fine," Astoria challenged coldly. "Go ahead."

In truth, Astoria was more embarrassed than angry but Tracey's sniffing (and possibly merited) resentment was so intimidating that she could see no way of backtracking. Instead, a hard and cruel urge to have the last word was beginning to bubble up in her chest, overshadowing any desire to apologize.

"Why are you _being_ like this?" Tracey hissed, exasperation coloring her tone with bitter annoyance. "Are you jealous? Is _that_ it?"

" _Jealous?_ " Astoria repeated incredulously, beginning to wonder if Tracey had lost her mind. "I don't want anything to do with Blaise! He's your _stupid_ obsession, not mine!"

"Yeah," Tracey bit back, squaring her shoulders in preparation for a row. "But _I've_ got him and all you've got are those Weasley twins—who, by the way, are nowhere to be seen!"

Astoria's mouth actually fell open. Was she _serious_? Fine. Let Blaise have her then. They deserved each other...

"Forget this!" Astoria snarled, peeling away from Tracey and striking out toward the pathless lawn.

They would certainly see how Tracey felt when Blaise used her and cast her aside like an old Droobles wrapper, wouldn't they? It would be her own fault, the silly cow, and Astoria would be sure to tell her so...

"Astoria!" exclaimed Tracey petulantly, thoroughly annoyed by the turn things had just taken.

"I'll meet you down there!" Astoria called back begrudgingly, unable to entirely bring herself, even in her anger, to ditch Tracey completely.

Tracey blinked, looking hurt.

"Sure," she finally muttered dispassionately. "If you want. I guess I don't really _care!_ "

Painfully aware of the fact that they were all essentially going in the same direction, Astoria forced herself to stop walking in order to avoid trailing in Tracey's wake. Feeling particularly stupid as the rest of the crowd continued to move around her, she bent her head and pretended to fix the straps on her dress.

Draco watched Astoria stealthily as Tracey gave up and strode back across the lawn and Astoria, for her part, did her best to pretend not to notice when Tracey gave Blaise a playful push forward. She waited for all three of them to continue safely down the path before properly lifting her head again.

 _'I guess I don't really care'_ , Astoria mouthed back at their retreating forms, parroting Tracey's words into vacant air. What a _stupid_ thing to say, she _obviously_ did care...

Composure only partly regained, Astoria cautiously directed her thoughts back to the most pressing scheme at hand; she needed to find Fred and George.

Pushing herself up onto her tip-toes, she attempted to survey the crowd. By an unexpected twist of fortuitous fate, (perhaps the universe was finally pitying her desperation?) it was only a matter of seconds before she spotted a shock of red hair against a patch of darkening trees near the entrance to the quidditch pitch.

Elated, Astoria struck out toward it, anxious to catch up before the twins could somehow slip away and become lost again in the shadowy thicket of vegetation they were currently crouching in. It had been hard enough to find them once, she didn't want to do it twice—and come to think of it, why were they hiding in the woods, anyway?

Far too late, Astoria was almost upon them when she finally noticed the awkward tick of Fred's body language. She could not quite hear his voice, but there was definitely something stealthy and nervous about how he was moving; huddled and secretive in a way that suggested criminal intent.

Her eyes had barely processed this pre-warning before they picked up something else; an unexplained scuttling in the underbrush, the rattle of low-hanging branches. _Goblins._

 _"_ Fred!" Astoria called out, going out of her way to announce her presence before she broke past the wall of trees.

Fred Weasley's shoulders lurched with an guilty, electric jolt. "Hey," he called back stiffly, his expression betraying an almost painful level of discomfort.

Behind Fred, two sets of hostile, glittering eyes peered back at her, almost entirely hidden in the shade of a newly-green oak tree.

Astoria's vision swam in subtle, panicky twitches as she searched the shrouded ground, fearful of an ambush, but there were only two little bodies to be found.

A littler taller than the scraggly shrubs and about a fist shorter than Fred's waist, both goblins were dressed in dark suits made from velvet in the exact shade of early evening, identifiable only by their glistening, fairy-tale eyes.

"We're just going over some last minute details," declared Fred, feigning robustness. "Looking over the books, you know. You two remember Astoria?"

One of the shadowy goblins shifted but neither nodded or gave any other visible sign of recognition.

"This one," the goblin muttered, pointing to something in his hands. Astoria strained and was able to make out the outline of her familiar gambling notebook. "Ragnuk wishes for you to collect his payment first."

"Ok," Fred agreed warily. "If he loses his bet, we'll run him down."

"Not _if_ ," the tiny Goblin murmured dangerously, " _when_."

Astoria stared through the gloom at the book until, at length, she was able to discern Karkoroff's name under the tip of a dangerously long fingernail.

"I was going to mention that myself," Astoria joined in. "I don't know if you know this or not, but Karkaroff isn't just betting against Ragnuk. He's also got a wager against Hodrod."

Astoria turned her eyes toward the Goblins, thankful that Fred and George were already up to speed on this. "He's got money on two champions; Cedric _and_ Krum—I think he must be planning to collect his gold and bail before the winning side can catch up with him and make him pay."

"What proof do you have of this?" demanded the taller of the two goblins sharply.

"None," Astoria admitted lamely, unable to entirely work her theory into words and just a little annoyed to be put on the spot by someone who clearly already agreed with her. Why _else_ would they demand that Karkaroff pay first? They already _knew_ he was bad business. "Nothing but circumstance and speculation. Maybe he's broke?"

 _Or maybe he thinks something is going to go wrong with the task_ , Astoria privately added. There didn't seem to be any way around this possibility, after all. It would certainly explain why Karkoroff had risked such a bizarre plan as betting on two different champions through two different goblins.

Without guidance, Astoria's thoughts shifted like oil in water, pushing her subconscious toward a new pattern recognition.

 _He's evening out his odds,_ Astoria realized, surprised by the clarity of her sudden conviction. _No matter how he cuts it, Karkaroff is going to owe someone money before the night is out. His method only makes sense if he's going to run away..._

But what could possibly be frightening enough to induce Karkaroff into fleeing the country? Or make him desperate enough to risk his kneecaps for pocket money?

Bagman's round, boyish face floated back into Astoria's memory, bringing with it his uncanny warning about Karkoroff at the Yule Ball: _A spot of trouble with his left arm..._

"We'll keep an eye on him," said Fred bracingly, casting Astoria a glance that was made up of equal parts worry and wonder.

"More than _one_ eye, if you please" the shorter goblin wheezed, turning his narrow face back toward his friend.

For several harrowing seconds, the two goblins prattled on in gobbledegook. Their words were too fast for Astoria to attempt to follow, but their tone was so obviously unpleasant that she didn't really need to.

Rather than trying to interrupt, Astoria seized the built-in intermission to study the shorter and more menacing of the two creatures. The more she looked at him, the more convinced she was that she had seen him before. Even in shadow, he greatly resembled Ragnuk's treasurer; the goblin who had been so hesitant to hand over their winnings in the Hogs Head after the Second Task...

"You will see to it that the Northern Headmaster pays you," repeated the treasurer-goblin in cruel English, reaching some kind of conclusion with his partner. "Ragnuk is firm about this."

"Fine," Astoria bit back cuttingly, speaking before Fred and George could get a word in. "If _Ragnuk_ is firm, consider it handled."

"Oh yes?" the goblin-treasurer leered, his tone immensely patronizing, perhaps amused by the idea that Astoria thought she was capable of threatening anyone, least of all a fully grown wizard. "How do you plan to hold him if he should decide to outrun you?"

"I don't know," Astoria snapped, searching wildly into the dusty corners of her brain for what little Gobbledegook she had ever managed to absorb from Theodore's father's books. "We'll _floaxak whis rogs."_

Astoria eyed the goblins closely, waiting to see how they would react to this. Truthfully, 'Floaxak whis rogs' was nothing more than a caption beside a particularly brutal illustration in Ug The Unclean's biography. Not only was she a little uncertain as to what the phrase actually meant, she was even less sure how it was pronounced.

Still, the quotation itself, penned into the book by hand—presumably by Mr. Nott—appeared next to a scene of medieval torture and the smudged black ink of his lettering had the air of a personal commentary about it. Doodled into a speech bubble above the head of a pointing spectator, Astoria had long ago taken it to mean something comically violent: _'Break his legs!'_

Sure enough, Ragnuk's goblins exchanged tight, tense glances and she knew that she had struck home—or close enough to it to be worrisome. Goblins, secretive and nearly dependent on the ignorance and blood-prejudice of wizards, almost always had an uncanny tendency to become unsettled by her pathetic attempts to communicate in gobbledegook. In this respect, Ragnuk's goons did not appear to be any different. Even if her threat was unfounded, it had done what Astoria had hoped it _might_ do; she had robbed Ragnuk's henchmen of their ability to speak in their mother tongue without the fear of being understood.

Astoria held the treasurer's gaze, willing herself to appear confidently neutral. The goblins had no way of knowing how much she had already managed to decipher in their speech (in truth, almost nothing), but she did not intend to let them know that.

" _Will_ you?" the Treasurer needled.

Astoria hunted for another pre-built sentence, this time one she knew well.

"Kerd dis raxaw," she returned. _Gold is law._ Anyone who knew anything about history might recognize this phrase but it fit their current situation well enough to make the treasurer's expression flicker with annoyance and give way to retreat.

"Very well," he said, snapping the ledger shut. "Make yourselves useful. Remember, Ragnuk will be spectating."

Sensing that they were being dismissed, Astoria reached for Fred's shirtsleeve, surprised to find that he was already groping about in the darkness for her arm.

Curiously uncomfortable with the idea of turning around and exposing her back to the goblins in the gloom, Astoria tripped several times, goose-stepping over tree limbs in her haste to reclaim the dwindling light of the wide open lawn as quickly as possible.

"What did you say to him?" asked Fred the moment they were out of the woods. "In goblin-talk, I mean? It sounded nasty..."

"I'm not sure," Astoria admitted in a low voice, conscious of the crowd that they were rejoining. "A line that I read in a book once. _All_ gobbledegook sounds hard like that—it's guttural."

"Quick thinking!" George whistled, covertly drying his clammy hands on the front of his pants. "I thought he was going to follow us into the stadium for a minute."

Astoria and the twins exchanged delirious looks, half-giddy with relief to have escaped the shadows at any cost, even if their reprieve would only last as long as the duration of the Task.

The lawn became progressively more congested as they pushed closer to the maze. By the time they reached the mouth of the stadium, lines of people—some standing in single file and still others packed together into bands as thick as snaking rivers in areal photographs—were stretching up the hill like the roots of a mythological tree.

Astoria led the way into the crowd, casually turfing first years out of her way, taking only a little more time to nod respectfully at adult spectators before shoving past them as well.

"It's a mad house down here," frowned Fred, observing what was undoubtedly the most chaotic Task organization to date. "Don't they have someone managing this?"

"Yeah," muttered George in an undertone, sucking in his stomach to avoid being poked by a rogue walking stick. "Hagrid. Reckon he snuck off to Hogsmeade after lunch for a pick me up? Looks like more people than last time though, to be honest."

Astoria laughed breathlessly. She took three big steps backward to avoid being trampled and bumped lightly into someone _else_ behind her.

Her mood was still as tense and nervy as a frayed piano string and fighting with Tracey before her run-in with the goblins had done her no favors. The last place she wanted to be now was packed elbow to elbow between foreign bodies. The heat and the noise were overwhelming. Unable to move either forward or backward, Astoria found herself fighting down a quivering, unreliable desire to cackle.

This, Astoria reflected lightheadedly, was the euphoria that came before a nervous breakdown; the disconnect from reason that not only allowed but _encouraged_ people under its spell to step over precipices or thrust open car doors at top speed on the highway...

"Astoria!" snapped a flat, unforgiving voice. "Get _off_! You're on my shoes!"

Pivoting, Astoria found herself inches away from Pansy Parkinson's puckered grimace.

Blinking disconnectedly, Astoria shifted her feet away from the tips of Pansy's now smudged white penny loafers, reflecting as she did so on how very much the shoes made Pansy's feet look like horse hooves.

Far more frightening than scuffed footwear, however, was the entire collection of slouching Slytherins lingering behind Pansy, all driven half wild with boredom by the jammed lines. From Astoria's current position, Alec, Draco, Blaise and Tracey were all visible but Maudlin, no doubt sleeping off his woes in the carriage, was mercifully absent.

Tracey pulled a long string of gum out of her mouth before accidentally locking eyes with Astoria and turning pink again.

"There should be a line for students," Draco was complaining to Blaise, sneering in the direction of Augusta Longbottom's stuffed-vulture hat. "This is _ridiculous_..."

"Ugh!" Pansy exclaimed, buffering out the dirt that Astoria had tracked onto her. " _God,_ it's bad enough that you're such a mess—do you have to take _me_ down with you?"

"What's her problem?" asked Fred, peering down at Pansy curiously, his posture oddly suggestive of an amateur gardener discovering his first gnome.

At the same moment, Draco finally caught sight of them and his loud complaining tapered out mid-sentence.

"Nothing, lets just find Karkaroff," muttered Astoria uncomfortably, angling her body away from the cluster of Slytherins. It was a rare day that she dragged the twins into this sort of scene and she did not imagine it would do anything for her mood. "Maybe we should just split up?"

"You mean go our separate ways for the Task and pray we ever see you again?" returned Fred hotly. "I don't think so!"

"Karkaroff is over there," George whispered back, indicating a cluster of judges milling about near a table close to the bandstand. "Maybe we can get seats that look down on him?"

"Doubtful," Astoria murmured, surveying the already groaning stands. "That's where the best view is. It'll be all filled up by the time we get there."

"I'll go alone," George volunteered stoutly. "I can probably sneak onto the edge of a bench without drawing notice."

"We stick together!" insisted Fred.

"I don't know," Astoria mused slowly, appreciating the advantage of what George was suggesting. "It won't look as weird if only one of us goes. Honestly, if Karkaroff really is planning on running, it'll probably be better if he doesn't know that we're tailing him."

"I _saw_ you creeping around in the woods," declared Pansy, her voice nearly as loud and rude as Draco's had been.

It was a moment before Astoria understood what Pansy meant.

"Did you?" she cut back challengingly, for once in her life caring less than nothing about what Pansy thought and unwilling to take so much as an ounce of her lip.

" _Mhmm_ ," Pansy smirked, her voice raising to such an unnecessary octave that Astoria could only assume she was trying to make sure Draco would be able to overhear them. "What were you doing talking to _goblins_ , anyway?"

"What can I say?" Astoria bit back, shrugging recklessly. "I have friends in _low_ places."

Pansy wrinkled her nose. "Cassandra would have a fit if she knew one of the Sisters was sneaking around with _half-breeds_."

"Think so?" Astoria snapped. "Well, why don't you just run along and tell her what you saw while you were spying on me?"

"I wasn't _spying_ ," shot Pansy correctively, disliking the insinuation that she cared enough about Astoria to follow her around. "I was standing in line and I _saw_ you. It's not my fault you're such a psycho that you can't make it through an event without hunting down weirdos. What was that gibberish you were saying, anyway? It sounded _mental_."

"We were just talking about _breaking legs_ ," Astoria leered threateningly. This was a crazy, not to mention dangerous, thing to say but the stunned look on Pansy's face more than made up for the risk.

"Yeah," jumped in George, elbowing Astoria in the ribs rather wickedly. "It's been simply _ages_ since they've crippled anyone. Dangerous lot. Really unhinged. You know, I think it's possible they might attack someone here _tonight_?"

For a moment, Pansy's face had the simple, shocked quality of a child; her mouth fell open to form a perfect oval. Then, her eyes narrowed and fixated on someone in the middle distance.

"Nott! Hey, Nott!" shrieked Pansy, catching Theo, who was working his way into the throng, by his robe hood. "You're creepy, _you'll_ know—what does 'rogs' mean in goblin?"

A few feet away, Padma Patil and Lisa Turpin came to an awkward standstill, leaving Astoria to ponder the stunning possibility that Theo might have been walking down to the Task _with_ them.

"Rogs?" repeated Theodore, his love of scholastic trivia somehow allowing him to overlook how out of character Pansy's inquiry was. "It translates to 'legs'. _Why_?"

Pansy's face twisted, charged with a hint of actual alarm. George smothered an awed laugh with his fist.

"I'll be sure to mention you were asking so many questions," Astoria finished coldly, seizing George by the shirt front and tugging him back around.

"You didn't seriously threaten to break Karkaroff's legs?" wheezed George, wiping actual tears of laughter from his bottom lashes.

"Of course not," Astoria answered primly, not quite daring to meet his eyes.

"Right," George heaved, still chuckling. "Well, I'm going to slip ahead to keep track of Karkaroff. You two try to stay in sight."

A somber silence settled as Astoria and Fred watched George go. The crowd lurched and shifted, urging them along in his wake but he was soon out of sight.

"You lied. You knew what you were saying," said Fred at last, his tone curiously devoid anger. "To that goblin, I mean."

"Not really," Astoria stuttered, panicked by the idea that Fred might think she had promised his services as a hit-man against his will.

"You certainly guessed your meaning well enough," muttered Fred, a look of stiff determination transforming his face. "It's ok, Astoria, really. I'm not mad. What I _am_ is tired of being poor. You have no idea what it's like."

"What does that mean?" Astoria warbled, cold all over.

"I know, I know," scoffed Fred in an impatient undertone, backtracking somewhat. "You've got your own problems, but your parents have always managed to send you to school in new robes, haven't they? It might not _seem_ like a big deal, but all the little things, they add up—make you who you are. I might have shit for grades, and my dream career probably seems dumb to people, but I'm _done_ having no voice of my own. George might not have it in him, but I really _will_ break Karkaroff's legs if it comes to it. I just thought you should know."

Astoria shot Fred a swift glance. It was a loathsome thing to hear this possibility voiced out-loud, but a part of her was almost relieved to know that Fred at least, like herself, had a perfectly clear understanding of just how dreadful their night might become.

Afraid of opening her mouth and saying the wrong thing, Astoria simply nodded, feeling hollow and miserable but somehow much less lonely.

It was somehow better to share the weight of this truth—and in the right light, it wasn't exactly hard to console herself with the idea that Karkaroff was the very worst type of person: materialistic, cruel, prone to playing favorites with the expectation of personal gain. If she was forced to hand anyone over to Ragnuk, she was glad that it was him.

The restless crowd continued to push closer to the stadium. With every yard Astoria tripped forward, the spaces between limbs and shoulders seemed to tighten and contract. By the time they had made it through the gate, it was becoming abundantly clear that Astoria would need to take Fred and duck into a more obscure line if she wanted to avoid sitting anywhere near Pansy or Blaise.

As it was, Theodore was separated from her by only a few rustling elbows, and he kept shooting Astoria curious, needy glances. Coupled with the fact that she could feel Draco's nosy gaze on the back of her head, the time to slip away seemed to be the present.

"Hey!" breathed Theodore, seizing the opportunity to push through a gap between bodies before Astoria could find enough space to wriggle forward.

"Oh, hi..." returned Astoria shiftily, ignoring Fred's grumble of annoyance.

"What's going on?" asked Theodore suspiciously, unable to overlook Astoria's subconscious urge to lean away from him. "You seem weird. Did something happen?"

"Uhuh—I mean _no_ , everything's fine," Astoria rambled distractedly.

There were only three main staircases that allowed access to the stands and the press of spectators surging up them was already so thick that Astoria was beginning to fear any chance of escape had already been lost. Unlike the Second Task, where seating had been coveted close to the lake's surface, the most advantageous view of the maze seemed to be from up high.

The benches reflected this. They were filling up from the top downward—methodically, perhaps to avoid a public trampling—and by all accounts, it seemed as though she and George would end up wedged into the same row as the Slytherins no matter what they did...

Astoria took the thickly carpeted steps two at time, praying that she would not trip in her haste and that the rest would lag behind far enough to be forced into a different aisle.

"What was Pansy yammering on about?" demanded Theo, thoroughly missing the subtle clues that Astoria was throwing at him, outstripping Padma in his haste to keep up with her. "Why was she asking about goblins?"

"Beats me," Astoria shrugged evasively. "Look, I think Fred and I are going to sit over _this_ way..."

Astoria attempted to make a move toward the next-over staircase but it was already too late. There were too many people in the way. Stymied by a wall of flesh and at risk of being stepped on, Astoria backtracked, bouncing painfully off of the nearest railing.

There was nothing else for it; they were going to have march in formation. The heat of Fred's self-conscious glare burned into Astoria's back as she shuffled down the only available row behind Theodore.

"This is rubbish!" Fred hissed, shooting Draco Malfoy a very significant look as he settled in three seats away. To Astoria's displeasure, although not necessarily surprise, Draco met Fred's glare as though he had been expecting it.

"What was that, Weasley?" Draco called across Blaise and Tracey, guessing by Fred's body language that he was being discussed. "Did you want to get back out and sit somewhere _else_?"

Astoria reached down and swiftly pinched the side of Fred's knee to keep him from retorting.

"Ladies and gentlemen, the third and final task of the Triwizard Tournament is about to begin!" declared Ludo Bagman's magically magnified voice from the judges table.

The soft thunder of excited voices and rusting feet began to die down. Fairy lights that Astoria had not even noticed during their climb dimmed to a subtle glimmer along the carpeted stairways, forcing the navy blue sky above to pop into greater, star-pricked relief.

Out on the lawn, the champions had begun to assemble. Astoria located Harry, who was easily the shortest, without effort. Four Hogwarts teachers stood guard behind him like silent patrolmen, all wearing badges on their hats and robes.

 _In case there's trouble,_ Astoria guessed, studying the teachers grim faces. Dumbledore had clearly assigned protectors to circle the maze...

"Let me remind you how the points currently stand!" Bagman went on, rattling off the standing line-up with great charisma.

"What's the matter, Weasley?" needled Draco softly, mistaking Fred's look of lingering pain—the result of Astoria's pinch—for irritation and seeking to provoke him further. " _Goblin_ got your tongue?"

Several things happened all at once. Fred tensed up and made to leap from his seat, Theodore stiffened at Draco's choice of wording and Bagman declared, "On my whistle, Harry and Cedric! Three— Two— One!"

The shrill blast of Bagman's whistle sent Harry sprinting into the maze and the vast majority of the stands sprung to their feet in a wave of enthusiastic applause.

" _Don't_!" Astoria hissed somewhere near Fred's ear, feeling his anger-tight shoulder flex beneath her fingers. "Not now— _the_ _Task_!"

Fred's red nostrils flared but he fell back into his seat. Astoria chanced a glance at Draco and was surprised to find that he was not snickering or smirking triumphantly; he was staring sidelong at the hand Astoria had left on Fred's shoulder, his expression so forcibly disdainful that it seemed to express as much insecurity as it did annoyance.

 _Oh God._

 _"Psst_ ," hissed Theodore tersely in her other ear. "What did he mean by that? Pansy just said something really weird a minute ago, too—why does everyone keep talking about Goblins?"

"With _that_ lot, who knows?" Astoria attempted scathingly, knowing in her heart of hearts that this was neither the time nor the place to fill Theodore in or make any grand confessions.

Theo shifted with unnecessary twitchiness, giving Astoria the sense that, much like Tracey's earlier flashes of anger, he was grappling with an idea that had been bothering him for some time.

"You're not actually messed up with that lot, are you? I mean, I know people sometimes _say_ you are—but it's not true. You know how idiotic that would be, right?"

How was it that Theodore, so sharp with facts and figures, could be so willfully ignorant of what was happening in real-life, directly underneath his nose? Thinking dizzyingly of the dozen or more times since the First Task that her association with the goblins had been sinisterly hinted at in his presence, Astoria made a dumb face and scoffed again.

Bagman let out his third whistle shriek; everyone was in the maze.

" _Astoria_?" demanded Theodore tensely, not at all soothed by her response.

"Will you belt up?" snapped Fred. "I'm trying to spectate."

Astoria flinched. While she could appreciate the fact that Fred did not know Theodore well enough to trust him—and was therefore perfectly sane to be unnerved by his line of interrogation—the sight of anyone hollering at Theodore was supremely uncomfortable.

"Did you come down here with Padma?" asked Astoria, desperate to switch gears.

"I don't know," said Theodore, stalling the way he always did whenever Padma's name was mentioned. "Not really. She spotted me on the lawn and followed me."

" _She_ followed _you_?" Astoria smirked, feeling as though this was the first truly good thing she had heard all day.

"Well, I mean, the crowd was only going in one direction," Theodore countered irritably.

A sudden blaze of dragon-red sparks shot up near the center of the maze and continued to hover like a silent firework above the ink-dark leaves.

"What is that?" asked Astoria sharply, turning to Fred for answers.

"Someone's hurt," Fred muttered. "Damn these tasks where you can't see anything!"

"It'll be alright," said Theo mildly, pointing toward a dark figure hurtling toward the only entrance in the hedgerow. "See, one of the teachers is going in for them now."

"Yeah," said Astoria, distracted by the awkward, clunky gait of the person who had entered the maze. "That looked like Moody..."

"Probably was," Theodore shrugged. "He's cracked, no doubt about it, but he was still an Auror once."

Astoria shot Fred a sly, longing look, wishing she had thought to tell him about seeing Moody on the evening that Barty Crouch had successfully invaded the grounds.

Tracey and Blaise were both giggling on the other side of Fred but the sound no longer had the power to reach her. Something was wrong—something deeper, vaguer and undeniably worse than red sparks; something she could not put her finger on.

Astoria had been stumbling into bits and pieces of it for months, of course, unable to tape the hints together into anything resembling a bigger picture. The crowning jewel was Harry's improbable role as a Champion, but this was by no means the only worrisome thing she had run into in the process of snooping for secrets that might give her leverage against the goblins.

 _Karkaroff's going to run... A spot of trouble with his left arm..._

If Professor Trelwaney had actually been capable of foreseeing the future, Astoria had a hunch that it would feel something like this. It was the worst sense of foreboding she had ever had in her life, as though her subconscious mind had already worked out the puzzle and the rest of her decidedly more capable conscious was lagging frustratingly behind.

Astoria's finger's scrabbled against her knees and tightened into a tense ball in her lap. She closed her eyes and tried to breathe evenly, wondering if she was going to be suddenly and violently ill. _Stop it. You're just nervous. Stop it, stop it, stop it._

When was the last time she had eaten anything?

A second set of red sparks went up and Astoria's eyes opened again in order to follow the plume of color into the sky with silent horror. All around her, the stands seemed to hush and then come alive again with low, anxious chatter. _Two champions down._ That had never happened during either of the previous Tasks.

A sinister whooshing sound echoed out from somewhere deep in the maze. As if in answer, a cloud of leaves rose up from the center of the hedges, swirling like the green eye of an atom bomb.

" _Merlin_ ," Fred muttered, looking green himself. "What's going on in there?"

Astoria shook her head mutely, her thoughts fixated on Moody's lurching jog.

Come to think of it, Moody's late night stroll wasn't the only suspicious behavior she could charge him with. He had also let slip about the location and specifics of the Second Task while Astoria was within earshot, visible to him with his magically enhanced eye.

Finally managing to regulate her rapid breathing into something of a controlled pant, Astoria unclenched her hands, feeling slightly lightheaded.

If someone had put Harry's name into the Goblet with truly murderous intent, they were on their last Task. Why would Moody have gone out of his way to make sure that Astoria knew the details about the Second Task? _Think._

 _Because Harry didn't have a plan and he wanted you to give him one. He wants to keep Harry safe. It's Death Eaters he hates._

But if that were true, Moody must surely have guessed—and to be fair, it wouldn't have been hard—that Astoria and the twins were gambling high, giving them enough of a motive to break the rules in order to assist Harry.

On the other hand, if it was Death Eaters and their children that he truly disdained, why hadn't he turned Astoria in after the Second Task? He could have had his cake _and_ eaten it too; Harry safe, Astoria expelled.

Clearly he didn't really care about Astoria and the twin's crimes as long as they were willing to help Harry at any cost. To keep him alive _,_ surely? _Or to put him as far into the maze as possible and then go in after him alone..._

A violent sucking sound cracked open directly front of the stadium. Two bodies materialized in mid-air and slammed down onto the grass.

"What was _that_?" shot Theodore, actually getting to his feet in order to look down.

A dull murmuring filled Astoria's ears while people left, right and center craned to get a better look. Between the elbows of the students in front of her, Astoria spotted the glimmering Triwizard cup laying on the grass, cupped by Harry's very pale and surprisingly scratched hand.

"What's going on?" demanded Fred, a note of panic creeping into his voice. "I can't see!"

"Potter and Diggory are back," answered Theodore with a frown, his significant height advantage rendering him the clearest view.

"Why are you frowning?" begged Astoria, about three seconds away from climbing onto her seat if she had to.

"Well..." Theodore hesitated.

" _What_?"

"Potter looks like he's crying..."

" _Really_?" drawled Draco ecstatically. "Potter's _crying_?"

Astoria could hear Dumbledore far below, his voice loud and thick with concern: "Harry! _Harry!_ "

People were jostling now, confused and unhappy, straining to catch sight of their friends.

Fudge's voice joined Dumbledore's on the field. Even from a great distance he sounded the exact opposite of soothing—more like appalled.

" _Honestly_ ," sneered Draco, seeming to make up his mind on the spot that the whole incident was a farce. "What _won't_ this school do for a bit of publicity? I suppose _precious_ Potter's feigning injuries?"

Pansy had just begun to laugh when a low, hysterical scream in the first row caused Draco's look of snide self-assurance to flicker.

"What's wrong with him?" pleaded Ernie Macmillian three rungs down. "Why won't Cedric move?"

" _Diggory's dead!_ "

Pandemonium was breaking out, unchecked by teachers or prefects. More than one person seemed to be crying. All around was a blur of movement and yet there didn't seem to be enough space to stand up straight.

Astoria twisted about wildly, trying to decide what to do with herself and was rewarded with a swift blow to the head. Someone in the row above her was trying to climb _over_ her seat.

"What do you mean he's _dead_!?"

"That's what Fudge just said!"

"Come on!" hissed Fred urgently, white as a sheet from his nose to his feet. "We have to find George!"

The subtext of this was obvious: Karkaroff had lost his bet and George was alone and in need of insistence. Still, the prospect of moving was much easier said than done, especially now that the audience had been thrown into a panic.

Singularly dedicated to his task, Fred began to fight the throng of students for access to the aisle, pushing and poking his way through. Astoria followed dizzily in his wake, fighting the urge to squeeze her eyes shut every step of the way.

Surely Cedric wasn't _actually_ dead? He must have been knocked out by a rogue obstacle in the maze—Madame Pomfrey would be able put him right...

But Cedric still wasn't moving, his stiff body paying no heed to the battery of medi-wizards and teachers crowding about him.

Astoria stumbled on the edge of unexpected carpeting; they had reached the stairway.

Another bloodless wail, this time more gut wrenching and animalistic. Astoria's blood became ice.

" _Merlin_ ," breathed Fred, looking positively sick. "That's Amos Diggory. Blimey, I reckon Cedric _is_ dead..."

A sharp, unseen shove from the left sent Astoria teetering backwards in her unsteady dress shoes. Had Pansy just _hit_ her to sneak past? It was hard to tell—her eyes didn't seem to be working properly.

Someone else—not Fred—corrected her fall with their shoulder. They were almost to the ground but where was Fred? She had lost sight of him! Had he slipped off down a vacated row in order to reach the judges table more quickly?

Astoria pivoted about in a panic, determined to backtrack. The shoulder behind her suddenly became a wall, intentionally corralling her forward onto the grass.

"Astoria, what are you _doing_?" The shoulder belonged to Draco, who was looking far less certain and much more panicky than he had a moment previously.

Where had _he_ come from? Astoria's mind struggled with the logistics of this, almost certain that he was supposed to be in front of her.

"I have to get to Fred," Astoria muttered.

"Are you mental?" Draco sneered. "Something just _killed_ a student and you're trying to run _toward_ the maze it's hiding in?"

Astoria could see how—from a less desperate point of view—Draco made something of a fair point. At the moment, however, nothing short of immediate violence seemed capable of toppling her desperate desire to relocate the twins. What if Ragnuk found them before Astoria could? Or worse—what if Karkaroff put up a fight?

Without pausing to think, Astoria ducked around Draco, angling for a gap between two old ladies

"Astoria!" Draco called after her with sharp irritation.

There was no time to lose. Thankfully, with a final and awkward shimmy, Astoria managed to break through the edge of the crowd and gain the un-loitered turf.

Blood pounded in her ears as she dodged the last of the sobbing children and ashen-faced ministry wizards. She broke out into a run. _Where would Karkaroff have gone to avoid detection? Behind the stands perhaps?_

She came to a breathless stop next to the abandoned judges table, eyeing the junction where the stadium ended and the hedgerows began. Miles of pruned shrubbery slid smoothly onward into a midnight-black wilderness; a nighttime filled with rotten, unseen teeth.

The thunder of the mob behind her was beginning to fade, replaced by the hitch of her uneven breathing as it hit the air like a siren. Left or right? Which way seemed more likely to offer protection for an illicit transaction?

"What are you _doing_ , Greengrass!" snarled Draco, causing Astoria to jolt out of concentration. "I don't care what kind of Gryffindor pissing contest you're trying to win! This is moronic!"

He broke off looking pale, out of breath and unusually livid. Eyelashes fluttering unsurely, Draco's eyes darted toward the maze, somehow drained off all his heat by its ominous vastness.

The circle of mist that seemed to enshroud the hedges was undoubtedly thicker here; cooling Astoria's cheeks and clinging creepily the hem of her dress.

Slowly, as though he had to think about it, Draco stumbled forward a few stunted steps. He felt about, trying to catch hold of her without having to take his eyes off the hedgerow, trying futilely to drag her away from it's towering shadow.

"What are you _doing_?" Astoria objected, fighting down alarm as she danced away from him.

"Stopping you from getting yourself killed!" spat Draco intolerantly, his voice warbling with poorly concealed but very genuine fear. "You _do_ realize something in that maze just _ate_ a student?"

"There's no monster, Malfoy!" Astoria retorted wildly, stepping away from his insistent limbs, positively strangling on her own frustration. "I think _Moody_ killed Cedric—now Fred and George have both gotten themselves separated and I have to find Karkaroff!"

"What the _hell_ are you talking abou _t_?" Draco spat, so confused by this unexpected mess of ideas that he could only manage a half-sneer. "You sound unhinged!"

Astoria yanked away from him and nearly toppled over a second time.

"Moody didn't kill Diggory!" Draco yelled on recklessly, his tone infused with an unexplainable panic as Astoria pulled him still further away from crowd. "Even if he _did_ , all you're doing is making yourself look suspicious by running into the dark!"

Astoria tucked in her elbows and twisted away from him.

Already past the outermost limits of his usual courage, Draco hissed with displeasure and swung in front of her, thoroughly blocking the way this time.

The irrational fear flickering beneath his scowl was both infectious _and_ telling. Suddenly feeling as though she could not entirely put it past Draco to attempt to hex her into submission, Astoria inched her hand toward her dress pockets—forgetting how uselessly shallow and wand-less they were—when the sight of a figure in the gloom behind him made her stiffen up with wordless horror.

Mad-Eye Moody himself was standing less than ten feet away, positioned with impossible, _chilling_ stillness in the middle of the channel between the maze and the woods. The light, or lack thereof, played fickly with every culvert and ditch in his gaunt face, casting his eyes into such petrifying shadow that Astoria momentarily forgot how to breathe. _How long had he been listening?_

Paralyzed from the neck down, Astoria just barely managed to force out two or three hiccuping gulps before finally persuading her trembling lips to open. A gasping, child-like sob tumbled out and Draco's head snapped around with skittish swiftness.

Astoria clawed at her pockets, the tips of her fingers scrabbling against nothing but her ivory fan and—irony of ironies—the cold metal surface of the lucky coin she had inadvertently stolen from Draco that afternoon.

"Hnng!" Draco winced reflexively, shocking away from Moody with such violence that Astoria's head bounced against the flat wooden paneling on the corner of the stadium.

Astoria's thoughts flashed vaguely to the goblin hoard she had spent all year evading, embracing the idea with a queer sense of yearning, painfully aware of how remote and unarmed she was. _Let Ragnuk come and break my kneecaps,_ she prayed soundlessly. _Anything_ but _this_.

It was the longest moment of Astoria's life. Moody tilted his head, surveying them with something close to sadistic pleasure. Never before had Astoria faced such a situation, wherein the possibility of her death seemed not just possible but more than _probable_. The Quidditch World Cup had been frightening, but even at the time, Astoria had been able to recognize the relative safety of the woods she was hiding in. None of the Death Eaters had really been looking for people like herself; she knew that others had faced much worse that evening.

Her run in with Sirius Black, although harrowing, had nothing on this either because Black had given her some semblance of a choice: ' _Move aside or I'll gut you_ '. Moody's eyes promised no such mercy. This was ' _move aside so I can gut you quicker_ ' and that tiny alteration made all the difference in the world.

Draco, his breathing suddenly so staggered that each intake struck Astoria in the chest, remained frozen, fixated on the place where Moody glowed cruelly in the dark. Astoria, for her part, found her disjointed thoughts slipping away from the goblins in order to fixate on _Malfoy_.

Almost every semblance of her better self was slipping into desperation. Cowardly people were rarely the type that she looked up to or admired, but they did have an uncanny habit of _surviving_. If Astoria was honest with herself (and being caught wand-less in the dark seemed to have had that effect on her), they were officially in Draco's hands. She had a hunch that he would barter much more prettily than Astoria could.

"Professor Moody," Draco finally managed, employing a tone that Astoria had previously understood him only to use in his father's company, so lacking in the familiar hint of insolence that it was very nearly jarring. "Something's happened on the other side of the stadium. Professor Dumbledore is looking for you."

Astoria's eyes spun down the length of the maze, cottoning onto the thread of Draco's logic with a surge of hope.

How much time had elapsed since Harry had Apparated out of thin air with Cedric's body? Five minutes? Maybe ten? Moody, who had been patrolling the maze for the Task, was only just _officially_ returning now. Draco's attempt to normalize the situation and act as though there was no reason for them to suspect Moody at all opened up a _possibility_ that he might pass them over in favor of whatever course of action he was already hurrying back to.

It was a swifter stroke of self preservation than Astoria might have managed, at any rate. Her legs were shaking so badly that she was beginning to bounce and dip. She fought to control her face.

"Really? Is that so?" leered Moody, sounding utterly relaxed and very unlike himself. "Funny thing, you going out of your way. You don't like Dumbledore much, do you boy?"

"I—" Draco floundered resentfully, unsure how baldly he dared to lie.

Moody let out a dirty sounding laugh and smiled with all of his crooked teeth; a wicked, degenerative leer that caused Draco's sentence to end in a shivery gust.

"You're a bad liar, Malfoy," said Moody softly. "Bad liars don't last long. Just ask your father."

"Yeah, maybe I _will_ ," Draco sneered back feebly, his shoulder jerking into Astoria's chest reflexively; once, twice, three times, too cowardly to shield her with anything more than half of his body but somehow still instinctually inclined to try. "My father's _here_ tonight. He's looking for me."

It was as near a threat as Draco dared to make. Astoria wished he would take out his wand but his hand was still tensed into a fist near his pocket, no doubt afraid that any obvious move to withdraw it would provoke an outright attack.

"Oh, I highly doubt that. In fact, I _know_ better," Moody cackled, his face transformed by a sudden rush of insanity. "He's too busy groveling at the hem of his _true_ master to defend his son. With any luck, our Lord will make him pay for his cowardice. Yes, with any luck, you're father is on his _knees_."

"What are you talking about?" sneered Draco nasally, unable to pretend he didn't notice how much closer Moody had edged toward them.

"Tonight, the Dark Lord rises again!" hissed Moody, all feverish excitement, towering over them and looking properly insane. "The New Order has begun! And with it will come the fall, yes, the fall of all those who defected—those who turned their backs on his suffering and contented themselves to return to the world!"

"You're _insane!_ " whimpered Draco desperately, shoving back against Astoria so hard that she could hardly draw breath—not that she was likely to slip away from him to reclaim it. One of Draco's shoulders was not much by way of protection, but it was infinitely more reassuring than having him run away or attempt to duck behind her and Astoria was half-inclined to never yell at him again out of gratitude if they survived.

"No, I'm alive—as I haven't been in years," frothed Moody manically. "You'll soon see. Your father is learning _his_ lesson tonight, boy. Perhaps I should teach you _yours_?"

The tip of Moody's wand was inches away from Draco's chest when a loud bang—a teacher emitting sparks to reclaim order?—made his head jerk up again.

Astoria listened through the flurry of Draco's hyperventilation for more clues, certain that Moody would leave them be if he perceived the threat of oncoming security.

"No time, I see," Moody murmured, the look of preoccupation melting off his face as he rotated his head. "The New Order as begun and if there is any justice in this world, _this_ is where your family will belong in it—"

Moody leaned past Draco's quivering jaw to hover in front Astoria, who promptly squeezed her eyes shut, certain he was going to curse her until her nose was as shattered as his own. She was too surprised to be properly disgusted when he licked her face instead.

Draco's body tensed, trapped in a violent a tar-pit of loathing, disgusted by what he was witnessing but too afraid to bring up his arm to shove Moody and make it stop.

Astoria flinched harder still when Moody let out a sharp laugh, her mind withdrawing, skittering into a place so deep that there did not seem to be any words to describe her fear. Moody's foul breath gusted across her face, chilling the track of his unwanted saliva. Then, just as suddenly, it was was gone.

It was a long moment before she dared open her eyes; she could hear Moody stumping away across the lawn, could hear the crickets in the tall grass; everything a blur of sensation that had no chance of properly reaching of her.

After a long beat, the spell finally broke when Malfoy let out a sound of shivery disgust. Astoria opened her eyes in time to watch him shake out his limbs, perhaps hoping to free himself of Moody's lingering essence.

"I'm sorry," Astoria breathed, no longer entirely certain of what she was saying, only relatively sure that Draco had been trying to pull her back before something disastrous happened and that she had not listened. "I don't—I didn't think about—"

Draco let out a whine akin to the type that a toddler without language skills might make to voice dissatisfaction before Astoria's vision was obscured by his sleeve.

Startled, Astoria was close to panicking again before it dawned on her that he was trying to wipe her face. Too stunned to object, Astoria allowed him to pat her off, only remembering to move away after he'd made four or five swipes and was beginning to hurt her more than help.

"Fucking hell!" he finally snarled. "And the Ministry let _him_ teach at a school?"

"Draco," Astoria muttered gravely, alive to a newer and even more frightening possibility, fighting instinctually against the implication that came with it. _The Dark Lord has risen again!_ "I'm not sure that _was_ Moody."

A strangled cry behind the stands made Draco stutter and jolt. Heart in her throat, Astoria turned toward it, certain it had belonged to Fred.

0o0

* * *

Ok, this took entirely too long and for that I apologize. I'm trying to finish up my final semester right now and it's really stolen the wind out of my sails as far as time goes (there is a light at the end of the tunnel, though. I just super need it to be May!). There's a little bit of goblin plot to finish up in the next chapter, plus some morning-after recovery as far as Voldemort goes (I'll probably chuck Cedric's memorial in) but the next post should have everyone heading home for summer and tie up most loose ends at the same time (the Tracey fight will be resolved before break)!

Hopefully you'll also excuse the Moody-Crouch Super-Villain moment. I typically lean away from poorly contrived scenes where the bad guy gives himself away on purpose, but I think an argument can be made in this case! I've always pictured Crouch as a true zealot and with Voldemort reborn, his plot has technically reached fruition. Honestly, I don't think he was ever really planning on leaving the grounds before Dumbledore caught up with him. If that was the case, he would have taken Harry down to the woods to kill him like his father. Instead, he practically marches Harry as deep into the hornet nest as he can by dragging him back to the castle. The man's clearly willing to go back to Azkaban in return for recognition of killing Harry (of course, Fudge has Crouch sucked dry before he can give himself away to the world, but that is neither here nor there) so he seems more than capable of harassing some other students along the way!

As for scheduling, my plan is to post on Wednesday of next week. If I get it done before that, I'll upload it sooner because I know this was a long wait!

Reviews are always the best!


	58. Bank Note

Chapter Fifty Seven

Bank Note

* * *

0o0

A slice of moon was hanging overhead, heavy and white as milk, but between the mist radiating off of the maze and Draco's looming shadow, Astoria could hardly even see the patch of lawn directly in front of her. That sound—Fred's strangled scream—might just as easily have come from five feet away as five hundred. _What was happening?_

Astoria stomach leapt up into her throat as she reeled forward, a sensation not altogether different from the sickening lurch of missing a bottom step.

Draco had clearly been correct to guess that the area around the maze was dangerous, but by the same twist of fate, it seemed as though Astoria had _also_ assumed wisely. Karkaroff and the twins had managed to sneak behind the stadium after all, just as she had guessed that they might.

"Where are you going?" shot Draco nervously, shaking off his confused daze and losing much of his tolerance in the process. "People are screaming bloody murder over there—don't run _that_ way!"

Again, a perfectly reasonable bit of advice, if only Astoria had a mind to listen. Unfortunately, however, haste seemed to be her only ally. What she craved more than safety was the rush of _purpose_ and plunging forward recklessly spoke to that desire immensely. Feeling her way around the corner of the bleachers with her fingers, Astoria soon gained the long, evacuated expanse behind the stands.

Her vision had the gelatinous and panic-induced quality of ooze as she ran, an effect made worse by her legs, which were still shaking involuntarily. But no matter how disjointed her motions were, there was no doubt in Astoria's mind that staying in motion was the only solution. Jaws of fear clamped down harder with every step she pounded, warning her of the dangerous dose of reality waiting on the other side of reaction. _Just keep moving. Don't stop moving._

The memory of Cedric's lifeless body carried her onward, thumping through her veins like a stimulant and Moody's manic insinuations (the Dark Lord rises again!) did nothing to slow her pace.

A few yards away, shapes sprung up out of the darkness; fickle outlines wrought in shadow. The first figure was tall, the other flat. A single glance told Astoria that one person was writhing on the grass and pleading; the other appeared to be looming creepily, lending the scene an eerily murderous aspect.

Seized by the assumption that Karkaroff was holding George at wand-point, Astoria broke into a flat out charge.

"Don't even think about it!" a familiar voice grunted distractedly. "I'll curse your fingers off—I mean it!"

With a jolt of recognition, Astoria slowed to a trot, baffled to discover just how wrong her first impression had been. The situation was, quite literally, entirely backwards from the way that she had first understood it. Astoria had flipped all known positions in her panic, desperate to create order out of chaos: it was _not_ George sprawled out on the ground but _Karkaroff_ , who was being restrained by Fred. George himself was nowhere in sight.

Distracted and floundering stupidly, Astoria slammed into an upward slope of lawn at a bad angle. Waving her arms about like a windmill, she just barely managed to correct her balance before she bruised both of her kneecaps.

"Who's that?" barked Fred fearfully, squinting through the darkness toward Astoria.

"Me!" Astoria returned, surprised to find that her voice was still quite steady, even after a full out sprint away from her brush with death. "What's going on? Where's George?"

" _This_ grimy bastard gave him the slip," sneered Fred with an expression of pure loathing, lashing out at Karkaroff's outstretched limbs with his foot. "He'd have done the same to me, only I was quicker. Here, take his wand."

Astoria's inner survivalist kicked in. She reached for the bit of wood that Fred was pressing into her hand—longer than her own, its handle engravings very foreign and somehow unwieldy against her clammy palm...

"Expelled!" roared Karkaroff, earning himself a mouthful of dirt as he gnashed yellowing teeth into the grass. "The both of you! I'll make sure of it!"

"Nope, don't think so!" Fred snarled back, his voice shaking with a hint of brutality that Astoria had never heard there before. " _Not_ when I tell them you tried to use an unforgivable curse on me!"

Astoria's fluttering eyes snapped toward Fred in alarm. Karkaroff had tried to _torture_ him?

"What the—?" sneered Draco warily, coming to a startled halt behind Astoria.

"OY!" bellowed Fred. He jerked his wand upward and swiveled it toward Draco, forgetting all about Karkaroff in a moment of recklessness.

This was all the vulnerability Karkaroff needed. He twisted dangerously onto his stomach. Thinking quickly, Astoria turned her borrowed wand downward just fast enough to prevent Karkaroff from wrestling Fred off his feet and onto the turf.

"Everybody stop!" Astoria panted shrilly, grappling with the task of processing so many manic doses of stimuli at once.

Draco and Fred were standing feet apart from one another, wands drawn at chest height. Astoria continued to level her aim at Karkaroff, but it did not take a bloodhound to sniff the ripe heat of potential disaster that was brewing.

The last thing she wanted was for someone to end up cursed. Especially since, by doing so, they would invariably also be providing Karkaroff with exactly the type of distraction he needed to make an escape. Holding a teacher at wand point was quite bad enough, wasn't it? Astoria didn't even want to think about what a catastrophe _losing_ him would be.

"What are you _doing_?" demanded Draco dubiously, his pale eyes fixed uncomfortably on Karkaroff, perhaps conscious of the fact that lingering might force him to share in the guilt of assaulting a teacher. "That's the Durmstrang _headmaster,"_ he sneered. "Is Weasley trying for prison?"

"Nobody's doing anything," attempted Astoria, bluffing with a calmness that might have struck her as comical under different circumstances. "Everything's fine. Go find Crabbe and Goyle—"

"Are you mad?" Fred protested hotly, ignoring Astoria's play for privacy. He jabbed his wand at Malfoy's chin. "We can't let this git go now! He'll rat us out in a heartbeat! You cover him and I'll deal with Karkaroff!"

"Are you kidding?" Astoria scoffed, taken aback by this fresh level of madness. Did Fred really expect to her to hold Draco at wand-point?

" _Really_ ," agreed Draco sneeringly, so certain that Astoria would do nothing of the sort that he allowed himself to sound arrogant. "Do you honestly think you're going to take me _hostage,_ Weasley?"

"No one is holding anyone hostage!" Astoria snapped.

Hearing this, Karkaroff let out an ironic bark of laughter and rolled over.

"Draco's _fine_ , Fred!" Astoria pleaded, responding to every laughing twitch of Karkaroff's shoulders with a heightened level of alarm. "The teachers are busy dealing with Harry. Malfoy's not going to snitch— _tell him_ , Draco!"

Draco scoffed and said nothing. Instead, he tilted his head back and shot Fred a look of such threateningly smug satisfaction that even Astoria experienced a pang of unease.

"You," croaked Karkaroff, his head lolling to the side. "You're Lucius's boy, aren't you?"

Draco's eyes flicked back onto Karkaroff uncertainly, clearly wanting nothing to do with the man as long as wands were drawn and Karkaroff wasn't holding one.

"Go back and tell them, son," Karkaroff leered. His heavily-accented, secondhand English crackled with surprising intensity. "You tell them what Dumbledore's brats are doing—I promise to _personally_ ensure you'll be rewarded."

Draco blinked awkwardly, his gaze frozen on Karkaroff's cruel, desperate face.

"Shut up!" Fred yelled, finally taking his wand off Malfoy in order to stick it back into Karkaroff's chest. "You won't be doing favors for anyone after I tell the Ministry that you tried to _crucio_ me—we're turning you over to Ragnuk, just like you deserve! Now, _where_ is George?"

"What about _you_ , girl?" Karkaroff coughed unctuously, playing his final poker-hand with oily persuasiveness. "Mixed up with cutthroats and thieves, that's no place for a girl in white..."

He broke off to let out a watery sounding rattle and Astoria found herself glancing fearfully at Fred, wondering if he had actually done Karkaroff some level of real, physical violence in the area of his ribs.

"You've got everything to lose," Karkaroff wheezed, his expression taking on a steely, hateful glimmer, "and with goblins, one never knows what to expect. If you take me to Ragnuk now, I might just tell him how you've been cheating on your _own_ bets—and then whose side will he take?"

Astoria stiffened, her grip on Karkaroff's wand tightening and un-tightening. What was he talking about? Astoria had only cheated once—by instructing Harry's house-elf friend to bring him Gillyweed—but how could anyone else possibly know about that?

"Button up, will you?" shot Fred irritably. "You're the only cheater here as far as I'm concerned! Trying to run off and stick us with your tab..."

"How readily they all forget about _house-elves_ ," leered Karkaroff, who suddenly had eyes only for Astoria.

" _Fred_ ," Astoria cautioned sharply, the whip-crack of her voice preventing him from lashing out at Karkaroff's fingers with his foot again.

"Self involvement," mused Karkaroff threateningly, "that's what it boils down to. We pass elves every day, on our way from place to place, forgetting they are creatures with ears of their own..."

"Astoria, what's he talking about?" demanded Fred, his anger finally faltering, giving way to the hypnotic power of Karkaroff's glittering leer.

Astoria didn't answer. A cold tide of grief was swelling up inside of her, quieting the thrumming of her pulse. _She had never told Fred and George about the Gillyweed. Now they were all going to pay for it. Possibly with their lives._

She had meant to tell them, of course, always meant to. At first it had simply been a matter of waiting, afraid that by revealing her scheme too early, the twins might have to share in her punishment if it was discovered by Ragnuk. Later, when the Task was over, it had seemed almost pointless to bring up yet another danger they had narrowly missed. A needless blight on a day that had been otherwise filled with lucky tidings.

Very slowly, afraid of saying anything specific on the off-chance that Karkaroff was bluffing—albeit with the deadly accuracy of Athena's bow-string—Astoria leveled Fred a sorrowful and very telling look.

"You've got to be _kidding_ me!" Fred burst, paling considerably. "Bloody hell, Astoria! You never thought to mention—!"

Karkaroff let out another gurgling laugh and propped himself up onto his shaking elbows. "My wand," he panted, grimacing through his pain. "Give me my wand."

"How bad was it?" Fred demanded breathlessly, paying Karkaroff no mind. "The cheating. What did you do?"

Astoria shot a half glance at Karkaroff, hesitating, afraid of offering up information that he might not already know. _How had he found out? She had been so careful..._

"Astoria!" snapped Fred, panic lending his voice the quality of a mournful wail.

"I don't know—pretty bad!" Astoria admitted angrily, conscious of how dry her mouth had become. "Listen, we can deal with Ragnuk alone. We don't _need_ Karkaroff. Let's just say that he got away. It's safer than keeping him _here_ , isn't it? What are we going to do if one of the teachers finds us?"

Fred gave the grass a furious kick. Draco, meanwhile, had gone disconcertingly still, following the progress of their conversation with fiercely guarded curiosity. Whenever Astoria's dalliance with the goblins had managed to work its way in a conversation, Astoria had been very swift about shutting talk down. As it was, this was the first real glimpse into her foolish undertaking that Draco had ever managed to steal and he did not seem to be inclined to ruin his chances of unfettered eavesdropping by interrupting.

"We _can't_ just let him go!" Fred countered wrathfully. "He owes us money too!"

" _Forget_ the gold!" Astoria snarled, disconcerted by the idea that Fred would be so quick to overlook the real danger at hand. "That's _nothing_ compared to what Ragnuk will do if he finds out we cheated! There are more important things— _I'm sorry!_ "

Fred raised both his hands above his head, actively tousling his own hair as he struggled to think.

"Right," Fred muttered, more to himself than to Astoria. "Right. You—" he pointed to Karkaroff, "—stand up! Astoria's right, we look too conspicuous."

By way of response, Karkaroff sucked in a raggedy breath and hocked a glob of something frightfully discolored in the direction of Fred's feet.

" _Nngh_!" growled Fred murderously, dancing out of reach.

Astoria edged closer to Karkaroff's convulsing body carefully, preparing herself to relinquish his wand.

"I don't think so!" Fred threw out his arm, determined to stop her. "So he can curse us all to smithereens and bolt? The grimy wanker can rough it over hill and dale the muggle way as far as I'm concerned!"

Draco let out a soft snort, eyeing Fred appraisingly.

"We don't have time for this!" Astoria hissed back, beginning to seriously consider tackling Fred just to give Karkaroff his opening. Fred would certainly forgive her for it later when they were both still _alive_...

"I need more information," Fred muttered, scrambling for a tangible grip on facts. "Can't we just lie to the goblins? We've done it before..."

"We _can't_ talk our way out of this," Astoria snarled, finally losing her composure. "I found out about the Second Task two days before it happened and fixed the whole thing, alright? I put Gillyweed directly into Harry Potter's hands because the idiot hadn't so much as cracked a bloody book!"

A flicker of discomposure rumpled Draco's silent face; he did _not_ want to hear that Astoria has assisted Harry, this much was plain. But there was a difference between _favoring_ Harry and treating him like a show-horse and the fact that she had also just called Harry an idiot out-loud—another first—seem to throw Draco off guard just enough to remain silent.

Astoria's confession was obviously worse than anything Fred had ever dreamed of, however, because he took an emphatic step backwards, plainly overcome.

" _How?_ " he howled. " _How_ did you even manage that!"

"It wasn't even hard!" Astoria yelled, surprised by her own defensive fury. "I found out by accident—you were better off not knowing! What was I _supposed_ to do? Harry was in the library trying to transfigure his robes into muggle aqua-wear!"

"Bah!" Fred burst dismissively.

"If I _hadn't_ done something, _we_ would have lost a fortune!" Astoria argued urgently. "Harry probably would have been disqualified for incompetence!"

"So you were keeping tabs on him?" Fred countered, switching gears.

"Of _course_ I was keeping tabs on him!" Astoria snarled back. "Weren't _you_?"

"Well, I mean, _yeah_ ," Fred blinked ponderously. "George and I were really nervous about the Second Task, actually. Ron reckoned Harry didn't know what he was doing. We were afraid to tell you..."

Astoria pulled a face, waiting for Fred to recognize his own hypocrisy.

"That still doesn't change anything!" Fred bellowed, puffing himself up again. "You should have told me—we could have been more careful! We might not be in this mess now!"

"God, can you _hear_ yourself, Weasley?" jeered Draco scathingly. "You sound like her _mother_."

"Who _else_ knew?" demanded Fred, sucking in a weird breath. To Astoria's surprise, he seemed to be turning slightly red. "Did _Malfoy_ know?"

"No!" Astoria scoffed, wondering what she had ever done to make Fred think she was stupid. "No one knew!"

"Except Karkaroff!" Fred pointed out.

"That's because I used a house-elf!" Astoria insisted. "Karkaroff must have had a spy in the kitchens or something!"

"A house-elf?" Fred's scowl deflated somewhat. "At the school? You didn't give the gillyweed to Harry in person? "

"No," breathed Astoria, painfully relived to see that Fred's anger was fading. " _Harry_ didn't even know it came from me! I used that elf who's always following him around. _You_ know the one, you told me about him—Nobby, or something?"

"Oh, right," Fred squinted. "'The one who made the Christmas decorations in the shape of Harry's face—Bobby?"

" _Dobby?_ " suggested Draco suddenly, all sneering disbelief, his eyes narrowing into incredulous slits.

"I don't know!" Astoria burst, unable to understand the focus on elf-names. "I— _yeah_ , I think it _was,_ actually..."

"My _wand_ ," Karkaroff groaned, air whistling horribly in the back of his throat. " _Give it to me_ —"

"Alright, alright!" Fred swore, making up his mind. "Throw it to him, Astoria. We need to get rid of him before he tells Ragnuk."

"Tells Ragnuk _what_?" wondered a cold, unamused voice.

Astoria's blood turned to ice-water. Several glittering eyes had appeared along the tree range, moving closer with a disconcerting, scuttling speed. A branch cracked and shivered, allowing George Weasley to tumble through, followed closely by Ragnuk, his treasurer and two or three other pincer-faced goblin henchmen.

Fred stiffened and Draco actively recoiled, glancing at Astoria in alarm.

"That you're late, for starters," Fred called back stoutly, doing an admirable job of resisting the urge to cower.

"I'm not late," returned Ragnuk, smiling broadly. "There's been a death on your quidditch pitch, I was held up. But more importantly, we never _specified_ a time."

Astoria ignored Ragnuk's broken record on _specifics_ and _stipulations_ , working very hard to catch Karkaroff's eye instead.

 _Stay quiet,_ Astoria urged Karkaroff as non-verbally as she could, motioning with his wand until she felt that her message was clear: _don't say anything and I'll give this back to you..._

Karkaroff stared straight through her, too busy rocking back and forth in agony to give any indication that he had understood. Astoria repeated herself, praying that Ragnuk would not notice.

"What do we have here?" leered Ragnuk, inclining his sharp head around Fred. "Igor! You're lucky the children found you first—I would have hog-tied you."

Ragnuk's treasurer and friends cackled nastily.

"I haven't met this one," continued Ragnuk, oil-dark eyes flickering onto Draco keenly. "New payroll?"

"He was just going," ventured Astoria, unwilling to tear her gaze away from Karkaroff. What had Fred _done_ to him? He was the sheet-white shade of someone with a newly broken bone and was sweating profusely...

"Is that so?" quirked Ragnuk flatly, savoring Draco's fear. "Does 'just going' have a name?"

Karkaroff began to seize, eyes watering, trembling with a pain so terrible that he seemed to be fading away from himself. Had Fred shattered his ribs?

"Draco Malfoy," spat Draco at last, giving up his name very unwillingly.

No, Astoria realized, Karkaroff wasn't holding his ribs. _He was holding his arm..._

Belated understanding came crashing down over Astoria's head like a fat water ballon ripping free from a spigot. Fred hadn't hurt Karkaroff at all. Karkaroff was suffering physically for the same reason that he had placed irrational bets in order to score fast pocket money—his left arm was burning with the magical summons of a reactivated Dark Mark.

With a faint ringing sound in her ears, Astoria finally turned to face Ragnuk. Already, he did not look the way she remembered him; his body altered somehow in the several seconds that had elapsed since realization had hit her. For the first time ever, she could almost see Ragnuk for what he truly was: a short, feeble stand-in for the thing that that really terrified her. Who did Ragnuk think he _was_? In comparison to the Dark Lord's return, their situation with the goblins seemed downright laughable...

"Draco helped us stop Karkaroff," Astoria lied, "but as it turns out, we're going to have to let Karkaroff go."

Astoria could tell that Fred was shooting her a panicky glance, but dread seemed to have purged her of all her better senses along with her fear.

"Let Karkaroff go?" repeated Ragnuk, his tone positively rumbling with dangerous amusement. "This citizen has placed a bet in the amount of eight hundred galleons. He will be allowed to leave when he settles his debt and not a minute sooner. _That_ is the goblin code."

"Except he didn't bet against you," Astoria pointed out firmly. "You sent him to us, so that would make him _specifically_ our problem, wouldn't it?"

Almost at once, Astoria felt the dynamic of the atmosphere shift toward one of warning. Ragnuk's goblins hushed, stiffening tensely, waiting for their leader to give the order for violence. George moved closer to Fred, his muscles taut and his wand drawn.

"Let me remind you of your _own_ terms," growled Ragnuk, no longer faking passivity. "You came to me for permission to do business within your castle walls during the Tournament—permission I most graciously granted, provided that you agreed to share your business with me by matching your total in the form of one bet on each task."

"Sure," spat Astoria roughly, "but see, I _won_ my bets, Ragnuk. All three of them, too, so I'm having a hard time understanding what you're getting at."

Ragnuk's treasurer let out a canine growl.

"You have won _twice_ ," returned Ragnuk coldly, leveling her with a glare that was sharp enough to cut diamonds. "Our current wager stipulated that if Harry Potter placed in first—"

"Which he _did_!" interrupted Fred, catching on to what Astoria was getting at. "Harry won the bloody tournament. We don't owe you a thing!"

"Harry Potter has _tied_ in first place with your second champion, Cedric Diggory. There is a _difference_."

"No there isn't!" Fred snapped, nerves transforming into rage. "It's you're own fault that you never _stipulated_ —"

"Enough!" cracked Ragnuk, and for the first time in Astoria's memory, he seemed to lose his self-possession. "Our arrangement was clear!"

"Sure was," Fred sneered, heedless of the look of terror on George's face. "Harry only had to come in first, which he did. It doesn't matter if Diggory came in with him. Besides—Diggory's _dead_!"

Astoria flinched, oddly affected by hearing this fact voiced out-loud so hatefully.

"That leaves only Harry standing!" protested Fred feverishly. "By _any_ logic—"

"I said _enough_!" roared Ragnuk, looking very disconcerted, _cornered_ even.

His eyes darted anxiously toward his brethren of goblins, plainly afraid of dishonoring himself or his word by losing face, but equally unwilling to pay the hefty sum he had been counting on inheriting from Astoria and the twins. What was it Marcus Flint had said at Cassandra's party? ' _Without you, Ragnuk's not expecting to turn a profit.'_

"You don't want anything to do with Karkaroff, at least," Astoria cautioned, conscious of the fact that they had gained the upper hand and that Karkaroff still had the power to make them relinquish it. "We were planning to release him _for_ you as a sign of good faith."

Karkaroff groaned, the pain in his arm intensifying.

"I see no reason to view your willingness to dismiss a man in my debt as a sign of good faith!" hissed Ragnuk viciously, his tongue caressing each syllable with the deep baritone of a war-drum.

"You would if you knew who he's been working for!" Astoria insisted breathlessly, knowing what Karkaroff needed to do but far less that sure he would have the guts to actually take them there.

"I'm not afraid of any wizard, girl!" growled Ragnuk.

"Show him," Astoria snapped tensely, willing Karkaroff to have the presence of mind to know what she meant. " _Show him!_ "

With a savage growl, Karkaroff flopped over onto his back, yanked up the sleeve of his robe and let his pale forearm fall back onto the grass.

An evil-looking brand burned darkly in the half-light, ink-black and twisted. Singed into the sickly pallor of Karkaroff's flesh, there could be no mistaking the Dark Mark, alive with Voldemort's call and inflamed by his servant's refusal to meet it.

Ragnuk jolted, looking as though he had seen a ghost. Astoria had an idea why: as she understood it, the Dark Marks of the free Death Eaters had faded in the years since Voldemort's fall—purportedly closer to scars than tattoos in resemblance. This much could not be said for Karkaroff's mark, however; _his_ was the glistening shade of fresh squid ink.

With a twitchy hand motion, Ragnuk urged his widest goblin forward to stand in front of him. Taking this for a clear sign of consent to dismiss the man, Astoria subtly dropped Karkaroff's wand onto the turf.

Snarling like a feral dog, Karkaroff snatched it from the grass with an unexpected swiftness, tearing out a fistful of vegetation with his fingernails. He was up and bolting for the property line before anyone had even had time to consider his potential to turn and attack.

A slapping sound echoed off the tree trunks when he hit the edge of the forest; sharply reminiscent of a belly-flop into still water. With a flash of light, Karkaroff was gone.

Ragnuk's gnashing teeth pierced the awkward, hostile silence that descended. Fred and George both appeared thunderstruck, but Draco's eyes were turned toward the place that Karkaroff had just Disapparated, shining with far too much understanding and not nearly enough worry.

"So, when can you pay us?" demanded Fred, who did not seem to know what he had just witnessed and was therefore the quickest to regain his equilibrium. "I'm sure we'll understand if it takes you a day or two—we're not unreasonable."

"Oh, but you are," Ragnuk jeered nastily, his face twisting and souring. "It is _you_ who owes _me_ , and not the other way around!"

Astoria blinked, stunned to discover that she had not done so since Karkaroff had lifted his sleeve. Hostility and horror were fighting each-other for supremacy of her senses, resulting in the strangest numbing of mouth and limb.

Dimly, Astoria knew that she ought to be terrified, but it was as though she had drifted out through the top of her head, no longer participating but _spectating_. The madness of her own life continued to pan out without her like an amusing but particularly convoluted stage-act. Astoria blinked again feeling terrifyingly removed.

The Dark Lord had been dead for fourteen years. What was the universe playing at by trying to convince her otherwise?

But deep down—deeper even than the numbness—Astoria could feel herself reacting to what her heart refused to believe. She had seen the Dark Mark with her own eyes, had heard the words come out of Moody's mouth...

Her mind did not have the faculty to fight off the enormity of what had just taken place, but it did not seem to be altogether willing to absorb it either. Desperate to fight back, to control _something_ , Astoria could feel herself rallying against Ragnuk in the wildest way possible.

"We're _not_ paying you," murmured Astoria decisively, her voice positively quivering with unhinged emotion, "so you can take your pint-size entourage and _fuck off_ back to your pub!"

This pronouncement was met with absolute stillness. Fred let out a shivery sound close to laughter, too stunned to keep the cackle from escaping. Draco pulled his head away from the woods with an almost painful looking snap.

"Excuse me?" Ragnuk rumbled, his voice just barely audible over the sound of his minions' knuckle cracking.

"Look at _you!_ " Astoria sneered, charged with such an unfettered energy that she was almost seeing double. "You're three bloody feet tall—I could _punt_ you back to Hogsmeade myself!"

Ragnuk's treasurer dropped into a crouch. _Pouncing position_ , Astoria realized dully.

"Bloody hell!" Fred swore, stepping forward with his wand raised.

"You lost the bet, fair and square!" Astoria went on, seeing little choice other than to embrace her sudden wave of psychosis.

"How about I remove _you_ instead?" jeered Ragnuk resentfully, somehow managing to stoop to Astoria's level without yelling. "In the permanent sense, I mean..."

"You're not going to _kill_ a bunch of school kids!" Astoria shot back; a wand-less child with an apparent death wish.

"Astoria!" breathed George tersely, clenching his wand so tightly that his knuckles were turning white.

"Oh, _what_?" Astoria sneered. "He's not going to hurt us, George! He _can't_ because he knows what the ministry would do to him if he did! Fact of the matter is, we're all wizards and he _isn't_. Alistair Yaxley would hang him from a meat hook for murdering underage pure-bloods!"

This was probably what most normal people would consider suicidal behavior, but what struck Astoria most about what she was saying was not the recklessness of her words, but the incredible _truth_ behind them _._ Ragnuk's oppressive climate of fear had prevented her from seeing the matter so plainly all year: Ragnuk could talk a mean talk, but he couldn't _actually_ walk a mean walk. There was no way for him to touch Astoria without expecting dire consequences in return.

 _How_ had she not seen it before?

"Alistair Yaxley is my cousin, you know," Astoria went on savagely, consumed by a single-minded desire to punish Ragnuk for the suffering he had caused. "I suppose you skimped on your research because of our age?"

"Yaxley's a goblin liaison?" asked Fred quietly, determined to keep up.

"He's the head of the office," Astoria confirmed coldly. At any other point in her life, Astoria might have been worried about Fred and George potentially tracing Alistair's name back to the Lestranges, but there no longer seemed to be any point in bothering. Voldemort's return nearly _ensured_ that they would find out soon enough on their own.

"He's blackly vindictive, hates goblins and usually starts drinking around noon," Astoria went on fitfully. "Know something, Ragnuk? If I were you, _I_ probably wouldn't mess with me and I'm _clearly_ a terrible judge!"

"You think I have no other means of restitution?" Ragnuk hissed. "One anonymous tip to the Department of Games and Sports and you can kiss your pretty little school goodbye forever!"

"The Department of Games and Sports!" Astoria exclaimed merrily, wiping victorious tears of mirth from her eyes. "You mean _Bagman_? That lousy git is so crooked he even owes _us_ gold!"

Ragnuk's glower flickered uncomfortably. The fact that Astoria and the twins had bargained for Bagman's freedom from Hodrod had clearly never reached his ears.

"He isn't going to turn me over—what if I told on him?" Astoria went on, connecting each dot with lurid ease. "A fifteen year old girl lending a grown man money to cover his gambling debts is a hard thing to explain. Half of the country would probably just assume he's a pedophile!"

" _Is_ he?" spluttered Draco irresistibly.

Astoria tossed her head back and laughed harder still.

"I will not allow a pack of children to make a fool out of me!" Ragnuk growled, panic mingling with his rage.

"Oh, you're _warning_ us, are you?" Astoria taunted, consumed by the madness that had seized her the moment Karkaroff had exposed his arm. "You've got no moves left to play, Ragnuk! Why not just make it easy and settle?"

"You have a family," Ragnuk leered sinisterly. "Surely you would prefer that they remain...uninvolved?"

Astoria's laughter reached fever pitch, so manic in tone that even Fred was beginning to look a little concerned for her.

"Go ahead and visit my aunt!" Astoria wailed, sucking in great gulps of air as she stomped her feet. "Do it—I'm _begging_ you!"

"Does she work for the goblin office too?" asked Fred bemusedly.

Astoria attempted to answer but her fit of hysteria seemed to have robbed her of breath.

"Of course not, Weasley," jeered Draco who, despite being completely un-involved in their current predicament, still knew ministry politics like the back of his hand. "She's a complete _psychopath_..."

A gunshot-like bang boomed in the distance. Positive that it had come from the direction of the maze, Astoria's foolish laughter died in her lungs, trapped like stale air.

 _Oh, God. What was happening now?_

Professor McGonagall's voice, rendered ten times louder by a sonorous charm, filled Astoria's ears like the embrace of a long-lost relative _._

"ALL STUDENTS ARE TO REPORT TO THEIR HOUSES AT ONCE."

Astoria glanced back toward Ragnuk, unsurprised to find that he had begun edging his way toward the forest, wary of meeting with any of Dumbledore's staff.

"ATTENDANCE IS MANDATORY!"

The goblins were almost obscured by the trees now, muttering ferociously...

"You have one week, Ragnuk!" shouted Fred, emboldened by Astoria's confidence. "Don't make us hunt you down over break!"

"ROLL CALL WILL BE TAKEN IN HALF AN HOUR!"

Astoria followed the bright torch of Fred's hair as he hustled along the edge of the stadium. Already, the entire confrontation felt dream-like...had she really just threatened to _punt_ a goblin under-lord?

The glow of the stadium's fairy lights hit her like a slap in the face when they finally reemerged; a circus-bright cacophony that left her feeling very drained and shaky. The delirious high that she had experienced in front of Ragnuk was fading and her sudden reintroduction to light and sound did nothing to help settle her roiling stomach. Astoria struggled forward robotically. She could tell that Draco was trying to catch her eye, eager to get the final word in, but the mob was so infected with fear that she soon lost sight of him.

 _C_ ringing away from any situation that might force her to speak, Astoria made no effort to keep track of anyone. Training her eyes on the grass and willing herself not to throw up, she followed the surge of bodies out through the gates and onto the path.

The moonlight was clearer on the hill; the air fresher. Lightning bugs danced peacefully in the bushes, creating a startling contrast to the blood-surge of violence that she had just escaped.

 _This is the real world_ , Astoria tried to remind herself, sucking in mouthfuls of sweet air. _No Voldemort. No hostages._ Somewhere, trapped in the maddening crowd, Theodore was probably even looking for her...

But no amount of denial could restore what she had just lost. A cold blanket of grief had been tossed over her soul, shrouding everything with its melancholy weight. It was a sickness in her stomach—a dull ache in her chest.

The Entrance Hall was somehow worse, slammed from wall to wall like a holding cell. Sobs echoed off the rafters, reverberating like the distant shriek of sirens. Ducking rudely under arms and cringing against the accidental slap of unwanted limbs, Astoria forced her way through to the marble staircase.

She had lost Fred and George in the mess of faces but that was just as well. Something told Astoria she was not ready to face them yet, either. Surely they would want to relive their conversation with Ragnuk—or worse, what if they asked about the Mark on Karkaroff's arm? Did she have it in her to explain?

Feeling no desire to participate in the collective muttering and mourning in the common room, Astoria made a quiet beeline for the dormitory bathroom the moment she reached the tower. Shutting the door behind her as calmly as she could, Astoria allowed her knees to crumple. The tiled floor beneath her dress was cold and a little stinging at first, but the more she got used to the chill, the more centering she found it.

Astoria blinked in the direction of the flickering flames in the wall sconces on either side of the mirrors, waiting for her tears to fall, but the did not come. An odd thing, really, since Astoria _knew_ that she needed to cry—could sense the shivering ache in every part her body from her joints to her face— and yet her chin remained stubbornly steady.

Perhaps she might be sick instead? A hollow tightness in her belly seemed to suggest that this was possible, but no swifter pangs arrived to compel her to her feet. The flames in the sconces began shiver the longer she looked at them, gradually losing focus against the white backdrop. Without blinking, Astoria allowed the room to fade into a palate of ivory and gold, her eyes tried but very dry.

Twenty minutes later, when no fits of sobbing or waves of nausea had presented themselves and she could hear Professor McGonagall talking below, Astoria stood up, patted down her hair and opened the door.

0o0

The next morning dawned in a blaze of saccharine-yellow sweetness. Brilliantly sunny, candy-colored radiance flooded the grounds, provoking the birds in the garden into song and painting the inside of her four poster a warm crimson.

Contrary to what Astoria had been expecting, sleep had claimed her from almost the very moment her head had hit her pillow and it had not abandoned her until mid-morning. Despite having been unconscious for nearly ten hours, however, the effects of the night before had taken their toll: she appeared pale and drawn in the mirror above Lavender's bureau. Avoiding her own reflection in the glass, Astoria dressed purposefully, eager to regain some semblance of normality. It was a new day, one that Astoria was lucky to even be seeing, so she set about the task of going about business as usual with extra urgency, privately hoping that by doing so, she might reclaim some of her old vigor.

She had risen during the slow period between breakfast and lunch. Only a very a small crowd of students remained at the four long house tables, but today they were making enough noise to compensate for their dwindling numbers. Spotting Draco at the end of the Slytherin table with his nose buried deep in a huddle of members from his quidditch team, Astoria chose a seat close to the doors. If it was normality she was seeking, Malfoy was to be avoided at all costs, particularly now that he had met Ragnuk...

"You're up!"

Swallowing her first bite of toast, Astoria swiveled about, delighted to find that in her haste to avoid Draco, she had completely overlooked Theodore.

"Theo!" Astoria exclaimed warmly, dropping her bread.

Instead of sharing her excitement, however, Theodore cut straight to the point. He thrust a newspaper onto her plate.

"Have a look at this!" he insisted, flipping the _Prophet_ over to expose a headline. Astoria stared at the newsprint, knowing what those passages must surely contain and wanting nothing to do with them.

"After my coffee," she muttered evasively.

"No, you don't understand," pressed Theodore. "This is a mess!"

"I was there, wasn't I?" Astoria ventured archly, the pleasure she had first felt at the sight of him fading considerably. "Must we rehash tragedy over our eggs?"

"Mhmm," returned Theodore quickly, completely overlooking Astoria's lack of enthusiasm. "The paper doesn't even _mention_ Cedric! Now, what do you make of _that_?"

Astoria blinked, taken aback. But while it _did_ seem more than a little out of character for Rita Skeeter to drop the ball on a scoop so juicy, Astoria did not know how much she cared to speculate.

"I'm serious!" Theodore pressed, flipping the paper open now. "They ran two stories about the tournament—one of them proclaiming Harry as the winner and the other giving a detailed description of the maze. What are they playing at by interviewing _gardeners_ and forgetting to mention a student fatality?"

"I don't know," sighed Astoria warily, feeling as though she had already spent a lifetime living through the Third Task. "Maybe the Diggorys didn't want the story run?"

"That's not the kind of thing you can keep out of the paper," scoffed Theodore, dismissing her theory.

"I'm sure it'll be in the evening edition, then!" Astoria shot back. "I'm not the editor, Theo!"

"Look!" insisted Theodore. He shook open the Arts section to reveal a photograph of several weather-worn wizards wearing coveralls and brandished it at her excitedly: " _Gardeners!_ "

"I wonder which one works for the Zabinis," Astoria mused, keen to change the subject. "Apparently Blaise's mother almost sacked him for neglecting his duties..."

"Astoria!" reprimanded Theodore, surprised by her general unwillingness to delve into conspiracy. "Potter's been telling all of his mates that he saw You Know Who—that he dueled him! Snape was pulled into a meeting this morning because Karkaroff hasn't been seen since he was judging. Now a teenager's death is going unreported and you want to talk about Blaise Zabini's domestic help?"

"I don't know what you want me to say!" Astoria returned resentfully.

Five delicious, drama free minutes—that was _all_ the time she needed to finish her meal without the subject of Voldemort turning her food turn into ash.

The paper in Theo's hands sagged as he took in her expression. Astoria shifted in her chair guiltily, feeling faintly ashamed of herself.

"Going over the morning paper are you?" drawled a smug, very arrogant voice.

" _See_ ," Astoria breathed mournfully, dropping her toast again, "now look what you've done..."

Draco had gotten up and wandered his way down the table with Crabbe and Goyle, all three of them looking more pleased and menacing than Astoria had ever seen them. A smirk quivered on Draco's lips, hinting at the great personal satisfaction of keeping a secret that was dangerous enough to be gutted for.

Only the memory of Draco's nudging shoulder—quite literally the last thing standing between herself and Moody's tongue—was enough to stop her from being uncivil.

"Theodore is," said Astoria begrudgingly. " _I'm_ eating."

"Trying to piece it together, are we?" Draco drawled, glancing at the paper in Theo's hands, practically oozing maddening superiority. "You won't find any help in there."

"I reckon I've got the make of it, actually," returned Theodore stiffly, not wanting to be talked down to by Draco.

"Oh yeah?" Draco chuckled softly, snagging the second half of Astoria's toast without asking. "Have you heard from your father yet?"

"No, why should I?" grumbled Theodore a little irritably. "The man never writes to me, Malfoy—you _know_ that. I'll be home in a week."

"Bet he writes to you first," Malfoy smirked, eyes glittering tellingly.

Theodore's expression locked-up. If the combination of newspaper silence and Harry's own story had been enough to make him suspect the impossible, Draco's air of knowing confirmation was enough to make him freeze in his seat.

Astoria stared at the reflective surface her now empty plate, insides writhing. So far, she had grieved the probable return of the Dark Lord no further than how she thought it might affect _herself;_ the future of her mother and uncles in Azkaban playing a particularly hard angle upon her soul. The fact that Theodore, whose Death Easter father remained at large, might see his own life plunge into chaos had not yet fully occurred to her and the reminder was heartbreaking.

"I—" Theodore hesitated, turning toward Astoria for advisement. "What do _you_ think?"

"I'm _not_ ," shot Astoria reflexively, perhaps a little sharper than she had intended.

"You're not what?" returned Theodore, actively frowning. "You don't think Potter was telling the truth?"

"No, I do, I'm just not _thinking a_ bout it," Astoria clarified stubbornly. "About _any_ of it, really."

Malfoy let out a snuffling sound of derision, obviously surprised by her attitude.

"Astoria, what are you talking about?" demanded Theodore. "If Potter really _did_ fight You-Know-Who—"

"Then the Dark Lord is back?" Astoria supplied shrilly. "So I've heard. I'm making the active decision not to care. Pass the toast."

"Sort of taking denial to whole new level, isn't it?" sneered Draco, his annoyance just palpable enough to be noticeable.

"I'm not _denying_ anything," Astoria returned waspishly, scraping a pat of butter across her roll with enough violence to constitute a micro-aggression. "I'm just _not_ looking to talk about it and neither is the newspaper, so maybe _you_ shouldn't either."

Draco narrowed his eyes at her. Astoria went on savagely scraping butter while Draco bore a hole into the side of her face, sensing how awkward she was being but somehow unable to stop herself.

"It's nice not obsessing," Astoria continued stubbornly, compelled to fill the silence she had created, dropping her knife with a clatter. "You two ought to give it a try sometime."

Theodore let out a soft, stoney-faced snort. "What's that? 'Belladonna Lestrange's Secrets to Life and Not Caring'?"

" _Maybe_!" Astoria agreed loftily, seizing the jam jar. "But you know what? For a woman with four dead husbands, she sure does have a lot of _pep_ in her step!"

Theodore shook his head distractedly. Astoria clawed at the sticky jam lid, beyond frustrated with its refusal to turn. Why was everything a _struggle_?

"Astoria!" cried Luc, cutting in just in time to keep prevent her from jamming her butter-knife under the lid in an unwise bid for leverage.

Astoria dropped her knife again and grit her teeth, willing herself not to lash out.

" _Merlin_ my head aches," moaned Luc, pouring out a measure of juice. Astoria studied his face but no trace of a hangover seemed to cling there; no grim recognition of the horror that had transpired since the last time she had seen him. "Maudlin's looking for you, you know."

"Why?" grunted Astoria gruffly. _Could no one manage to solve a problem on their own?_

"Dunno," Luc shrugged, "but he seemed awfully crushed this morning."

"Crushed by _what_?" Astoria grumbled, banging the jar against the table to loosen it now, "the size of his bloody trust fund?"

"Hah!" Luc cried appreciatively through a mouthful of oats.

"I'm going for a walk," Astoria decided, slamming the disobliging jam down at last. Swinging her feet over the bench, she nearly ate a mouthful of robes as she ran headlong into Maudlin.

"Ria!" he beamed brilliantly, seizing her by both shoulders. "There you are! _Thank God_!"

"Feeling better, are you?" Astoria observed, taking a large step back in case he felt compelled to hug her again.

"What—oh, yes," agreed Maudlin distractedly. Snagging a roll, he swiftly unscrewed the lid of Astoria's offending jam with a single, obnoxiously effortless twirl. "I've had a letter from father this morning—he wants to know all about what happened last night only I can't remember anything and apparently your paper isn't very forthcoming. Also, you never told me that you and George are coming to visit early this year!"

"I'd have told you if you hadn't passed out before sunset," Astoria lied, wondering how her father had managed to convey this message to Aston so quickly.

"Well, it's brilliant either way," Maudlin demurred, taking the seat that Astoria had just vacated. "Emilie's signed on for an internship in Paris so it should be just you and Alec. Can you imagine a month, just the three of us? We ought to go to the beach house in Monaco—I haven't been there since Christmas last year."

"I'm supposed to be spending time with my father," Astoria cautioned, not wanting to fall prey to an entire season at Maudlin's beck and call—especially if Emilie was to be out of town, leaving Maudlin behind to behave as irrationally as he pleased.

"Oh, he'll be busy with work," Maudlin scoffed, fanning this excuse aside with a wave of his hand. "You're much better off with me—and _my_ father will love it."

Draco let out a single, humorless grunt and tossed his napkin onto Maudlin's plate with an insolent flick.

"Oh!" cried Maudlin, somehow struck by the mess that Malfoy had just made in front of him. "Draco, where will _you_ be in July? You should think of coming, too. There will be scads of parties to go to if the weather holds!"

"I don't know," drawled Draco, his smug smirk flickering back to life. "I _thought_ I was going to be in Italy for July, but with the way things are looking, who _knows_ what will happen? Father might not want to leave the country for so long..."

His eyes darted toward Astoria and it occurred to her—with a pang of belated embarrassment—that this was probably because she had been staring at him.

"Not that it _really_ matters," Draco added, backpedalling with impressive vagueness. "I can't see why my Father would say no—he and Aston _must_ know each other."

0o0

* * *

The overall takeaway while rereading and editing this chapter? 'For God's sake, Astoria, GIVE THE MAN HIS WAND ALREADY!'

Ahhh, redundancy... I promise to bring back the non-violent variety of drama in the next post.

In any case, so... close... to summer. Only the first teeny chunk of the next chapter will be at Hogwarts, I swear. Let's get cracking toward fifth year already.

Notes on Scheduling:

Well guys, my finals are pretty much over which means that things might be getting back to a once-weekly posting status again really soon (toot your party horns if you've got 'em)! My initial guess is that the summer before fifth year will end up spread out over about four chapters (I can give a better idea about what to expect next post). _I_ personally tend to love the chapters away from school (it's a bit liberating to step outside the cannon-timeline) but I can respect that some of you prefer the familiar Hogwarts outline. At the end of the day—assuming I'll be able to update weekly—it shouldn't take much more than a month or so to get to book five.

As always, reviews give me the grins. :)


	59. The Departed

Chapter Fifty Nine

The Departed

* * *

0o0

The question of whether or not classes would recommence on Monday remained a hot-topic issue all throughout Sunday and into the night. Some, like Theodore, were certain that they would absolutely be expected to finish up the term on schedule. For her own part, however, Astoria clung to the hope of an early dismissal.

"Just because Cedric's _dead_ doesn't mean the teachers are going to let us roam the grounds like cattle!" Theo sniffed. Poised in an armchair by the window in the divination tower nook, he looked every bit the scholar. "There's still a whole week left and, I mean—" he hesitated, perhaps aware that he didn't really know what he was talking about, his normally stoic face flushing pink, "—people _die_. That's what they _do_..."

Fatalistic or not, in the end, he turned out to be quite right. When no notice had been issued and the sun showed signs of rising on Monday morning, Astoria crawled out of bed to claim the showers before anyone—even Hermione, who timed her alarm clock like a bomb—had begun to stir.

Blissfully alone, Astoria cranked the faucet until the water was running as hot as it would go. Waiting for steam to fill the room, she paced the tiled floor with her bare feet, listening to the sound of birds fill the air from the garden below. On any other day, she might have been able to admire this moment for its tranquility, but her ability to appreciate subtle pleasures had been greatly diminished since her night outside the maze.

There was soap in her hair when Astoria heard the bathroom door creak open to admit company.

Closing her eyes into the stream of water, Astoria listened, following the progress of foreign sounds: the shuffling of robes, the bang of the stall door next to her and then— _finally_ —a second shower spray.

Parvati Patil began to hum an off-key jingle, leaving Astoria to ponder how anyone could be so lousy at carrying a tune in such a wide, echoey space.

"Astoria, is that you?" called Parvati merrily, making enough noise for ten people as she dropped soaps and kicked over bottles.

"Mhmm," Astoria returned, running her fingers through her hair vigorously, trying to speed along the process of shampoo extraction.

"Do you have an extra facecloth? I've forgotten mine," Parvati called back.

Astoria eyed her washcloth hesitantly. She was willing to share her space if she had to, but not necessarily her shower tools—especially the ones that had already touched her skin.

"Oh, it doesn't matter!" Parvati mused, prattling on before Astoria even had a chance to respond. "Hey, my sister is playing chess with that friend of yours today! That weird—I mean, _quiet_ —Slytherin boy?" she amended, catching herself at the very last second.

"Oh yeah?" Astoria returned curiously. This came as news to her: she had spent the entirety of Sunday in Theodore's company but he had not mentioned Padma even once. "Does Padma _like_ chess?"

"Chess?" mused Parvati distractedly. "I dunno, I guess. Seems weird to me, those two hanging out. He's not creepy, is he? I can never tell—but then, _you_ seem to spend lot of time around him, so he can't be _that_ bad, right?"

Astoria blinked through a layer of soap, fighting to summon enough curiosity to overcome the insulting nature of the question.

"Oh, of course he's not!" breathed Parvati, perhaps sensing her own rudeness and backtracking. "Honestly, after her last boyfriend, it'll probably do Padma some good to pal around with a bloke. They really are quicker at spotting jerks, aren't they? Maybe _he_ can help her."

"You don't think maybe she's just interested in _Theodore_?" Astoria tested slyly.

"Oh Lord, I shouldn't think so!" Parvati snorted. "But then, I suppose she's never really said how she feels about him one way or the other."

Astoria mulled this over, trying to decide if the doubtful prejudice she was hearing against Theodore belonged to Padma or _Parvati_.

"It's not as though _you're_ dating him, right?" Parvati pressed, jumping up an octave in nosiness. "That Theodore boy, I mean. It's just—well, I'm sure if Padma _did_ fancy him, she might think it was a bit strange that he follows you around so much."

"No," Astoria quickly scoffed, trying not to be bothered by the vague insinuation that Padma might not like Theodore if she felt that he already had too many female friends. "Theo's single—but he's shy. If Padma likes him, she should say something."

"I'm sure _I_ wouldn't know either way," Parvati snorted happily. "Padma really does do the _strangest_ things sometimes, though. Who knows?"

0o0

Clean but not altogether refreshed, Astoria beat a weary track down to breakfast. Outside, spring was in the fullest bloom possible; so intoxicating and ripe that it was very nearly rotten, hinting deeply at the onset of summer. The sky in the Great Hall continued to reflect the theme of heady luster. A beautiful, deep blue expanse stretched out overhead, un-rumpled by so much as a single patch of clouds.

Burning with a desire for freer air, Astoria snatched up a pastry and quickly made her way toward the doors. Distracted by the bread in her hands and eager to reach the courtyard, she was more than half-way across the hall before she spotted Tracey sitting on the front steps.

Blonde head bent in concentration, Tracey appeared to be doodling patterns in the rock dust with a long stick. Even from a distance, the affectionate sight of Tracey's child-like hunch hit Astoria with the force of an open-handed slap, somehow wielding more power than the memory of their fight ever could. Summoning her bravery, she continued toward the doors without stopping, heart fluttering nervously in her chest.

"Hey," Astoria muttered, ripping her croissant in half. "You're up early too?" .

"Oh!" Tracey jolted squeakily, her tone so high-pitched and curiously false that it was all Astoria could do to stop herself from cringing. "I—"

"Here," Astoria insisted stoutly, extending the bigger piece of pastry toward Tracey as a peace offering. "It's early, all the rolls are fresh."

Tracey took the croissant and raised it hesitantly toward her mouth; the crust touched her lips but she could not seem to bring herself to take a bite. Confused and unsure what to do, Tracey finally decided to fake an awkward chewing motion, letting the bread fall down onto the step untouched.

"Saturday was a mess, wasn't it?" Astoria pressed on, frowning at Tracey's bizarre feint with the roll. "I hear Amos Diggory's trying to keep it out of the papers..."

Truthfully, Astoria had no idea if this was actually a fact or not, but she was willing to spin her own suspicions into gossip if it meant that Tracey would talk to her.

"Uhuh," murmured Tracey absently, eyeing the croissant almost fearfully.

"Ok, listen," Astoria lowered her voice, sensing it would be better to just cut to the chase. "Its fine if you're mad at me. I was wrong to snap at you the other day—you were just trying to enjoy the Task and I was _really_ wound up."

Tracey's eyes flicked toward Astoria almost guiltily, darting between her face and the far-off fountain, unwilling to fix themselves on any point in particular. It was clear that she did not want to be having the conversation at all, but Astoria would not be able to relax until the matter was settled.

"It's your business who you hang around with!" Astoria continued desperately, trying to inject her apology with as much earnestness as possible. "It's not my place to go about telling you what to do. I won't ever say a word about Zabini again, I promise! Can we just put the whole thing behind us?"

"Yeah," murmured Tracey, still frightfully distracted. "We hooked up you know. Blaise and I. Kind of, at least. On Saturday night..."

" _Eugh_ _,_ " Astoria grimaced instinctually, somehow managing to break her promise in less than a minute. "You didn't shag _Zabini_?"

"No!" answered Tracey, sharpening up at once, curiously ferocious to clarify. "It wasn't _that_ bad..."

Having just sworn a oath toward positivity, Astoria found herself struggling to ignore Tracey's suspicious use of the word 'bad'.

"I mean, I definitely _saw_ it," admitted Tracey wryly, angling her head to the side and squinting in a way that left very little doubt in Astoria's mind as to what she meant by 'it'.

"Don't you dare!" Astoria protested, premeditating the vivid description that would surely come next. "Tracey, if any of those adjectives you're dying to spew aren't 'tiny' or 'misshapen', I don't want to hear a single one!"

"Huh?" The look of confusion fell away from Tracey's features with a startling swiftness, replaced almost at once by one of annoyance. "What, you mean like one of those Greek statues with the creepy baby parts? No, he doesn't have an _imp dick,_ Astoria!"

Overcome by an inappropriate desire to laugh, Astoria hastily blew hair out of her face and coaxed her treacherously-dancing eyes up toward the eaves, fighting to control herself. _Stop it._

"No, he wouldn't, I suppose," Astoria finally admitted, still pursing her quivering lips. "Pity, that."

"Quit laughing!" shot Tracey, her voice breaking from the effort of digging her stick further into the dirt. "It's not even _funny!_ "

"No, I know!" Astoria agreed hastily, unable to ignore Tracey's distress. "You're right, it's not funny."

Mumbling downwards, Tracey continued to stab her stick into the ground: "It doesn't matter..."

"What do you mean?" Astoria frowned, searching for a way to placate without sounding like a liar. "You're sad it happened right before summer?"

Tracey let out a weird, shivery noise.

"It's not like you won't see him," Astoria continued cautiously, a little alarmed by Tracey's unbroken fixation on the dirt. "You hunted his _mother_ down last year. How hard can it be to talk Blaise into meeting you in London?"

"Yeah, right," snapped Tracey, suddenly leaping to her feet. "Come on, let's get to class."

Taken aback, Astoria turned to follow her inside, careful to step over the forlorn bit of croissant that Tracey had spurned.

0o0

Never, in all of Astoria's time at Hogwarts, had a day of schooling been quite so disorganized.

Already half wild with gossip about the terror at the Task, so much sunshine only served to promote hooliganism amongst the students. Nobody seemed very keen to bother with scheduling, preferring instead to loiter in the halls, hollering and roughhousing. Largely unchecked by the teachers, who were all too busy reporting to the staff room during breaks, the day seemed destined to fall into chaos and nearly every class started late as a result.

To make matters worse, delegations from both Beauxbatons and Durmstrang, having finished up with their final examinations, were now allowed to lay about on the lawn or wander freely during class hours. Infuriatingly visible from almost every classroom window, these visitors were soon the subject of much bitter muttering by those who were trapped indoors; a source of constant jealousy.

By the time lunch was over and Astoria had begun the hike up toward the sixth floor for Arithmancy, she had never been more tempted to strip off her clothes and run screaming into the wild.

"Look at them," Theodore sneered as Astoria joined the queue, poking his nose out over the sill of a high-set window. "Laying about _tanning_ while we're all stuck up here..."

Astoria blinked, unsure how to even respond. Theodore had never willingly allowed so much as his _forehead_ to brown before, making the knowledge that even _he_ was keen for a beach seem a bit less relatable and a bit _more_ like the sign of an oncoming apocalypse.

"We're almost finised," Astoria reminded him, casting Tracey—who had been abnormally quiet all morning—a sidelong glance. "Four more days..."

"Not a moment too soon, if you ask _me_ ," drawled Draco, cresting the stairs at a lazy stride.

Stripped of Crabbe and Goyle as he always was during third period, he looked only a fraction less menacing than he had been the last time she had seen him. Prickling in his presence—she had studiously avoided him all weekend—Astoria tried not to look visibly shaken. The fact that she had spent the majority of the Third Task either molesting him or hiding behind his limbs to avoid assault was not something she was eager to explain to anyone and she was fearful of him mentioning either.

"What about you, Davis?" continued Draco with an odd little smirk. "You must be _itching_ to escape."

Tracey grunted and turned away, leaving Astoria to squint at the both of them suspiciously. Did Draco often single out Tracey? She did not think so. Dangerously close to realizing that the diversion of Draco's attention secretly bothered her, however, she soon let the matter drop unquestioned.

"You should have heard Cassandra at breakfast," continued Malfoy, filling the space Tracey had made by shrinking away from him. "You'd think she was looking forward to a chain-gang, moaning and wailing about how _difficult_ it was to get out of bed this morning."

"Yeah? Sticky lock on her crypt?" Astoria scoffed. The line began to move forward through the doors, so Astoria seized another opportunity to covertly peer at Tracey.

Draco snorted, never entirely above mocking Cassandra when she was not around to hear him.

The class had arrived before Professor Vector. Somehow certain that he was on the second floor conferencing with the rest of the staff, Astoria slung herself into a seat without bothering to take out her books or a quill.

"God, I need to get _out_ of here," muttered Theodore, surprising Astoria again by prioritizing his lust for freedom over the silent drone of academia. "I feel like I'm about to lose my _mind_..."

Alarmed by the sheen of sweat on Theodore's lip, Astoria's eyes moved toward Tracey, who still appeared lifeless and wan. Feeling dangerously out of touch with _both_ of her best friends mental states, Astoria shifted her sights onto Draco, hoping for a reprieve.

A mistake, as it turned out, because he was no longer blinking vacantly in the direction of windows; he was staring at _Tracey_ with an expression of repressed, chilly delight.

" _What?_ " Astoria finally snapped, resisting the urge to twist Draco's arm until he settled back into his chair and looked somewhere more proper.

"Nothing!" Tracey answered for him immediately, strangely eager to avoid Astoria's eye.

"Well, _I_ was laughing at Davis's botched attempt to boff Zabini," drawled Draco, dragging his cruel eyes off the side of Tracey's face at long last. "Or maybe you haven't heard?"

Theodore's head snapped toward Draco. A crease of annoyance furrowed his brow.

"If you're _trying_ to make sure Astoria knows that I hooked up with someone she hates, you can save your breath!" countered Tracey with shaking savagery. "I've already beat you to it! Although I'm sure you've been simply _quivering_ to squeal to her all weekend!"

Draco's smug expression flickered slightly but it was Theodore's dispassionate grunt that stole Astoria's attention: " _Ugh_."

"And _you_ can shove it!" Tracey sneered, directing the full blow of her gathering fury onto Theodore now. "As if I need _your_ advice! It's not _that_ big of a deal, anyway—I don't know _why_ we're even _talking_ about it!"

"It's fine, Trace," Astoria muttered weakly, disliking the turn of their conversation immensely. While it was true that Astoria had certainly never made her dislike for Blaise a secret, she was by no means willing to sacrifice Tracey's newly-regained goodwill for the sake of a laugh.

"Oh, please!" sneered Tracey, beginning to sound frighteningly nasal. "What was your initial reaction? A gagging sound _?"_

"I didn't mean it like that," fumbled Astoria feebly, appalled to find that her treacherous lips were beginning to quiver with amusement again of their own accord.

"No, you're right!" agreed Tracey dangerously. "You recomposed yourself just long enough to ask me if his _junk_ was tiny!"

Draco let out a delighted hoot of surprised laughter. He dropped his arm heavily onto the desk, quite literally moved to actual tears of mirth.

"I was just kidding!" Astoria floundered, throughly blind-sighted by this recount of her own accidental awfulness, seeing it afresh now that it was being showcased in such a brutal light. "Run around with him all summer, if you want—I _don't_ care!"

"Fat chance of that!" jeered Draco carelessly, disregarding the painful shade of red Tracey was turning. "He chucked her the next day—"

"I— _what?_ " Astoria cracked, distraction replacing shame as her most overwhelming emotion.

" _No. He._ _Didn't!_ " hissed Tracey through gritted teeth, desperate to hold onto some semblance of dignity even though she was now roughly the same hue as a ripe tomato. "He told me I was coming on too strong—there's a _difference_! We never _agreed_ to anything—"

"Oh, _please_ , Draco sneered, "he told you to stop following him around because he thinks it's _creepy._ "

" _Shut up!_ " Astoria flared, suddenly seized by such a powerful desire to rip out every strand of Draco's hair that she hardly knew what to do with herself.

Draco's smug expression flickered, finally registering the arctic shift in Astoria's attitude. Smart enough to know that pursuing the topic would be taking things too far, he let out a smug scoff and slouched back into his chair.

Astoria opened her mouth to address Tracey but she was interrupted before she could begin.

"It's fine!" Tracey insisted, positively trembling with self-loathing. "You didn't know. Just forget it!"

But Astoria could _not_ forget it, not when she had behaved _so_ idiotically all morning long. _Why_ hadn't she noticed that Tracey was upset instead of excited? Surely her behavior had been strange enough to hint at it?

No, Astoria realized, it was even worse than that—she _had_ noticed and had simply assumed that Tracey's awkwardness had been to do with _herself_...

Painfully desperate to apologize but unsure how, Astoria was prevented from doing anything at all when Professor Vector entered the room wearing a rumpled jacket and last night's facial hair. Tired and grumpy, Vector soon put an end to all discussion by assigning multiple chapters worth of dull silent reading.

0o0

The next several days slipped by in blur of frustrated agony. The desire for term to end became almost unbearable; something Astoria looked forward to with the same sort of baited, cringing breath as when she fell asleep on her arm the wrong way and awoke having to wait for the painful tingling to pass.

Tracey remained aloof; Theodore tense and distracted. In an attempt to respect their states of heightened tension, Astoria soon gave up on any plan to interrogate either of them.

Tracey's unhappiness, as Astoria readily comprehended it, was something she was keen to keep private. An unexpected embarrassment, dealt like a swift blow to the gut; the less time spent talking about it, the happier she appeared.

Contrary to the way Astoria had assumed she would feel on the night of the Third Task, Draco's brutal outing of Tracey's rejection had so throughly robbed her of any desire to say 'I told you so' that it was all she could do to meet Tracey's eye without experiencing a resurgence of guilt. Unsure what else to do, she made no mention of Blaise at meals and began to avoid him in the halls even more carefully than she had before.

Theodore's irritability was less easily understood, but Astoria imagined it had something to do with the barrage of letters he had begun receiving from home on a daily basis.

Almost shamefully thankful that he had not bared the terrifying contents of these notes to her in full, Astoria did her best to step lightly, her own grief held at bay by the more present—and therefore urgent—grievances of those surrounding her.

0o0

The night of the Leaving Feast finally arrived. Consoled only by the fact that it was the last thing she would have to face before boarding the Hogwarts Express in the morning, Astoria forced herself downstairs for dinner. It was obvious the moment she entered the hall, however, that the meal would _not_ be painless.

Everything, from the trimmings on the house tables to the Inter-House Championship winner's banners, had been refurbished in black. Realizing that the evening was going be a funeral rather than a feast, Astoria sunk down onto the Gryffindor bench, wilting under the weight of the mourning shrouds strewn from the rafters.

Dumbledore's words were both short and sweet, but nothing could overshadow the palpable dismay of those sitting at the Hufflepuff table. Astoria did her best to listen, uncomfortable and restless in her own skin.

When the headmaster asked them all to stand and raise their glasses to Cedric, Astoria complied robotically. Tipping her goblet to her mouth, she spilled a substantial amount of juice down her front because her hands were shaking so badly. It was as though a hundred feet of water separated her from the nearest human being like an impenetrable wall. Well, _almost_ impenetrable:

"Cedric Diggory was murdered by Lord Voldemort!"

Astoria jolted, her full attention once again compelled toward the podium.

An unsettling hiss began to fill the hall like the drone of a hundred angry bees. Left and right, people were glancing at each other, their expressions flashing anywhere between fright and disbelief.

Astoria supposed she did not blame them. Not everybody had been assaulted by Moody, she reminded herself. Astoria had been one of only four students to see the angry welt on Karkaroff's arm and most people did not have Death Eaters for parents. In all likelihood, the bulk of the student-body had not known the full extent of the horror that had occurred in the maze until tonight.

"The Ministry does not wish me to tell you this," Dumbledore went on. "It is possible that some of your parents will be horrified that I have done so—either because they will not believe Lord Voldemort has returned or because they think I should not tell you."

Astoria's ears prickled, disliking the insinuation that the Ministry did not have plans for a wide-spread information campaign. Surely Fudge wouldn't be so foolish as to remain silent?

Dumbledore went on, but by the time he had reached the topic of Harry's unfaltering heroism, Astoria could no longer resist the urge to glance toward the Slytherin table.

There appeared to be a sort of unrestrained muttered going on in that sector, with very few students paying close attention to the headmaster's words. Astoria sought out Draco's pale head and found it without effort. Bent toward Crabbe and Goyle, he was muttering under his breath and gesturing excitedly.

Cold all over and somehow unable to shake off the feeling that she _herself_ was guilty (although of what, she could not have said), Astoria rose to her feet a second time to toast Harry. She kept her eyes on Dumbledore as she swallowed, depressingly unmotivated to check if Draco would be civil enough to stand; she already _knew_ that he wasn't.

"Remember Cedric," finished Dumbledore, surveying each and every face in the hall with his intense but somber blue eyes. "If the time should come when you have to make a choice between what is right and what is easy, remember what happened to a boy who was good, and kind, and brave, because he strayed across the path of Lord Voldemort."

Shivering violently, Astoria finished her pumpkin juice and went to bed without bidding anyone goodnight.

Alone in her dormitory with her half-packed trunk, Astoria knew that this was the last evening she would spend allowing herself to dwell on the topic of Lord Voldemort and the unknown. There was simply no point in worrying; the worst had already happened. The most she could do was make the best out of the months in front of her: perhaps leaving the country was not such a curse after all?

0o0

"Pity it had to be Diggory," mused Tracey, huffing and puffing under the weight of her trunk as she heaved it down the aisle between train cars. "With a face like that, he'll be causing an uproar from the grave until we're fifty."

"Well, he's from an old family," Astoria returned hesitantly, "and the Diggorys have Ministry roots. You can't really _blame_ people for being angry—a boy _died_."

"Yeah, but the funny thing is, if it had happened to someone else—like my brother Roger, say—everyone would totally forget about his tragic demise the moment a new scandal hit the papers," Tracey shoved open an empty compartment door, still trying to catch her breath. " _Ugh_ , I'm starting to sound like Theodore."

"Where is Theodore, anyway?" Astoria wondered, claiming two seats for her own and leaving the other row to Tracey.

The Hogwarts Express had been underway for less than half of an hour; steadily chugging through pine forests on its meandering path around the lakes. Theodore had slept through breakfast—a not altogether uncommon occurrence—but he had not managed to meet up with them in time to catch the carriages and Astoria was half inclined to assemble a search party.

"No idea," Tracey shrugged. "Maybe Padma walked by and forced him to hide in the luggage compartment?"

The cruelest thing about this sentence was that it had in no way been meant as a joke. Astoria smiled anyway, twisting a thin silver ring on one of her fingers back and forth with her thumb thoughtfully. "I think he sees more of her than he lets on, you know."

"Who—Padma?" Tracey snorted. "Finally bought himself a set binoculars, has he?"

"No," Astoria smirked. "I think she meets up with him in the library. Parvati mentioned something about the two of them playing chess together a week ago."

"You're _kidding!_ " Tracey burst. "God, if he ends up being the only one of us with someone to date this summer, I'll kill myself!"

Astoria's hand flitted toward her face to smother a wry smile, the cold band of her ring resting against her lips like an ice chip. "I wonder why Theo hasn't mentioned it," she mused.

"Probably because we're a pair of meddling bitches?" snorted Tracey. "I swear, Theo thinks we have sleepovers just to talk about him. I'm sure in his mind, we sit around a giant black pot all night long, just stirring away and cackling..."

Astoria laughed though her fingers, unable to resist Tracey's provoking grin.

"It's probably just as well, you know," Astoria continued in an offhand voice. "I've got a hunch that Padma thinks I'm a simpleton and _you're_ a vapid bloodhound."

"Really?" demanded Tracey brightly, perking right up.

"Mhmm," Astoria murmured dryly, knowing she was playing with fire but charging ahead anyway. "She talks down to me every time I see her. Haven't you ever noticed?"

"No!" Tracey leered excitedly.

"Yeah. Of course, it doesn't help that my _only_ class with her is Arithmancy—" Tracey let out a howl of appreciative mirth, "—but I swear, she thinks I'm so stupid that she has to talk like a cave-man for me to keep up."

They continued to laugh gleefully all morning, the passage of time slowly transporting them into the afternoon. Fields and houses began to replace the forests and lochs outside, their roofs and chimneys whizzing by under a blanket of cheerful sunshine.

Prepared to search of the lunch trolley, (and Theo, if it could be managed) Astoria and Tracey finally bumped their way back out into the rolling train aisle around noon.

"Theo's probably sitting with her!" Tracey hissed conspiratorially, repeating her suspicion for perhaps the hundredth time. "We've been replaced!"

"Pfft," Astoria hushed. If she was being honest with herself, Astoria knew that she was already secretly inclined to somewhat dislike Padma, and she was rather wary of allowing further provocation to take root in her mind. Now tasked with the job of reigning Tracey in, she was beginning to regret having said anything about her at all.

"We should find them and barge in!" Tracy giggled. "We could both pretend to be Pansy. Lord, Theodore would just _kill_ us!"

" _Probably_ ," Astoria readily agreed. "Remember what happened the last time we meddled? Lets try to start off the holiday without the hysterics, shall we?"

"Draco!" Tracey yelled, breaking off at the sight of a silvery blonde head. Double checking to make sure that he was not standing with Blaise, Tracey hollered again. "Draco!"

The carriages were growing progressively louder and the aisle busier. Spotting them, Draco snapped his fingers at Crabbe and Goyle to indicate that they should wait while Astoria and Tracey stumbled their way past a clique of Gryffindor first years, leaning heavily against the walls to counteract the awkward lurch of the train.

"Have you seen Theodore?" Tracey burst, finally shoving her way through.

"No," Malfoy scoffed. "His weepy Ravenclaw came through about a minute ago, though."

Astoria kept her eyes trained carefully on Tracey. A night's worth of rest had not been enough to purge her of the memory of Draco muttering his way through Cedric's memorial and she had a feeling that, if she opened her mouth, any manner of unreasonable things might come tumbling out.

"Hah! I forgot you made Padma cry!" Tracey cried provokingly, elbowing Astoria in the ribs. "The irony—she thinks you're too _stupid_ to plot!"

" _I_ didn't make her cry!" Astoria argued. " _Goldstein_ did—"

"Did you see what compartment she went into?" pressed Tracey, eyes gleaming wickedly.

Draco raised a dubious eyebrow but indicated a door several feet behind Crabbe.

Cackling like a banshee, Tracey danced her way around Crabbe's considerable bulk, intent on spying.

"What is _she_ on about?" sneered Draco, following Tracey's progress down the aisle. "She's not gunning for _Nott_ now?"

Tracey pressed her face against the half shuttered glass of Padma's compartment. A second later, she let out snorting cackle and turned to wave Astoria onward, grinning sinisterly.

Swearing under her breath, Astoria hastily darted forward, eager to pry Tracey away before Theodore caught them both with their noses pressed against the glass.

To her faint annoyance, Malfoy hesitated and then followed, provoking Crabbe and Goyle to do the same.

"Look!" Tracey whispered excitedly, grabbing hold of Astoria's sleeve, "he _is_ in there with her. Who's that other girl?"

" _Lisa Turpin_ ," Astoria hissed, incensed. "Come on, Theo will have a fit if he sees us!"

"It's mad out there!" cried Padma cheerfully from inside the compartment, clearing magazines off her seat to make room. "Quite a bit of your lot out there, Teddy! Lunch is almost here."

Realizing that by 'Teddy', Padma almost certainly meant Theodore, Astoria was only just quick enough to grab Tracey before she bumped into the door and gave them all away with her snickering.

" _Oh-ho-ho!_ " simpered Tracey ecstatically, legs bent inward as though she was about to wet herself.

"Slytherins you mean?" asked Theodore mildly, bending over to pick up the stack of magazines that Padma had just thrust aside. Astoria immediately wished he wouldn't—she didn't like the idea of him trailing around behind _anyone_ with a dust bin.

"That Malfoy boy was there," Padma returned. "He's in our year, isn't he?"

"Oh," returned Theodore flatly, pausing at his tidying up, blatantly unenthused, " _him_. Yeah, he's in our year."

Hearing this, Draco let out a soft, unpleasant chuckle and raised his hand to brace himself against the wall, effective blocking Astoria's only means of escape.

"What? You're not keen on him?" Padma pressed. "He does _seem_ a bit unpleasant, but then, so do _most_ of the people in your house."

"You don't know the _half_ of it." Theodore finished straightening up the stack of _Witch Weekly_ fliers and reclaimed his seat. He shifted awkwardly, clearly unsure how to compose him limbs without touching Padma's legs by accident. "I'm telling you, Malfoy's just about the _most_ insufferable git that anyone could have the misfortune of knowing."

"Don't you hang around with him, though?" returned Padma somewhat skeptically.

"That's only because most Slytherins have known each other for forever," explained Theodore. "If the others didn't put up with him, I'd hardly ever have to see Draco. He probably likes me just about as much as I like him."

Draco snorted, his nose close enough to stir Astoria's hair.

"Who are the ' _others_ '?" shot Padma, picking up on this detail with chilling speed. " _Astoria_ , you mean? She really is your _best_ friend—all you ever do is talk about her."

Lisa Turpin dared a glance over the top of her own magazine, smirking knowingly.

"Hmm? Oh, yeah," answered Theodore densely, missing the obvious note of acidity in Padma's tone, "and Tracey, too."

" _Aw!_ " clucked Tracey quietly.

"She's the shrill one, is she?" Padma wondered wryly.

"Tracey?" mused Theodore fairly, so affected by Padma's presence that he seemed to have forgotten to watch his tongue. "Yeah, I suppose she _is_ bit peaky."

"Little _traitor_!" amended Tracey gleefully, her voice, quite ironically, almost squeaky enough to commune with bats.

Inside the compartment, Theodore was still shifting restlessly, his brow furrowed.

"Do _you_ think he's good-looking?" asked Theodore repressively, apologetically even. "Malfoy, I mean?"

Draco's soft laughter became slightly crueler. As far as he was concerned, Theodore displaying insecurity—especially when he appeared to be comparing himself against Malfoy—was just about as good as having Christmas arrive early.

"Not really," Padma shrugged, forcing Astoria to suppress a fat, cheshire grin. "Well, no, I suppose he's perfectly _fine_ looking. He just always seems to be in a nasty mood, doesn't he?"

"That's because he _is_ ," muttered Theodore under his breath, appearing somewhat unsatisfied with Padma's answer.

"Why do you ask?" countered Padma. "I suppose it bothers you that all your girlfriends like him?"

If being told that he fell somewhere on the spectrum _between_ offensive and notably attractive had bothered Draco, then this last comment was enough to restore his smugness to its former level and beyond.

Astoria chanced a glance at Tracey, unsurprised to find that the effort of holding in laughter was now very close to strangling her.

"What?" Theodore stuttered. " _No_. I mean, Astoria maybe tolerates him the best—but she can put up with anything. He's _really_ rude to Tracey."

Tracey shot Malfoy a sly, satisfied grin. Astoria, meanwhile, was bizarrely fixated on Theo. It was a strange thing to see Theodore speaking so openly in front of company that she did not know, and even stranger still to see him struggling so hard to be pleasing. She was conscious of the fact that she ought not to be eavesdropping, but it was hard to tear herself away with Padma so keen to keep egging him on, trying to make him say things that he did not fully mean.

"Well, _that_ tracks doesn't it?" snorted Padma. "Silly, pretty girls always go for the rich boy, no matter how big of an ass he is. And Astoria's about as silly and pretty as they come. Isn't that why she's dating that Beauxbatons seventh year?"

" _What_?" gulped Theodore. "Astoria isn't dating any French boys."

"If _you_ say so," returned Padma skeptically, rearranging her skirt with maddeningly prissy flick. "If you ask me, Astoria's a bit like that Aphrodite in the book you lent me—beautiful, frivolous, irrationally vain, _mean_ —" her eyes wandered onto Theodore, who was entirely too uncomfortable to fully appreciate the attention, " —weirdly fixated on controlling her _son_..."

Even through a wall of glass and a set of blinds, Padma's opinion could not have been clearer: Astoria was the cold, distant minx and Theodore her foolish, babied pet.

"Astoria doesn't have a _son_ ," returned Theodore almost bemusedly. "And really, as far as I know, she's not off gold-digging with foreigners."

"Would you care if she was?" Padma challenged, faking neutrality but very poorly.

"No!" Theodore floundered, perhaps unsure as to why he was being asked to defend himself. "Well, _maybe_ , if it was Mendel, but that's only because he's ridiculous! I had to help him _open_ condiment bottles once—he told me he'd never used ketchup that wasn't served in a ramekin before!"

Astoria couldn't help it: she let out a horrified laugh, this time too loudly.

Quickly seizing control before they were spotted, Tracey leaned forward and rapped on the glass with her knuckles.

All three heads turned toward them in surprise, but Theodore jolted the hardest, entirely busted at his loose-lipped prattling. Tracey dropped the compartment a swift, sassy salute, grabbed Astoria and yanked.

"What a harpy!" Tracey cried, nearly tripping over Goyle's massive feet. "Oh, _she's_ going to have to _go!_ "

Privately, Astoria could not agree more, but it didn't seem like a good idea to say so. Tracey was clearly in a volatile mood and her last experience with meddling in Theodore's private life had been so nearly disastrous that it had thoroughly sapped her of a taste for it.

"Theodore will sort it out," Astoria insisted stonily, conscious of the fact that her cheeks were still stinging. _Silly, pretty girls always go for the rich boy..._

" _Please_!" Tracey bristled. "The nerve of her! We _made_ that friendship and we can bloody well end it—shrill _indeed_!"

"Yeah, well, I'd say you got off pretty lucky with shrill!" Astoria spat, unable to shake off the taint left behind by Padma's sly tirade.

"Oh, _yeah_ ," snorted Tracey sarcastically, "because _you_ only got to be the Greek Goddess—how _horrific_! What was that bit she said about you being Theodore's _mommy,_ though?"

It was a strange thing. In the entire week that had elapsed since the Third Task, Astoria had not managed to shed a single tear, not even in the privacy of her own bed. But now, incredibly, she could almost feel herself threatening to mist over, tears pricking at the backs of her eyes like needles.

This was not because she felt that Theodore hadn't done his part to stand up for her—in her rational mind, she _knew_ that he had offered up counterarguments for every bit of bile that Padma had spewed—but judging by Padma's level of comfort in speaking her mind, she _also_ knew that this could not have been the first time that Theodore had heard Padma speak badly of her.

Perhaps _that_ was even why Theodore had gone to such great lengths to hide his new friendship? It was _not_ because he didn't trust Astoria and Tracey to behave themselves, after all—Padma simply thought that they were scum.

Distantly though, even though she understand this, Astoria also knew that things kept hidden had an uncanny habit of taking on greater meaning than they deserved; of feeling more profound or true than the rest of the daily drivel. Perhaps Theo secretly enjoyed hearing his best friends be degraded for sport? They certainly _were_ almost unbearably catty with him at times...

"Dunno," Astoria returned thickly, blinking rapidly in the hopes that it might dismiss her spontaneously urge to cry.

"Who _cares_?" Draco scoffed, the least scorned by Padma's speech and therefore the quickest to dismiss it. "Did you hear her call him ' _Teddy_ '?"

Once acquired, Draco proved almost maddeningly difficult to lose. Armed with an exceptionally amusing topic to make fun of, he followed them all the way back to their compartment, hardly pausing for breath. It was hard not to wonder if there wasn't someone _else_ who might appreciate his humor more, but for the first time in a long while, he and Tracey seemed be entirely on the same page. Indeed, their wit ran long even without Astoria's participation, no matter how many times they glanced her questioningly.

When the train finally began to slow down for the approach to Kings Cross station, Draco rounded up Crabbe and Goyle to depart. Privately suspecting that he wanted a last sneer at Harry Potter, Astoria let out a breath she had not known she had been holding and finally gave herself over to peaceful promise of night in her own home with no one there to trouble her.

0o0

* * *

For those of you wondering how Astoria managed not to scald herself in that shower with the hot water cranked up to maximum, I'm gonna go out on a limb here and flat-out assume that the plumbing at Hogwarts is really third rate. I mean, come on, the pipes are wide enough for a dragon sized serpent to hang out in... and I'm not even going to get started on Moaning Myrtle. Also, side note: I'm beginning to understand why J.K. threw so many magical quirks into her bathrooms. Old plumbing is creaky and scary and I'm starting to think that it ALL might be haunted (ever heard a bathroom radiator hiss?).

On a more relevant note, I know this chapter was kind of chat-heavy (Realistic title? Gossip: A Drama in Five Scenes.). I think it tied up where everyone stands in the plot before summer, though, so at least there's that. Also, for Draco's sake, I think we can all agree that he needs to be removed from Hogwarts before he bullies his way into everyone's bad books.

And sorry about the penis jokes. The greek statues of old were some refined pieces of artwork, guys. If that's what your manhood actually looks like in real life and you're secretly wishing me dead right now for poking fun, just remember how gorgeous you are (and that it is never my intent to offend).

Hopefully I'll have the next chapter up within a week as well, but if it turns out to be two because of term finishing up, my apologies in advance!

Reviews never fail to make me smile!


	60. Dogs and Daffodils

Chapter Sixty

Dogs and Daffodils

* * *

0o0

Summer truly arrived over the next two days, ushering in the first scaldingly hot and vaporous dawn of the year. Tangled up in her bedsheets, Astoria rolled over and batted her groggy eyes at the sweltering mid-day sun, wishing she had thought to pull her curtains. Slanting beams of light crept across her pillows like hot fingers, conjuring up a thundering haze of brightness.

Damp with sweat and positively panting for a breeze, Astoria got up and shuffled across the floor to crack open the attic windows. At the first whisper of a draft, she combed her fingers through her tousled hair and tried to guess what time it was.

Astoria had done almost nothing but sleep since arriving at Belladonna's. Ensconced in a fort of pillows, she had paid no notice to the improving weather for almost forty eight hours.

Already, she could sense a vast improvement in her mood, as though a pressure had been released from her chest by means of a secret vent while she slumbered. Covered in a damp sheen and looking positively bedraggled, it was still the best that she had felt in ages.

Blundering about her bathroom in a rosy haze, Astoria made quick work of bathing and dressing herself. Outside, the balmy heat continued to work its magic. Floating up toward the roof on tufts of gentle scent from the gardens, the air seemed to caress her skin; an invisible wardrobe of sensation that only she could see or feel. Shimmying into a white sundress without resenting the color—a first since joining the Sisters of the Eastern Star—she brushed out her hair and left her face bare.

Breakfast was already laid out in the dining room when Astoria reached the first floor. Tea _and_ a silver coffee service had been produced, as had two or three trays of various muffins and fruit salads. Feeling that this was eating a bit rich for her aunt, who did not typically take a meal before luncheon, Astoria seized a china cup and filled it to the brim.

Perhaps Belladonna had misinterpreted Astoria's dedication to bed-rest as a sign of depression? If so, the attempt to lure her downstairs with food was appreciated.

Sampling the coffee, Astoria chose a plum that she liked the look of and ambled off to collect her mail from the table in the hall.

There was more post than she had been expecting: at least half a dozen letters lay waiting for her, all addressed by hand. Assuming that most of them had been penned by Theodore—no doubt reprimanding her for spying on him during the train ride home—Astoria tucked the stack under her arm and continued toward the sitting room, which had the best natural light in the morning.

"Darling, you're awake!" cried Belladonna, giving the extreme impression of a frightful sixth sense as she materialized near the bottom of the stairs. "How grand!"

Suspecting that Bonky had tipped her off, Astoria took a bite out of her plum and surveyed Belladonna's face. It was clear that her aunt was delighted to find Astoria dressed and conscious, which meant that she was probably _also_ eager for a word.

"Morning, Auntie!" Astoria slurred through a mouthful of fruity juice.

" _Afternoon_ , really," Belladonna corrected, signaling for Bonky to fetch her a cup as well. "But, as you've been sleeping for days, I suppose it's hard for you to tell the difference."

Normally, this might have provoked Astoria into saying something sharp, but she was in far too good a mood to allow weak criticism to bother her very much.

"Have Bonky bring the fruit with him," Astoria murmured, subtly licking her fingers. "It's incredible."

"Almost chipper, too," observed Belladonna wryly. "Don't you know its faintly un-patriotic to be so lively before noon? Or have the foreigners been rubbing off on you?"

Astoria dismissed this for what it truly was—the patently ridiculous—and snagged a pear from Bonky's bowl before he could refuse to serve it to her.

"You seem to be in a good mood yourself," Astoria noted. "What is it? What's happened? You can't be on about the scandal at the Third Task?"

"No, but I expect to know more about that later," Belladonna confessed, accepting a cup and saucer from Bonky. "Actually, I was thinking of how masterfully you seem to have handled your father. He's been writing to me for days—the most delightfully condescending letters, too! Nattering on about how starved you are for a proper holiday and how he—gallant hero that his is—intends to sweep in and save you."

"Oh," Astoria remarked foolishly. "Is that all?"

"Quite," Belladonna purred, looking like the cat who got the cream as she stirred sugar into her tea. "Of course, he wants to claim you as soon as this Thursday, but I've put him off until the weekend..."

" _What?_ " Astoria choked. She had just gotten used to sleeping in and lounging about undisturbed. The idea that she should be cut off from all relaxation before she was really and truly ready was a sobering thought indeed.

"Mhmm," confirmed Belladonna. "Everyone is jumping ship this season—your father is no exception. He's sewed himself into Malfoy's pocket, only no one wants their gold in Diagon Alley at the moment. Not given the current—" Belladonna searched for the right wording, "—social _climate_."

"Climate of _fear,_ you mean?" demanded Astoria bitterly. "Why should the Malfoys care? The papers aren't reporting anything about He Who Must Not Be Named yet. Even if they _were_ , wouldn't all the old Death Eaters be happy about it?"

"Politically, perhaps," measured Belladonna carefully, "but I shouldn't think _financially_. Reform has a tendency to arrive on the wings of war, darling, and war is not often kind to fair fortune."

"What's that supposed to mean?" returned Astoria, discomfort lending her tone a twinge of hostility.

"It means that _certain_ people—people in the _know_ —are scrambling to tie up their assets overseas before the path of violence leaves the shops barren," snorted Belladonna. "It was the same last time. If Cornelius Fudge had half the mind he thinks he's got, he might take a look around and notice that all of his popular clubs and supper parlors have suspicious vacancies through labor day."

Astoria mulled this over thoughtfully, unable to overlook the implication that—trivial though it was—Mr. Malfoy's increased presence on the continent significantly raised his son's chances of seeking out Maudlin before the summer was over.

"What about Draco's father's plans for the knotgrass?" pressed Astoria, immediately wishing that she had just said 'Lucius'. "Does this mean he'll leave you be now?"

"Oh, I doubt it," sighed Belladonna, curiously unfazed by the prospect. "Although I suppose it _does_ mean that Malfoy will be looking for his investors as far away from London as possible."

"Is _that_ why father is going to France?" demanded Astoria, beginning to see things with an aggrieved sense of clarity.

"Perhaps it wasn't before," admitted Belladonna, "but I suspect it is _now._ Which, I'm sorry to say, may put you right in the thick of things, darling."

"Why can't they just find another lake?" snapped Astoria, curiously resentful of her father's toadying. "Why does dad have to be so _aggravating_? I haven't lived with him since I was ten—surely he saved a penny on that! Is he really so greedy that he has to start to locking up his own family members?"

"It would seem so," returned Belladonna, smiling wanly. "Of course, it wouldn't entirely surprise me if Lucius chose that particular loch on purpose just to get my goat, so I suppose we mustn't blame the whole on George."

" _Auntie_ —" Astoria hesitated, narrowing her eyes in the direction of Belladonna's lovely face, "—why _does_ Lucius dislike you so much?"

Belladonna cleared her throat and ignored this.

"Of course, I've made _your_ excuses for lingering in the country a little longer, Astoria. The Rowles are having a farewell tea for Cassandra on Saturday. I thought we might look in on it."

" _Why?_ " Astoria exclaimed, loathe to be shunted into her father's care _and_ forced to endure a Rowle tea party in the same week.

"Because we need a reason to put off your traveling plans and the occasion suits our purpose brilliantly," returned Belladonna, her tone officially clipped. "And because, to be _quite_ frank, I think it right that we should attend. Especially now that Cassandra is of age and must give up her presidency for your chapter of the Sisterhood."

Appalled, Astoria opened her mouth to protest but Belladonna's eyes flashed warningly, halting her verbal explosion before it could detonate.

"Of course, I know _you_ don't want the position," Belladonna clarified, "but I do not think it would be unwise for you to see her again before she vanishes from the country altogether."

"You don't?" Astoria challenged incredulously. " _I_ certainly do."

" _Really_ , Astoria!" sighed Belladonna impatiently. "We haven't gone anywhere together in _ages_. Would it kill you to take a stroll through someone's garden with me?"

"You were at the Third Task!" Astoria blubbered, eager for Belladonna to see the inherent madness of her own plan. "That was less than a month ago—and it was _your_ idea for me to play the doting daughter! Isn't my father supposed to think we loathe each other?"

"I wouldn't say _loathe_ ," Belladonna countered evasively, flattening the trim of her dress. "In any case, we _have_ to go now—unless you would prefer for George to come crashing in to collect you tomorrow?"

"Alright, then!" Astoria let out an irritable breath but said nothing more, conceding to the prospect of tea if only to prevent herself from being removed from the country by force before she had time to pack. "But it's on your head. Cassandra's an unbearable hag. She won't be subtle on that score if she has to see me over a holiday."

"Oh, of course she hates you," sniffed Belladonna dismissively. "You have a mysterious claim over her beloved. What else can she do other than properly detest you?"

"Roland, you mean?" Astoria snorted. "I wouldn't say I've got any mysterious claims on that front."

"But of course you do," Belladonna tutted. "An inheritance is an inheritance, Astoria, and it has to go to one of you. You're a fool if you think Alistair and his weasel-son don't remember _that_ often enough."

"Are you admitting that you have something in common with the Yaxleys?" Astoria smirked.

Suspecting that Belladonna would run long, Astoria turned her attention toward her letters.

"Even a broken clock is bound to be right twice a day," Belladonna sniffed, her cup pausing tremulously at her lips. "For all his faults, Alistair is not stupid, which means that you are doing yourself no favors by continuing your spat with Cassandra Rowle. It's entirely possible that she may be of use to you someday."

"Pot calling the kettle black," Astoria murmured, frowning distractedly in the direction of her post. To her fearful surprise, every single letter, bar none, was addressed from Fred Weasley.

"What ever do you mean by that?" demanded Belladonna.

"Only that _you've_ been feuding with Seraphina Zabini since your school days," returned Astoria, doing her best to hide the flash of dread that Fred's hasty handwriting had just provoked. What could have happened to merit Fred writing _six_ letters in two days time?

" _That's_ different," Belladonna sniffed. "I've never needed anything from Seraphina—and if I ever _did_ , I've long since found a way around it. Your future is still very unsettled. Why you would give up a potentially powerful chess-piece in a game you have no assurances of winning is _beyond_ me."

Astoria tore open the oldest of Fred's letters, post-marked on the Saturday that she had arrived home.

 _Astoria,_

 _I hope you get this tonight. We've heard from Ragnuk. You, George and I need to pick a meeting place and have chat as soon as possible. It's not necessarily as bad as it sounds—but there's a clock ticking. Write back the the moment you can and give me an address. We'll come to you._

 _Fred_

Alarmed by the edginess in the _first_ of his six letters, Astoria slit open the next envelope and then the next, unsurprised to find that his messages grew steadily shorter and more dire as they progressed. Tearing into the final note—posted earlier that very morning—Astoria found a piece of parchment that bore no signature and only a single, dramatic sentence:

 _Respond or I'm coming to find you._

Officially flustered on two fronts, Astoria dropped the note into her lap and took a hard gulp of coffee.

Fred's insistence that _she_ pick the meeting place was problematic. Astoria did not have the daring (or the intestinal fortitude) to arrange a meeting with the Weasley's under Belladonna's roof. Nor could Astoria ask her friends to pop by her father's house—at least, not without drawing a suspicious level of notice from Daphne and Beatrice.

Where then? The Leaky Cauldron? People seemed to use that pub as a meeting place often enough...

"I'm going out for a bit," Astoria declared, gathering up the debris of her letters.

"I'm relived to hear it," returned Belladonna slyly. "I was beginning to fear that you were aspiring to become a shut-in."

Astoria resisted the temptation to roll her eyes, trying to focus on the problem at hand.

Fred would just have to wait another hour or two for her to come up with a plan, that was all. There was nothing else for it. She was leaving the country in less than a week; her first course of action should be to check in with Theodore. The longer she waited to settle her score with him, the more likely he was to fall under Padma's sway. With any luck, by the time Astoria returned home, she'd have come up with a brilliant plan to see the twins in private and all would be well again...

"I won't be gone long," Astoria called over her shoulder.

"Take as much time as you like," Belladonna returned. "I'm expected at the ladies auxiliary meeting for Saint Mungo's this afternoon. After that, I may stop over in London for a bit. Do you have a pair of smart gloves for Saturday?"

"Smart gloves?" Astoria repeated mistrustfully, flashing irresistibly back to the time that Cassandra Rowle had tricked Astoria into attending her pinning ceremony in a victorian dress. " _No_. Why?"

"I'll stop by Gladrags, then," Belladonna murmured, amending her mental to-do list to accommodate a suddenly pressing need for Dickensian formalwear.

"If Cassandra's made it sound as though I'll need gloves, you can leave off buying a pair," Astoria cautioned stoutly. "I've had my fill of that little C-U-Next-Teatime tricking me into marching over to her grandmother's townhouse dressed like a bloody Bennet!"

"Hmm?" returned Belladonna distractedly. "Oh, don't be ridiculous, darling. No one's still in London this time of year. They'll have the party at their estate in Dorset."

This was nowhere near enough reassurance to satisfy Astoria's suspicions, but the matter of appropriate hand-wear seemed like a trivial reason to start an argument. Gloves, after all, were very easy to remove if it came to it—even in public. Cassandra would not manage to fool her twice.

Backtracking all the way up to her room to dispose of Fred's letters in a more private rubbish bin, Astoria hunted for shoes and then turned her feet toward the storeroom fireplace.

The fact that her aunt would probably be gone all afternoon poked at her subconscious as she tossed floo powder into the grate. There was great, if _dangerous_ , potential in this.

If Astoria was really gutsy, she might manage to sneak Fred and George into the house without her aunt ever being the wiser... but Bonky would surely give her away for trying, wouldn't he? Lost in thought, Astoria stepped into the grate. The swirl-spark of flame promptly abandoned her to the cold, dusty silence of the Notts' front hall.

Brushing off soot, Astoria moved out of the fireplace just in time to receive a terrible shock.

 _BANG!_

The door to Mr. Nott's office flew open, shuddering from the force of a violent round-house kick.

"Ta-ra-ra-BOOM-de-ay!" sang Mr. Nott gleefully, coercing his long, thin legs into a weird little dance. "Ta-ra-ra—"

He froze mid-jig as he caught sight of Astoria. Unable to think of anything sharper to do, Astoria stared back at him in naked shock.

"He's outside," grunted Mr. Nott, mercifully deciding not to take Astoria to task for lingering in his hallway unannounced. "In the garden."

"Thank you," she squeaked, scampering out of the way. Astoria charged down the front steps, trying not to laugh when she heard Mr. Nott recommence his tune on the upstairs landing.

Outside, the lawn was as perfectly green as a fairy-tale illustration.

Still chortling, Astoria studied the surrounding luster. Here and there, budding, yellow daffodils poked up hopeful heads through the long grass. Remnants of a once greater garden that somebody else—for presumably Mr. Nott did not see to his grounds—had carefully planted in better times.

 _Theodore's mother_ , Astoria's mind whispered, coming to its own conclusion without any proof or assistance. A safe guess, however. When it came to the origin of any detail that went unremarked upon in the Notts' home, the ghost of Mrs. Nott was almost always to blame.

Certain that Theodore would be lingering near the sunken garden as per-usual, Astoria quickly beat her way around the wild outcropping of rhododendrons and gained the pebbly, roughshod track. On a chipped metal bench up ahead, she soon spotted Theodore with a book. Half-hidden in the shadows of a scraggly lilac bush, he did not notice Astoria until she was nearly upon him.

"Oh!" he jolted, looking relived and exhilarated at once. He dropped his novel. "I didn't know you were coming over!"

"I've never needed an excuse to stop by before," countered Astoria uncomfortably, unable to shake the impression that Theodore appeared tightly-strung. Was he annoyed that she had dropped in? Or was he simply concerned that his father was practicing to perform on the stage?

"Of course not," Theo backtracked soothingly, moving over to make room for her.

Astoria hesitated for a fraction of a second. Theodore's smile was so encouraging, however, that she soon gave in and perched on the rusty metal arm of his seat.

"I thought you might have written to me by now," Astoria needled. "I've been sleeping all weekend, but I would have gotten up for you."

Even to her own ears, Astoria knew that she sounded a bit like an ignored relative, an awareness that only served to re-conjure Padma's rant. Tracey's words assaulted her memory: _What was that bit she said about you being Theodore's mommy?_

"It's only been two days," frowned Theodore. "I didn't really think—"

"No, of course not," Astoria grumbled, kicking out at the crumbling rock wall. "Force of habit, I guess. Whenever someone _else_ goes silent, it's usually because they're fomenting treachery."

Theodore chuckled.

"Although, if I _was_ waiting for a letter, it was probably because I thought you were put out with me," Astoria went on, glancing furtively at Theo's face.

Theodore's fingers tightened on his book. "Why?" he muttered hesitantly, pinching a dog-ear into the top of his page with unnecessary precision.

"Tracey and I were pretty annoying on the train," hinted Astoria. "It must have looked like we were spying on you..."

"Oh. Right. _That._ " Theodore let out a hollow laugh, his expression tense but resigned. "I mean, I'm not _mad_. You couldn't help where you were walking— _I_ should have come to find you earlier, anyway..."

Astoria held her breath, watching her half-planned hopes to complain about Padma's un-likability go up in smoke.

The idea of making Theodore cringe or feel responsible for Padma's bad-mouthing was uncomfortable enough. To do so when he obviously already felt guilty was unconscionable.

She had no right to, anyway, Astoria reminded herself—not when so many of her own friends were guilty of the same sort of slander. After all, what did Draco love more than a chance to make fun of Theodore? Even Fed and George had been know to make a rude comment from time to time. Theodore had never held _her_ accountable for _their_ loud mouths...

"Padma's certainly full of opinions," Astoria pointed out, allowing herself this one, weak observation.

"Well, she's in Ravenclaw," argued Theodore half-heartedly. "She sounds sharp from time to time, but she doesn't really _mean_ anything by it..."

"I've known _Slytherins_ with less bite," Astoria pointed out.

"Yeah," Theo conceded, rubbing the back of his neck. "That's probably true—she _wasn't_ in a very good mood on the train. How much did you hear, anyway?"

"Enough to know she doesn't like me very much," returned Astoria evenly. "But then, I suppose she doesn't really _have_ to."

"That's an exaggeration," scoffed Theodore, clearly uncomfortable with the idea of Astoria and Padma being at odds. "We haven't been friends very long—I probably talk about you too much."

"So what!" Astoria burst, aggravated by the illogic of this reasoning. "I've known Padma since we were kids—I mean, not _well_ , but I _saw_ her often enough. I don't know where she gets off making me sound like such a cow!"

"Oh, yeah," recalled Theo absently, furrowing his brow. "That's right, isn't it? She told me you weren't very nice to her as kids..."

" _What_?" Astoria snapped, properly incredulous now.

"Yeah," Theo pressed, sounding more certain. "She said that you and her sister used to run off and leave her behind."

"I—" _Ridiculous!_ Astoria bit her lip and rubbed her knee, smothering a surge of inner violence. "Are you _dating_ Padma, then?"

" _No_ ," Theodore huffed, just visibly flustered, "but aren't I allowed to have my _own_ friends? Or am I to check with you first?"

"You're allowed to have _friends_ , Theo," Astoria breathed, privately relived to hear that he was not Padma's boyfriend, even if she was a little ashamed to admit it to herself. "Only, it's just..."

"What?" Theodore groused.

"You don't think it's just a _little_ strange that she can't stand anyone you hang around with?" Astoria laid out carefully, afraid of coming across as bitter. "Your _female_ friends, especially?"

"I dunno," Theo mumbled, jerking his shoulders upward with a vulnerable little twitch. "Do _you_ think it's odd?"

Astoria hesitated, unsure how to respond. Truthfully, she did _not_ think that Padma's unnecessary sass was very likable. Then again, Astoria's opinion on the matter was almost certainly biased: Padma had essentially gotten away with ripping Astoria to pieces without ever having to pluck up the courage to say a word to her face. It was hard not to resent her for it.

"I'm not sure," Astoria finally admitted. "Not _especially_ odd, I suppose. Then again, people _love_ to tell me that I'm a controlling, stuck-up little brat, so maybe I don't have a leg to stand on."

"You're not like that," declared Theodore loyally, immediately dismissing the idea of Astoria's rudeness. "You're observant...and diligent. There's a difference. Padma would come around if she knew you better."

Astoria smiled sadly in the direction of the grass. She was sure that Theodore was somewhat wrong about this, but the vote of confidence was incredibly heartening anyway. So much so that, in the grand scheme of things, Astoria supposed she was prepared to forget about Padma. There were probably less than five people in the world who thought Astoria's personality left nothing to be desired, and Theodore was one of them.

"I caught your father dancing in the hall," Astoria smirked, deftly switching subjects before she could say anything to cause Theodore further distress.

"I figured you might've," admitted Theo, eyelashes fluttering with annoyance. "He's been at it all morning, playing that circus-ey vaudeville shite on the phonograph..."

"What's got him so giddy? The whiff of upheaval?" Astoria wondered, privately certain that Mr. Nott was capable of deriving pleasure from chaos.

"No," snorted Theodore, turning his scathing gaze heavenward. "He's finally got a special permit for that Augurey hunt he was so mad about."

Astoria's eyes shot back toward he house, swimming with amusement. Theodore's lips thinned, but it wasn't long before he let out a cough-like snicker of his own.

0o0

Astoria did not stay much longer. It was clear that Theodore might have preferred her company over his book, but Astoria could not seem keep her mind from wandering back to the twins. By the time the sun was fully above their heads, her sense of worry had become so pressing that she could no longer sit still.

"You're not leaving until _next_ week?" repeated Theodore, double checking her itinerary as he walked her back up the path to the house.

"My father is coming for me on Sunday," Astoria answered, shivering as she re-adjusted to the chilly hall. "You'll visit first, wont you?"

"When do you get back?" asked Theodore, preparing to keep her prison tally.

"I don't know," Astoria admitted. "August probably."

" _August_?" yelped Theodore, yanking the pot of floo powder he had been extending out reach again. "You're leaving for a _month_?"

"I think so, but Belladonna seems to think dad will be busy," insisted Astoria, intentionally doing her part _not_ to remind Theodore of George's recent business arrangement with Lucius. "Best guess says that I'll be staying almost exclusively with the Mendels, in which case you can expect me back soon enough. Lord knows I don't have the patience for four straight weeks of Maudlin."

"Who _does_?" grumbled Theodore darkly, relinquishing the floo-powder.

Astoria laughed and plucked a stray piece of lint from his shirt. "Visit me!" she called one last time before stepping into the flames.

Belladonna's front hall surged back up to meet her, echoing with the foreign sounds an unexplained commotion.

Immediately assuming the offensive—for even when her aunt _was_ home, outright skirmishes here were rare—Astoria swiveled toward the doors that led to the formal living room.

Half-shuttered, someone was kicking up a hotheaded fuss inside; Astoria could see their shadow pacing back and forth.

"You is not to be here when the mistress is out!" roared Bonky's voice, chasing the intruder around one of the couches. "You is NOT, YOU IS NOT!"

The was a rustle, a clunk and then—most ponderous of all—the sound of dog barking. Astoria shot across the entryway just in time to hear Fred yelp before barging in.

Inside the living room, George was sitting on one of Belladonna's dark-red couches, hands clasped nervously in his lap. At his feet, a great black dog had fallen into a growling crouch to defend Fred, who was standing in front of the patio doors with one hand pressed against his forehead, presumably because he had been struck there by a blunt object.

Astoria directed her eyes toward the carpet and located Bonky, clutching a suspiciously heavy looking paperweight and positively frothing.

"What's going on?" demanded Astoria, as put-out as she was flabbergasted.

"They is not to be visiting while the mistress is out!" screeched Bonky, gesticulating with the paperweight. "I is telling them to leave, but they is not going!"

"That's enough, Bonky!" Astoria snapped, putting two and two together well enough to surmise that Fred had been assaulted for his refusal to call again later. "Put that back where it belongs and get out!"

Bonky shot Astoria a mutinous look but did as she said, resentfully returning the paperweight to an end-table before shuffling out into the hall.

"Close the door behind you!" Astoria hollered after him, not wishing to be overheard.

"Bloody hell!" swore Fred, testing his face gingerly. A bump the size of a quail egg was already beginning to swell up near his hairline. "I always wondered what it would be like to own a house-elf. Thank _God_ dad is poor—"

"Fred!" Astoria hissed. "What are you _doing_ here?"

"I told you I was going to find you, didn't I?" demanded Fred. "Why haven't you been responding to any of my letters?"

"I was sleeping!" Astoria exclaimed, alive to the fresh wonder of Fred's presence in Belladonna's favorite lounging area. "I only checked the mail this morning!"

"What, did you get the _vapors_?" snorted Fred incredulously. "How many people can sleep for two _whole_ days straight?"

"Alright, alright!" Astoria grinned. "Just sit down! Do you want ice for your head?"

Now that the twins had seen Bonky (or rather, he had seen them), there could be no hiding their visit from Belladonna. If they were already here, Astoria could see no reason why she shouldn't make the best of it.

"Not if that _thing_ has to come back to serve it!" scoffed Fred, sinking down onto the sofa beside his brother. "One more wallop and I might pass out..."

"And serve him right, it would!" muttered Bonky from his hiding spot behind the door. "Blood-traitors in my mistresses chambers! The shame, the _shame_!"

Gritting her teeth, Astoria pulled on the handle and swiped for Bonky's tea towel. He was too fast for her. With a loud _pop!_ Bonky vanished into thin air.

"Sorry about that," Astoria grumbled, closing the door herself this time. "If it makes you feel any better, he'll barely serve _me_."

Fred and George both stared at her in silence, unnerved. Even the dog had ceased his growling.

"He deserved it!" Astoria snapped defensively, feeling a blush rise in her cheeks.

"Sorry," Fred muttered, breaking out of his trance. "You just reminded me of...someone."

"How did you two find me, anyway?" wondered Astoria, getting right down to business. Sandwiched together between the Tiffany lamp and her great uncle's sketch book of English birds, their faces were downright unnerving.

"We got your address from Percy," explained George, reaching out to rest a hand on the dog's massive head.

"Which wasn't easy," sniped Fred, betraying a hint of petulance. "Percy and Dad have had a massive row. The silly git's not speaking to any of us. I had to _beg_ him for help. He's easier to get ahold of at work. Thankfully, we've been staying in London—"

Unprovoked, the dog let out a loud yip and Fred fell silent.

"You never told us you live with Belladonna Lestrange," murmured George, fidgeting with the clasp of a decorative scrimshaw box. His brow rumpled with child-like fascination as it popped open to reveal a set of gilded coasters.

At the mention of her aunt's name, the dog—a black Scottish Deerhound, perhaps?—stood up, let out soft, anxious growl and began to pace the carpet again.

" _Easy_ , Snuffles..." cautioned George soothingly.

"I never mentioned it?" returned Astoria evasively, too uncomfortable to pay much attention to the dog's weird behavior. "Well, she's off at a charity luncheon, anyway, so we have the house to ourselves."

"Charity, eh?" grumbled Fred, surveying the room's finishings with an almost accusatory eye. "It's a wonder she doesn't just sponsor _us_. I don't know why you were so worried when we only owed Ragnuk a grand or so. You _obviously_ could have paid if it had come to it..."

George cleared his throat, perhaps feeling that his brother's comment had been in bad taste. Astoria, for her part, could not help but feel a little angry.

While it was true that Belladonna's house was quite lovely (in truth, it was not even properly grand, but she could see how _Fred_ might miss the nuance) it had also come down as an inheritance. The building and the antiques it contained were both historically valuable and worth a fair amount, but they had not been backed by actual fortune since her uncles had been imprisoned.

Belladonna was _not_ poor, but her home was worth more than she was. If asked to pay off Astoria's outstanding goblin debt at a moment's notice, she would surely be forced to an auctioneers block to do so. Astoria highly doubted Belladonna's Gringotts vault could comfortably cover such a large sum at once, nor was she inclined to ever test her theory.

Fred did not know this, of course. Astoria could have more easily forgiven his lack of understanding, but his arrogance was downright aggravating.

"When is she getting back?" asked George, noticing that the dog was staring at Astoria with an almost human-like level of sentience and giving it a covert poke.

"Not before dinner, I expect," answered Astoria stiffly, dropping to her knees. " _Here_ , puppy, puppy... Snuffles, was it?"

The dog squinted, studying her with dark, intelligent eyes.

"We've had a note from Ragnuk," continued Fred, distracting her before she could examine Snuffles further. "We've heard some things _about_ him, too, come to think of it."

"Tell me what's going on, I'm listening," Astoria breathed. "Just keep your voice down. That elf is part pit bull, but he _loves_ my aunt—he'll report anything he hears back to her."

"For a start, the idiot took some bloody _big_ bets," said Fred. "Not just with us, either. He was as bad as Bagman, throwing numbers around without being able to back them up."

"I heard something like that, too," Astoria conceded, thinking of her conversation with Marcus Flint in the spring. "I didn't know what to make of it, really..."

"Yeah, well, get _this_ ," continued Fred restlessly. "Ragnuk lost both of his biggest bets the same way—because Harry and Cedric both tied for first place instead of one of them winning outright."

" _We_ were obviously betting on Harry," said George, "but it turns out that Ragnuk was betting on Harry too, only with his other client. Do you follow?"

"I think so," said Astoria thoughtfully. "You're saying that the reason he owes us money is the same reason that someone else owes _him_ gold?"

"Bingo," rejoined George, "which is why we reckon he isn't paying us. The whole thing is a stalemate. But see, Fred has this idea—"

"—I think it might be possible to get our money if we can convince the other person Ragnuk lost to that _Harry_ technically won," finished Fred.

"But wouldn't that mean that Ragnuk would just end up paying us instead of them?" Astoria asked, her face twisting as she fought to process these details. "You're saying we should convince someone else to lose in order to let us win?"

"Well, yes," admitted Fred slowly. "Basically what it boils down to is that _someone_ is going to get screwed here: us, Ragnuk, or his other client."

"And why would someone else want to give up their winnings?" Astoria tutted.

"They probably _won't_ , but Ragnuk says he won't pay us otherwise," explained Fred. "The only way our claim has real legitimacy is if we can make Harry the 'official' winner of the tournament—and get Ragnuk out of his other deal."

"The plot thickens," Astoria murmured doubtfully. "Do you know who else Ragnuk owes all this money to?"

"Yeah," confirmed George. "That's the other part. Oliver Wood reckons it's some bloke over at the ministry— _Rowle_?"

"You're _kidding!_ " Astoria burst. "Thorfinn Rowle, you mean? Cassandra's uncle?"

"Must be," Fred shrugged. "How many people have you ever met called 'Thorfinn'?"

Astoria raised a hand to her face, positively overcome with unexpected glee. "You're absolutely _sure_? How does Oliver know?"

"Sure as we _can_ be," shrugged Fred. "Wood heard it from the old Slytherin seeker—Terrence Hibbs, remember him? Anyway, Terrence works for a bloke called Roland Yaxley now. Yaxley must know Rowle, because the whole thing trickled down through him. Wood's not the type to lie about that sort of thing—I reckon he's got the measure of it."

It was all Astoria could do to keep from cackling. The whole scenario defined 'grapevine gossip', but every bit of it added up so perfectly that it could _only_ be true...

"What?" floundered Fred, confused by her expression of wild joy.

"Throfinn Rowle works with _Hodrod_ ," Astoria breathed, remembering Flint's warning on the balcony in London: _Hodrod is practically funded by old man Rowle. I'm serious, he told me so himself._

"Cant be," scoffed George. "Hodrod and Ragnuk are the worst kind of rivals, _you_ know that. He'd never have made a bet against him. You must have heard wrong."

"I don't think so," Astoria insisted, practically light-headed with victory. "Rowle and Hodrod were _definitely_ business partners during the tournament. I heard it firsthand."

"What are we supposed to make of _that_?" frowned George. "This whole thing is so complicated it needs a flow-chart..."

"I think it means that Ragnuk owes us and _Hodrod_ money," Astoria breathed, aghast.

All three of them fell into charged silence as they pondered the implication of this unexpected twist.

" _Never!_ " drawled Fred, brightening considerably. "If that's true, Ragnuk's band of lunatics _doesn't_ know about it. They'd have had him murdered—remember that time the whole lot of them hissed just because I said Hodrod's _name_?"

"I guess that would explain why Ragnuk would rather pay _us_ the gold," murmured George.

" _Oh_ , definitely," Astoria agreed dangerously. "If it's true, we've got Ragnuk by his dwarfy little britches."

"What about Rowle, though?" prompted George. "Have you ever met him? Do you think he's the type that might waive Ragnuk's debt?"

"No idea," Astoria admitted, privately feeling that, if Thorfinn was anything like Cassandra, the chances of this were slim to none. "I'll snoop around, though. See what I can find out."

"Your aunt probably knows him," suggested Fred, eyeing the decorative box. "You could always try to work him into a conversation."

Astoria smirked, resenting her weekend engagement somewhat less. "I think I can do better than that."

0o0

Quite apart from what Astoria had been expecting, Saturday morning arrived dark and overcast. A heavy lavender sky smelling strongly of lilacs loomed overhead, electric with the promise of rain.

This moody weather could not have come at a better time. All week, Astoria and Belladonna had been getting up at the crack of dawn, circling each other irritably to keep from melting. Now that the humidity had broken, Astoria was content to take a break from their routine. For most of the morning she lingered on the third floor, almost certain that Mrs. Rowle's tea would be cancelled.

But it was not to be. At nine thirty, Bonky arrived to bang on her bedroom wall, shouting Belladonna's messages through the keyhole.

"You is to be ready by noon!" he croaked threateningly. "My mistress will not be kept waiting by a lazy niece!"

Opening her closet, Astoria listened to him mutter and rave without responding, plotting her own scheme instead.

It did not seem wise to question Mr. Rowle directly about his gambling; at least, not _yet_. The best scenario she could imagine was one that would allow her to sit back, observe and maybe—if she was lucky—sneak in a private word with Marcus Flint should he happen to be there.

The wild chirping of the birds and crickets began to taper off as she finished her makeup, hushing for the oncoming storm.

Giving her side-swept bun a final pat, Astoria doubled checked the pearl buttons on the front of her dress. Sleeveless, flawlessly tailored and prim-looking, it was an outfit designed to make other people feel messy by comparison—a style Belladonna had long ago mastered—and one that Astoria wore well but uneasily. Perhaps because of this, the gloves became her favorite detail the moment she removed them from their packaging. Made out of white kid-leather, they fastened at her wrists by tiny golden clasps; more fairytale than butler.

Slamming her windows shut for the first time all season, Astoria proceeded downstairs. Here, it became clear that Belladonna's irritation remained unassuaged by the drop in temperature.

"Pay particular attention to Mrs. Rowle," she commanded, swooping in to nervously fasten a fly-away on Astoria's head. "Cassandra can scorn you all she likes, but by earning her aunt's favor, you'll soon make her desperate."

"I _know_ ," Astoria insisted, stubbornly re-loosening the lock of hair.

"No more than three sandwiches, either!" Belladonna went on, covering all of her cautionary bases. "This isn't the time or the place to exhibit a lack of control. Remember Foucault: _Inspection functions ceaselessly. The gaze is alert everywhere."_

"Oh, for God's _sake_ , I'll eat what I like!" Astoria sniped, ducking under her aunt's arm toward the fireplace.

"So be it then!" Belladonna countered hotly. "If the fear of judgment can't stop you from glutting yourself, nothing will! When you start to look like your sister I'll have no sympathy for you!"

"What's wrong with Daphne?" Astoria scowled, feeling that Belladonna's dig hit well below the belt. "She walks for fun! She's _fit_!"

"If _you_ say so, darling," sneered Belladonna, somehow coming across as even more savagely patronizing than usual, "but I'd say that poor girl is _à la limite_ on the best of days! No one takes the time to prune her!"

It was a rare thing to see Belladonna so worked up, particularly in the absence of a crisis. What was _wrong_ with her? Astoria held back, afraid of inflaming an already foul mood. Was it the prospect of seeing so many persnickety women that was eating at her?

"Oh, and _speaking_ of self control," Belladonna continued dangerously, eyes sliding toward Astoria again, "I'm in no mood to humor your indulgences. If I catch you with anything stronger than tea in your hand, I'll break the offending fingers. Do you _understand_ me?"

"Perfectly!" spat Astoria who, despite have no intentions of drinking, could not help but chafe violently. "You're fine with me raiding the liquor cabinet when you're out of town, but it's _not_ alright when you think the Rowles might see—"

"If I catch one whiff of Pimms, you'll wish you had never been born!" snarled Belladonna, tossing a pinch of powder into the fire. "I won't have you napping before dinner!"

Seething, Astoria followed Belladonna through grate and out into a wide hall of cream-colored marble that rose into a tall vaulted ceiling. Catching sight of her image in a gilded mirror on the wall, Astoria hastily tried to wipe the sneer off of her face.

It was lighter here, but the storm was still rolling in; Astoria could see its grape-colored hulk crowding the horizon through the tall french windows. Lower down, a long, immaculate lawn rolled seamlessly into the distance, ending in the hedgerows of an old-fashioned maze that obscured any further view from sight.

The far off cry of seagulls offered a better locational clue, speaking of a proximity to the ocean. Backed up by the briny-sweet smell of surf mixed in with the scent of the fresh cut lawn, Astoria guessed that they were very near a beach. Carried in on a static breeze, this tempestuous air seemed to sweep away any trace body heat.

The marble hall soon gave way to a set of very stately sitting rooms. Lavishly decorated and draped in yellow, everything—from the rug to the sofa upholstery—was either spangled with blue and white flowers or adorned with a tassel, creating the strange impression of a cabinet lined with fine porcelain. To accommodate the promise of oncoming rain, tea had been laid out on a table facing the terrace. Here and there, women in pastel dresses laughed lightly and dabbed at their faces with white napkins; a chilly, serene frame of unwelcoming perfection.

This was the kind of place where a record of society's bad behavior was curated and stored. Astoria finally began to sympathize with her aunt's state of heightened tension. Belladonna had been quite right about the gloves: they were not Cassandra's idea of childish trap, they were requisite. Every female Astoria could see was wearing a pair.

" _There_ it is," murmured Belladonna smugly, catching the look on Astoria's face. "I'm going to find Mrs. Rowle. You're always clever, but try to be _charming_."

"Uhuh," Astoria mumbled, sensing that if she did not move soon, she would run the risk of being intimidated...

"And don't forget—I'm _not_ your father," Belladonna added in a threatening undertone. " _I'll_ be watching."

Belladonna cut away, moving further down the yellow room. Unsure what else to do with herself, Astoria slunk through the foreign and unfriendly crowd toward the tea service.

 _Why_ — _oh why_ —hadn't she had thought to include Tracey on their invitation? Since her induction into the sisterhood, Astoria hadn't attended a single one of these functions on her own. Without Tracey, she had no idea who to talk to; Cassandra didn't like her and half of the company was old enough to be her grandparents.

A city of tiered cake-stands cluttered the tea table's surface. There were carrot and raisin sandwiches, salmon club points, crab cakes and a decidedly soggy looking avocado on rye. Mountains of scones held sentry further down: walnut, cherry and lemon drizzle, all lashed with jam. Pots of clotted cream and fragrant strawberry conserve glittered in the purpling light, each bowl pierced by a tiny silver spoon like an arrow through the heart.

Astoria took it all in with a surprisingly hollow stomach, too self-conscious to take much interest in pastries, petit fours or biscuits. She seized a napkin anyway, however, eager to linger as long as she could.

Mrs. Rowle's selection of tea was no less impressive than the lunch, boasting pots of earl grey, peppermint, camomile and three separate breakfast blends. Pouring out a measure of something herbal, Astoria glanced at the forbidden sloe-gin royales and jewel bright mimosas, filled with a sudden, mischievous longing. A pitcher of iced-tea squatted behind a plate of ginger wafers; its card confirmed that it was indeed laced with about a galleon of the offending Pimms.

Shrill, familiar laughter drew Astoria gaze back toward the living room. The tell-tale wail had come from Pansy Parkinson. Lounging on the end of Blaise Zabini's buttercream-colored couch, she appeared as excitable as always. And in the middle of their circle, gesturing with a coveted gin cocktail, was Draco Malfoy.

 _Fucking damnit._

Astoria's brain sparked and ignited. Belladonna had made it sound as though Lucius had already left the country—what was Draco _doing_ here? Astoria hadn't even considered the possibility of running into him because she had not known that the threat existed.

A quick scan of the immediate rooms told her that Lucius was not to be found in any of them. Perhaps Draco and his mother had lingered behind for Cassandra's departure? It made sense: they _were_ related, and this was really more of a ladies event... Draco broke off in the middle of his joke, eyes dancing lazily toward the cake stands, where they caught on Astoria and sharpened.

Gritting her teeth, Astoria splashed more tea into her cup and pretended she hadn't noticed him.

"Astoria!" squealed a voice nearer at hand.

It was Katherine MacDougal, dressed in such a cacophony of frilly layers that Astoria almost wondered if _she_ had replaced Astoria as Cassandra's newest mark.

"Kitty," Astoria murmured, busying herself with the tea.

Under different circumstances, Katherine's enthusiasm might have been enough to tempt Astoria into latching on. Surely following Kitty about was better than standing alone like a dolt? Today, however, Katherine MacDougal was a one way ticket into Pansy's circle. The sooner Astoria was rid of her, the better...

"Can you believe Cassandra won't be coming back next year?" prattled Kitty, helping herself to a tall stack of wafers that Belladonna would _not_ have approved of.

"I—"

Kitty threaded her arm through Astoria's—something she had never done before in her life—and began to pull her away from the table.

"I really think she was so _good_ about Tony at her last party!" Kitty continued. "Cassandra knew it was all that wretched Patil girl's fault— _you_ remember. Lord, sometimes I forget that Cassandra didn't always go to Hogwarts."

"Mhmm," Astoria agreed, realizing that resistance was futile. "I know exactly what you mean. Ten minutes alone with her feels like an eternity."

"So true!" trilled Kitty, thoroughly missing Astoria's point.

"Careful, Greengrass," called Draco loudly. "Someone might think you're trying for an insult."

Draco had been watching them covertly, but he broke formation to lean over the edge of his chair now, eager to catch their attention before Kitty barreled past. On the couch, Pansy turned toward Flora and let out a low-key, long suffering sigh. Flora giggled, smothering the sound with her gloved hand.

"I didn't think _you'd_ show up here, Greengrass," leered Blaise, noticing Astoria at last. "Shame you didn't bring Davis with you..."

"Belladonna's idea, obviously," returned Astoria stonily, unwilling to listen to Blaise talk about Tracey.

"Draco!" called Pansy, already tired of allowing Astoria to be the center of attention. "Cassandra wants your mother to tell her when Mrs. Tipman arrives."

Draco shrugged.

"Tippy's coming, is she?" Astoria murmured, half tempted to guffaw. In truth, Astoria had not seen the woman in years, but she could not imagine time had improved her.

"Of course she is," sniffed Pansy triumphantly. "She's here to meet Cassandra. _Nervous,_ are you?"

"Not really," sneered Astoria, making no effort to be overly civil.

"You don't like Mrs. Tippman?" asked Kitty, all surprise. "I've always thought she was a darling!"

"Astoria certainly doesn't feel that way," insisted Pansy triumphantly, "she _shot_ someone in front of her."

"I— _what_?" mouthed Kitty uncertainly.

"Yeah, _yeah_ ," said Draco dismissively, already bored. "Everyone's _heard_ that story, Pansy."

Pansy tapered off at once and it took all of Astoria's years of accumulated dislike not to feel a little bit sorry for her.

"I wonder what _she'll_ make of the tragedy at the Tournament," Pansy mused. Her eyes darted sidelong toward Draco, no doubt keen to hear what he had to say.

"That's easy enough—just take a look at whoever she shows up with," snorted Astoria, not wanting to listen to Malfoy go on about the Third Task again.

"Why should _that_ matter?" snapped Pansy.

"Everyone knows Tippy hates owning up to her own opinions," Astoria explained scornfully. "She'll bring someone else along to say them for her. She _always_ does."

"Sounds to _me_ like you don't know what you're talking about," sniffed Pansy. "That woman single-handedly runs half of the charities in England, Astoria. You're really going to sit here and say that she's _hostile_?"

"She _is_ hostile—and _boring_ ," Astoria clapped back. "Those charities are the only thing she _does_ like to talk about."

Malfoy snorted, torn between siding with Pansy's more traditional opinion and Astoria's decidedly funnier desire to lampoon.

"Look!" declared Pansy, gesturing toward the marble entryway. "There she is now and she's with _your_ mother, Flora. Let's go meet them."

Pansy shot Astoria what she probably imagined was a silencing glance and dragged Flora up off the couch.

"Hah," Astoria chuckled darkly, enjoying the image of Alectra Carrow in villainous storm-light. "It'll be the _guillotine_ , then..." As if on cue, the first clap of thunder rumbled overhead. Draco shot Astoria an impressed look, perhaps suspecting that she had somehow summoned it.

"Aren't you forgetting _your_ mother, Draco?" asked Blaise, re-interjecting himself. "Didn't Cassandra want you to find her?"

"Cassandra can do it herself," scoffed Draco, propping his drink up on his knee. "It's not my job to do _her_ grunt work."

Astoria took a small sip of her luke-warm tea, wondering if she ought to slip away while the getting was good. The only trouble was, there did not seem to be any other place for her to go—almost everyone in the room outranked her by age and importance. On top of that, Draco seemed to be the only one keen to break away from a cliquey conversation long enough to make eye contact with her.

Without Tracey, Theodore or the cadre of Beauxbatons students she had grown to depend on, Astoria's odds of getting through the afternoon without embarrassing her aunt depended heavily on her ability to fit in. As long as Pansy was around, Katherine was a poor mark—she didn't have the force of will to withstand an attack. But _Draco_...

"Drinking _tea_ , Greengrass?" leered Blaise, carelessly switching targets. "What's the matter, afraid of offending Tippy again by going for the hard stuff?"

"I've been banned from the bar," answered Astoria, ignoring the fact that it was barely one o'clock and _her_ choice of beverage was by far the more acceptable one. "My aunt made that perfectly clear. I think she's trying to strike a difference between herself and my father—the responsible guardian and the _bad_ _one_."

Draco laughed appreciatively, obviously thinking of the fight he had witnessed between George and Belladonna.

Biting her lip and trying not to draw any notice, Astoria casually leaned into the side of his chair. There could be no denying the fact that she was swimming in a sea of false-friends and disinterested elders. In all reality, the smartest thing to do was probably to stay exactly where she was. That way, at least, Belladonna would not be able to accuse her of refusing to socialize. If Mr. Rowle happened to draw near, all the better.

A house elf swooped by to collect Astoria's empty teacup. In response, Astoria reached out and slipped Draco's drink from his hand, stealing a covert sip. _Sorry, Auntie. I'm playing my odds._

"I'm surprised your mother didn't say the same, Draco," drawled Blaise, eyes trained mischievously on the rim of their now-shared glass. "I've never met anyone who hates a scene more than she does."

"That's because _your_ mother loves one," Astoria murmured, committing to her new plan with something close to relish. Kitty giggled haltingly, sensing that a dart had been thrown but too silly to know why.

"Yeah?" returned Blaise coldly. "What makes you think that?"

"Call it a sixth sense," Astoria smirked, returning the gin softly to Malfoy's hand.

" _Really_ ," drawled Draco, irresistibly smug. "Everyone knows your mother lives for theatrics, Blaise. There's no use playing offended. Besides—" he adjusted slightly in his seat, making sure that the hand his glass was in remained loose and prone on his armrest, "—I'm not stupid. No matter how many I have, I always tell my mother it was one. She _never_ notices."

"Why do I feel like your father doesn't buy that?" drawled Blaise, keen to pop a hole in Draco's 'cool-guy careless' act. "You toe the line with him."

"Do you often get drunk in front of your father, Draco?" asked Astoria challengingly. "I'm sure _I've_ never seen you do it."

Blaise's narrowed his eyes at her. This made twice now she had stood up for Draco, and it was enough to indicate that an angle was being played.

"Obviously _not_ ," sneered Draco, prickling.

Safe in the knowledge that she was too far behind Draco for him to see her, Astoria raised both of her hands to imitate little devil horns made a face at Blaise.

" _Tuh_ —" Blaise burst, choking unexplainably, unprepared for her childish outrageousness.

Astoria's vision swam with amusement, but Cassandra had come through to meet her guests so Astoria's attention shifted toward Tippy Tippman.

"Nonsense, you sweet thing—I'm very happy to meet you! Your aunt is a great favorite of mine!" Tippy boomed brusquely, flashing her thin, lifeless smile. "No, no, it was no bother at all! It takes more than a storm to keep me abed... but what a perfect opportunity to show off your lovely gardens—all gone to _waste!_ "

Tippy slapped her umbrella into Alectra Carrow's chest. Even from across the hall, Astoria thought she could see her mascara turning to goop. As long as Cassandra kept her sharp mouth in check, Tippy was going to positively love her.

"I've always abhorred _waste_ ," Tippy continued, ample bosom trembling at the thought. "Why don't you and Miss Parkinson take me for a quick stroll before the rain comes down? _You_ don't mind, Alectra?"

 _Yes,_ Astoria privately urged them, _go._

Cassandra ushered Tippy and Pansy toward the terrace and Astoria's whole body sagged with relief. If she was really lucky, the whole lot of them would end up drowned in the maze when the storm hit.

"What's wrong with _you_?" snapped Draco, reclaiming Astoria attention. Afraid she was being yelled at, it took a moment for her to realize that Blaise was the offender—he was still squinting at Astoria and Draco was rapidly losing patience with him.

Smothering a laugh, Astoria leaned forward until she was brushing against Draco's arm. _'You suck!'_ she mouthed gleefully, certain that Blaise would not be able to react without making himself look schizophrenic.

" _Merlin_ ," scoffed Blaise at last, letting out a delirious laugh, "there's nothing you love more than an icy pain in the ass, is there Malfoy?"

Tired of sparring, Blaise finished his iced tea. He stood up just as the first roar of rain came down; pitter-pats of water flecking the windows and whispering softly against the lush turf.

"I hope Cassandra doesn't get wet!" chirped Kitty brightly, moving aside so that Blaise could reach the tea service. "I'm sure she wishes she had one of those parasols from _my_ party right now..."

Astoria eyed the downpour as it thickened with sea mist outside the long panes of glass. Pansy and Cassandra would not stay outside long in _that_.

"Is Mr. Rowle here, Draco?" asked Astoria.

"Huh?" he grunted, still peering after Blaise suspiciously. "Yeah, I think so. He was with the Yaxleys earlier. Where are _you_ going?"

Astoria had regained her feet again. Draco's shoulders twitched instinctually, following the movement.

"I don't know," Astoria admitted, noticing for the first time that Belladonna had throughly disappeared. _You'll be watching, will you? What a load of rubbish..._

"It's kind of dark in here," observed Kitty. " _My_ party had perfect sun, you know."

"Are we close to the ocean?" asked Astoria, privately agreeing. All of the yellow couches and drapes were beginning to glow in the half-light—a surefire sign of early evening.

"Yeah, to the south," confirmed Draco, vacating his own seat. "You can see it from the library. Here, finish this, I'll get another."

He passed Astoria his glass. Glancing both ways like a common criminal, Astoria finished off the last two sips, praying that Belladonna would remain tied up in the woodwork.

" _Seriously?_ " Draco drawled, amused by her paranoia.

0o0

Kitty wanted to stroll, so Astoria joined her in taking a lap around the room, munching cookies off her napkin as they went. Quick to spot their aimlessness, Draco took it upon _himself_ to usher them around.

This turned out to be a blessing and a curse in equal measure; his presence legitimized them to the point that Astoria felt comfortable loitering near Mrs. Rowle's expensive antiques, but it also drew attention from withered octogenarians. Indeed, almost everyone who stopped them did so because of Draco. Narcissa was clearly a favorite among many of these aging dowagers, but Draco himself did not put much effort into charming them, so they rarely stayed long.

Draco was a pale comparison to Theodore in terms of a reliable safety net, but what he lacked in security, he more than made up for by shamelessly embracing the human love of gossip. Finally, after having reached the edge of every open room, they fell to loitering about in corners.

"Of course, the Runcorns and Orpingtons don't get on," he drawled, covertly passing Astoria his drink. "But then, Father doesn't think much of Runcorn either. They're only third generation purebloods, you know—I don't even think they've been around long enough to have a family tree."

"Didn't the Runcorns just have a baby?" asked Kitty, who seemed to have no interest in anything more scandalous or debasing than a wedding announcement.

"Yeah and they've named him something _preposterous_ ," Draco jeered. "Langhorne, maybe? Can you imagine— _Langhorne Runcorn_? I think I'd throw myself off a cliff."

Astoria laughed, verging on a state of precarious contentment.

"Of course, no one knows who his wife's people are—she's Irish I think," Draco went on, gesturing subtly toward the Runcorns, who were both present and standing with Alistair Yaxley. "Mrs. Yaxley seems to like her, though. Mother says the Yaxleys have been taking the Runcorns around to all the clubs."

"Alistair's wife likes anything _he_ tells her to," Astoria snorted, passing the glass back to Draco. "She's been with him for the money since day one."

"Oh, Astoria!" chided Kitty, a little uncomfortable spilling the tea on people who were obviously well-respected. "You don't know that! I think Alistair's rather handsome for a man of his age..."

" _Ugh_ ," Astoria scoffed, subconsciously taking on the mantle of her aunt's prejudice. "If that position didn't come with a salary, no one would apply for it! Yaxley's a regular dungeon master—I've never heard him string more than two sentences together."

"The way he speaks makes everything sound like a threatening question _,_ " added Draco delightedly.

"Oh God, he _does_ do that!" Astoria wheezed, replicating Yaxley's accent with chilling accuracy. "Astor-e-ahhhh?"

She had consumed too much gin, that much was becoming clear. If even Kitty, a natural born follower, was loosing sway, it was time to get her head on straight. Belladonna's annoyance was bad enough; the _last_ thing she needed was for Mrs. Rowle to decide that she had been a junior lush over brunch.

"What are you two laughing about?" demanded Blaise Zabini, reappearing around the other side of raised globe stand. "I can hear you snickering in the hall."

"Poor Mr. Yaxley!" tutted Kitty, almost relived to tattle. "They're being very arch. Astoria thinks his wife doesn't love him."

The bluntness of this pronouncement immediately pushed Draco over the edge again.

"Easy, tiger," jeered Blaise, conveniently positioning himself in a way that forced Astoria out onto the carpet. "Pansy and Cassandra have come in," he continued with a smirk. "Soaking wet of course, they got caught in the downpour. Tippman's on the verge of hysterics."

Kitty let out a wail of regret and immediately shot across the room, eager to towel off Pansy's ponytail.

"And she's off!" jeered Blaise, tracking Kitty's progress until she safely disappeared into the marble hall with a final flare of dress frill. "Well, I suppose I ought to check on mother. Poor thing—Belladonna found her _ages_ ago, Astoria."

A swift silence descended, filled with an awareness of the fact the she was alone with Draco for the first time since being attacked by Moody.

"I can't decide what I hate more," Astoria finally sighed, pushing away from the globe, "Blaise—or Kitty's dress?"

" _You_ were frilly for Cassandra's last party," Draco snorted, edging along the line of windows behind her.

"Somewhere between a mountain of tulle and self-truth lies the better part of decorum, Draco," Astoria cautioned, close to cracking herself up again. "Blaise was born an asshole, but Kitty _chose_ that dress."

A flash of forked lightning gutted the room, washing everything with electric brilliance.

"Keep walking," commanded Draco, urging her past the last window. "Through that door—there's a view of the water in there."

He took hold of a handle they had passed twice already and turned it. Astoria hesitated, wary of trespassing, but he held the door with his shoulder until she followed anyway.

Inside, a decidedly private-looking study of rich mahogany replaced the swaths of yellow silk. Bookshelves the size of walls loomed between the windows, twice as tall as Astoria and three times as wide. Beyond these windows—facing the opposite end of the house—was a view to rival a Cooke painting.

Waves the size of mountains crashed against white cliffs; salt water spray stuttered the air like clouds. And above, great forks of lightning formed varicose patterns against the wine colored sky. Mesmerized, Astoria crept forward, hoping that Draco's relative familiarity with the house would prevent anyone from becoming angry if they were caught.

"Have you ditched Nott yet?" asked Draco rather abruptly, slouching against a bookcase to watch her face.

"No," sighed Astoria, unable to tear her eyes off of the view, "and I'm not going to, either."

"I don't know why," Draco scoffed. "He's obviously decided to switch teams for Patil. You'd be better off dropping him now—chuck him before he can chuck you."

"No one's chucking anybody," returned Astoria, unsure what she had done to provoke so much unsolicited advice. "If he wants the Ravenclaws, that's his business. I'm not going to trick him into liking me best."

"Where does Nott gets off, anyway?" scoffed Draco, narrowing his eyes. "He was practically a leper before you took him on. He should be groveling for forgiveness, not off chasing an uppity bookworm."

"Do you think she's pretty?" asked Astoria, reminding herself irresistibly of Theodore's own line of questioning on the train.

" _No_ ," jeered Draco, "I think her teeth look like they've had a row."

Astoria choked on a mouthful of gin fizz, secretly well-pleased by this even if it was hilariously petty—and largely untrue; Padma was actually quite lovely and her teeth showed no signs of a struggle.

" _Liar_ ," said Astoria accusingly. "Padma's gorgeous—and even if she wasn't, she's Theodore's idea of clever."

"Sure, if he doesn't mind a shrill nag," sneered Draco. "Although I suppose that's what you get when you decide a Half-Blood is the prettiest in the year."

"Oh yeah?" quirked Astoria slowly, repressing a fat smirk. "Who _is_ the prettiest in the year, then?"

Draco's grey eyes twitched toward hers. "Are you _kidding_ ," he drawled, unable to mask his pink-faced amusement. "Fishing for compliments?"

When Astoria did not reply, he let out a loose scoff and reached for the drink, determined to escape by distraction. Astoria pulled the glass back, dangling it just out of reach.

"I suppose you want me to say you?" Draco tested

Astoria's smirk leveled up, evolving from mischievous to down-right evil. Arching her back slightly, she pulled the glass still higher.

It was the sort of thing that reinforced Padma's point of view, but she couldn't quite seem to care. Theodore would have been highly annoyed with her, of course, but Draco seemed to have more room for indulgence when it came to crimes of vanity.

"I could just take it from you," Draco observed softly.

"Think so?" Astoria taunted.

Draco feinted lazily, shoulder jerking forward, but Astoria's long-latent archery precision was more than enough to prevent the glass from ever touching his fingers.

Whip-crack fast, his other arm darted out, seizing Astoria by the opposite elbow. Unprepared and more than a little aware of her own ridiculousness, Astoria stumbled forward, giggling obnoxiously.

"Give it up, Greengrass," drawled Draco warmly, at this point managing control of both of her wrists.

"No!" Astoria declared through a peal of laughter, grabbing at his shirt. "Not until _I_ have been named the fairest of the year!"

Draco snorted gracelessly, swaying to keep Astoria from wriggling loose. She could feel his rapid and faintly excited breathing near her ear.

"Tell me I'm pretty," Astoria begged wickedly, standing up on her tip-toes to stop him from reclaiming the glass.

"Or _what_?" Draco drawled, fully pinning her free hand against her side.

"I'll bite you if you don't let go," Astoria smirked.

"Do it," scoffed Draco breathlessly, and while he undoubtedly meant this as a joke, there could be no missing the hint of a real offer in his tone.

" _Astoria_ ," cracked a cold, female voice.

She shot up straight so violently that Draco lost his grasp, overcorrecting the glass to stop herself from spilling on the floor. Pansy was standing in the doorway, her expression unreadable, her jaw very square.

"Your aunt is looking for you," she finished flatly.

0o0

* * *

I think I'm traveling for a bit over memorial day weekend (so sorry if this post is a little rough on editing), but otherwise, the next chapter should be up on schedule, guys!

Fast Notes:

1\. I enjoy Belladonna's presence more than I probably should (which is why she is rarely cast as an actual villain) but honestly, can we all agree not to take any diet tips from her? Please eat more than three finger sandwiches, friends!

2\. The Rowles' country home is sort of styled after Kingston Lacy house in Dorset. The real house is not near the water, but I did borrow the amazing gardens and the yellow interior. Feel free to look it up for real life peek if thats your thing!

2 1/2. I stole a Gossip Girl quote in this. I wish I were more ashamed.

3\. Next chapter will finish up the tea and send Astoria off on her travels.

Reviews are just the greatest!


	61. Foreign Currency

Chapter Sixty One

Foreign Currency

* * *

0o0

"Oh," grunted Astoria, scrambling to normalize—to minimize the moment. Of _all_ the people Belladonna could have picked to pass along a message! Why in the world had she selected Pansy?

Returning the glass to Draco's hand, Astoria moved toward the door. A strange and reactionary calm seemed to be controlling her limbs, hiding any visible signs of alarm. _How much of that had Pansy just seen?_

 _Enough,_ Astoria mind answered, unwilling to allow for any peace. Draco was Pansy's childhood obsession: her eyes were trained to spot a foreign slip of the hand, a brush against his shoulder—anything to indicate the presence of a threat. Surely Pansy had noticed that Draco talked about Astoria more than he should a long time ago; had perhaps even picked up on his habit of occasionally watching her?

Realistically, if _any_ tentative peace existed between Pansy and Astoria, it was almost completely owed to the fact that Astoria rarely displayed an active interest in anything Draco said or did. Now, for the first time, Astoria had been caught dangling herself like red-bottomed bait. It was a trivial difference to be sure, but one that she was certain would _not_ be overlooked.

Astoria flattened herself out and slipped sideways through the doorway (Pansy refused to move), burning under the ferocity of her glare.

The living room was just as it had been and Belladonna was still nowhere to be seen. Pushing up onto her tiptoes, Astoria searched for her aunt in vain. She was not on any of the yellow couches or loitering about near the tea service. Where else was there? The vaulted front hall?

On the other side of the tea service, the air was charged with a gust of fresh storm. Wet foot prints marked the marble floor, leading from the open veranda doors to the first floor lavatory. Astoria could hear Tippy's booming, rain-soaked hysterics echoing off the tiles on the other side, punctuated by Cassandra's frantic apologies. Meanwhile, in the far corner and keeping her distance from the sopping wet Sisters, Belladonna was conversing with Seraphina Zabini.

Spying covertly, Astoria stopped to pour out a measure of Earl Gray into a teacup. _Anything to mask the scent of four gin-fizzes..._

The only thing that could possibly make her aunt's duo look less inviting was the presence of Blaise, who was, of course, lingering at his mother's elbow like a smug cat. Blaise locked eyes with Astoria the moment she struck out to cross the hall and a cruel smirk tugged at his lips. _What_ _now?_

"Your niece," murmured Seraphina warningly, announcing Astoria's presence before she could sneak up from behind.

Belladonna shot an unprepared glance over her shoulder. "Darling!" she exclaimed in a tone of forced politeness. "I thought I'd lost you. Have you said hello to Mrs. Rowle?"

"No, not yet," Astoria admitted warily, disliking her new company almost as much as Belladonna's tone. The combination of her aunt's surprise and Blaise's leer was enough to keep her from saying anything more. It was clear that her aunt had _not_ been expecting her.

"Pansy said you were looking for me," Astoria tested, studying her aunt's reaction.

"Did she?" Belladonna mused disinterestedly. "How curious."

Astoria took this in, her intuition promptly suggesting Blaise as the primary candidate for treachery. Could he have sent Pansy after Astoria? No one else had known where she was. But _why_ would he bother to put so much energy into something so unnecessary?

"I'm sure she was just trying to break up Astoria and Draco," chuckled Blaise, gleefully confirming Astoria's suspicions. "Pansy's terribly insecure about that sort of thing—she's always been _mad_ about that boy."

Belladonna blinked. Her bored gaze flared to alertness again, registering something queer in Blaise's wording.

"She needn't have bothered," Astoria snapped coldly. "Draco _and_ Kitty were only catching me up on my gossip."

"But Kitty's in the loo," Blaise pointed out. His grin widened as he indicated the door behind which Tippy was flustering.

"I think she wanted to help Pansy dry off," Astoria shot back, prepared to throttle Blaise by his necktie if he tried to say anything misleading in front of Belladonna.

"That nearly fifteen minutes ago, though, wasn't it?" insisted Blaise, his voice taking on an airy, insinuating quality. "What _can_ you two have been doing since then?"

"Really, Blaise!" interrupted Seraphina. She let out a sparkling laugh that sounded like a glass breaking. "It sounds as though you're implying something _indecent_..."

Clearly, the memory of Astoria's rogue hand-fan had not yet been forgotten.

"I'm sure Astoria's behavior was perfectly appropriate, thank you," interjected Belladonna coldly. "I _know_ she wouldn't want any stories about her _difficult_ mouth being passed along to the Malfoys..."

"Oh, never!" agreed Blaise, all cruel delight, enjoying the way he had subtly taken control of the conversation. "But, of course, _that_ would never happen _would_ it, Astoria? The poor fop would probably let you strangle him without a peep."

"Really?" breathed Seraphina incredulously. "How strange! I've always observed the youngest Malfoy to be _quite_ a bit like his father _._ Very—" she searched for the right phrase, "— _self preserving_."

"Oh, mother, he typically is," drawled Blaise, drinking in Astoria's discomfort. "But, see, the trouble is, he absolutely _adores_ Astoria. I don't even think he _wants_ to—it's more that he can't help himself. He'd never tattle on _you_ , would he, Greengrass?"

"You sound like an idiot," Astoria snapped, conscious of the way that Belladonna's eyes were trained on her like a hawk.

"So humble!" Blaise chuckled leeringly. "You really are _too_ good."

"Only because I don't know what the hell you're talking about," Astoria sneered, swearing freely in the hopes of shutting the conversation down. "Telling stories to entertain _mommy_? Is that what this is?"

Seraphina inhaled, filling her chest with air; a posture that revealed a hint of the dragon-like nature hidden beneath her lovely features and splendid fashion sense. It took almost all of Astoria's grit not to flinch.

" _Astoria,_ " Belladonna's voice cracked out warningly.

"Nah," sneered Blaise, his amusement taking on an edge. "I'm only _suggesting_ that it's no mystery why Pansy keeps an eye on you—not when her favorite boy is so determined to follow you around like a love-sick puppy. You can't even deny it."

"I _really_ can," Astoria sneered, terribly aware of how tight Belladonna's gaze had become.

"Say, doesn't your dad _work_ for the Malfoys now?" Blaise continued softly, eyes narrowing until they were nothing more than toffee-colored lines. "Do they pay _you_ too—to place play nice with him, I mean?"

"That'll be about enough," ordered Belladonna, her voice ringing with such authority that even Blaise didn't dare contradict her. "Come, Astoria. It's time to say our goodbyes to Mrs. Rowle."

So angry she could spit, Astoria pivoted to troop off after her aunt. How had that just happened? Astoria had been so busy keeping an eye out for adult awkwardness that her classmates' behavior had barely even occurred to her. Who in the name of Merlin's _balls_ did Blaise think he was?

It was a distraction that she could not shake off. Moments later, when Astoria fell into a short curtsy for Mrs. Rowle, her head was still reeling.

There was no real damage done, she reminded herself. It was just a bit of foolish gossip...

Still, there could be no denying the fact that Blaise's speech would make things deucedly awkward for her when she got home. It was one thing to be fifteen and squirrelly about school-age crushes—that much anyone could forgive. But Belladonna and Lucius's Battle Of The Wits seemed capable of escalating this particular rumor to a level of discomfort.

Belladonna was already desperate enough to ask Astoria to spy on her own father, after all. What would happen if she took it into her head to obsess over what Blaise had said? Would she view Astoria's concealment as an act of treachery? Or _worse_ , would she treat it as an opening for a promising coup? Belladonna _loathed_ Lucius, but Astoria did not believe that it was beneath her dignity to dig for gold in his garden. Quite the opposite, in fact—Belladonna might cherish the opportunity even more because of the strength of her dislike.

Smiling robotically, Astoria watched her aunt say both of their goodbyes to Mrs. Rowle. Her interest in Thorfinn Rowle had officially slipped down the totem of her priorities to the point of non-existence. Fred and George would be so disappointed...

Astoria came-to with a snap, suddenly aware that both women were staring at her expectantly. Had they been talking to her?

"Yes, Mrs. Rowle," Astoria agreed, hoping this would suffice.

The guess was good enough. Mrs. Rowle smiled evenly and Astoria allowed herself to fall back into absorption.

She was just going to have to lie—cleverly and quickly. There was no other option. If Astoria didn't act fast, she would run the risk of being deployed by her aunt as some kind of sexed-up double agent.

 _Fucking Blaise._

Astoria was always _so_ careful about the way she discussed the Malfoys in front of her aunt, to the point of cradling the subject like a live bombshell. All of that effort! Years of care, now dashed to pieces by a little wanker who thought he had a God-given right to run his idiot mouth!

Astoria clenched her fists as she dropped into a final curtsey, clinging to her anger—so much cleaner and easier to deal with than her anxiety.

Tracey might still be willing to make Blaise's excuses, but Astoria was officially without sympathy. He had managed to make an enemy out of her, at long last. And if it was a fight Blaise Zabini wanted, she'd bloody well give him a war before they were through...

0o0

Belladonna's front hall was oppressively quiet upon re-entry; a blunt contrast to the Rowles breezy, vaulted chambers. Astoria lingered awkwardly near the hearth as Belladonna swept forward, overturning the letter opener to check the hall table for her afternoon post.

"I'm sorry if I disappointed you today," Astoria finally ventured, pulling off her gloves. Belladonna's silence was making her nervous. It seemed wiser to do something with her restless fingers...

"Are you?" returned Belladonna stonily, flicking through a pile of bills with shaky, irritated energy. "Why would that be, I wonder? Could it be because you behaved horribly?"

"It wasn't as bad as that!" Astoria argued, blushing slightly.

"I'm beginning to wonder if it's possible to bring you anywhere," Belladonna mused in a raw voice, nostrils flaring. "You're a regular pit-bull in a play park..."

"I _am_ sorry about the end. With the Zabinis," Astoria admitted shakily.

"Yes, what _did_ you do to provoke Seraphina?" demanded Belladonna, dropping the mail at last. "I wasn't aware that you two even socialized—apparently I was _mistaken_."

"I hit her son," explained Astoria quickly. "At the Third Task. She saw me do it."

Belladonna blinked balefully. This was clearly not what she had been expecting but her tongue did not remain tied for long.

"And _why_ would you have done something so stupid?" she snapped disbelievingly. "In public, no less? Good _God_ , are you _addled_?"

"You've _met_ them, have't you!" Astoria snorted. "As if _you've_ never wanted to bash Seraphina's head in!"

Belladonna made a violent gesture with both of her hands and then froze. She began to fish about in her robes and Astoria half wondered if she was reaching for her wand. Next moment however, the object of her desires—rather under-whelmingly—turned out to be a rattling tin full of powdery tablets. Popping what was either a mint or a hit of arsenic into her mouth, Belladonna sucked in her cheeks and continued.

"I know that I've made no secret of my distaste for that woman!" she sneered. "But if I've led you believe that the same behavior is acceptable from you, then I've been sorely mistaken! _You_ are a separate matter entirely, Astoria. You are far too young to be taking on powerful enemies!"

"He tried to touch me!" Astoria snarled, desperate to appeal to her aunt's better judgement before it was lost to a tantrum. "I smacked him with a hand-fan! It was _nothing_."

"And did you see Mrs. Rowle's niece smacking people with hand-fans today?" growled Belladonna murderously. "No, you did not! Because it's bloody uncivil!"

"Like you're one to talk!" Astoria yelled back nasally. "And anyway, it's not _my_ fault that Blaise is such an impossible rat! Did you know he hooked up with Tracey that same day and then dumped her for fun?"

"Of course he did!" hissed Belladonna furiously, close to loosing her mind. " _That_ is what teenage boys _do_!"

"No, it's not!" Astoria exploded, tearing at her hair in frustration. "He only did it to get back at me! He's not some unbalanced ball of hormones, Auntie, he's a bloody _psychopath!_ "

"Astoria, _really_ ," Belladonna scoffed. "All of this hysterical shrilling is setting my nerves on edge..."

"Don't talk about your nerves like you're Beatrice!" Astoria spat. "Blaise has _never_ really liked me—probably because of his mum—and it's only gotten worse. That bit about Malfoy was a lie, in case you were wondering..."

" _Was_ it?" Belladonna returned cuttingly, eyes flashing with poorly concealed anger. "My, my. Seraphina's got quite a brilliant little fantasist on her hands."

"He only said it because he knew you'd act this way!" Astoria snarled, thankful for the ironclad coincidence. "Blaise must have found out that dad was working for Lucius and sprinted straight to treachery..."

A silence fell. Astoria's mouth went dry as her aunt surveyed her calculatingly—almost challengingly.

"Do you really think I'd ask you to throw yourself on Lucius Malfoy's son?" Belladonna finally asked, her tone as chilly as Astoria had ever heard it. "Is that what this is— _fear_? You look _afraid_ , Astoria."

 _Yes._

"No," Astoria warbled. "I don't know. What I'm trying to tell you—and what you're deliberately not hearing—is that it wouldn't matter either way."

"I've been called many things in my life," snarled Belladonna wrathfully, "but last I checked, _pimp_ wasn't one of them!"

Astoria's thoughts immediately summoned up the shadow of Roland Yaxley, whose very existence seemed to offer undeniable proof that Belladonna _would_ play pimp if she thought it would do them any good.

"I know that," Astoria lied evenly. "I also know that we're backed into a corner. Desperation makes people say stupid things—I wouldn't want you to get the wrong idea..."

"Which is what?" demanded Belladonna sharply. "That I would trade my only niece to Lucius Malfoy in exchange for a few years of peace—or until his son grew sick of her?"

Astoria blinked, irrationally stung by this invented fancy, even if she couldn't entirely say why.

"Has he touched you?" Belladonna sneered. "Surely you haven't been stupid enough to try to strike any deals on your own?"

"With who—Draco or his dad?" Astoria exclaimed, playing dumb on purpose to avoid telling an outright lie. _What a thing to say, though. Oh, God..._

Astoria's eyelashes trembled as she fought to shake away a new, and truly blazing visual—one that had much more to do with Draco's father than to do with Draco himself—certain she would never be able to entirely purge herself of its fiendish imagery.

"Is _that_ why Lucius took on your father?" Belladonna rumbled, her tone growing steadily more wintery and accusing—a sure-fire sign that she was dipping into outright paranoia. "I almost wondered, you know..."

"How can that _possibly_ be?" Astoria snapped, feeling green.

"There are dozens of other lawyers who work outside the ministry, Astoria!" rambled Belladonna intensely. "I'd wager your father is the only one to lose his last post by sleeping with a client's wife!"

" _So_?" Astoria demanded, no longer entirely sure what her aunt was getting at.

"I thought Malfoy must have hired him as an advantage against _me_ —was I wrong?" Belladonna muttered. "Have I been duped? Was he hired because of _you_? How many sets of problems do we have on our hands?"

"You can't be serious!" Astoria nearly shouted, feeling that here, at least, she was allowed to put up a righteous protest. "Dad's crooked, greedy and good at what he does. He's a perfect match for Lucius! It's nothing to do with Draco—this whole discussion is mad!"

"Is it, though?" sneered Belladonna mistrustfully.

"Of course it is!" returned Astoria. "I'm spying on father for you! If I thought that the Malfoys had only hired jim on my account, don't you think I would have mentioned it?"

"Maybe not," Belladonna hissed, eyes glistening darkly. "You can be troublingly opaque about your motives at times. Don't think I haven't noticed how you skirt corners whenever that foolish boy comes up!"

Astoria blinked resentfully and Belladonna, perhaps hearing herself, seemed to thaw. She tapped the mail with her fingernails almost apologetically, boycotting eye contact.

"I need a drink," murmured Belladonna at last, pinching the bridge of her nose.

"And a reality check," Astoria grumbled bitterly, pushing her luck.

" _Careful_ ," cautioned Belladonna, "or the lady dost protest _too_ much."

"It all amounts to nothing, Auntie," Astoria sighed. "There's no great conspiracy—it's just the son of someone you hate trying to make sure we both take the piss."

"A rotating army of boys who all _supposedly_ loathe you," snorted Belladonna, her doubtful tone somehow implying its own set of air quotes, "and _yet_ , hardly a week ever seems to go by without at least one of them barging into my home unannounced..."

0o0

Astoria was not sure if her aunt had really believed her, but the storm itself had passed—both figuratively and literally. The sun broke palely through the mist and, instead of continuing to argue, Astoria spent the rest of the afternoon rechecking her luggage and mulling over her catastrophic social life.

Thankfully, Belladonna would have no occasion to be in the same room as Draco or Astoria for quite some time. Without any opportunities to spy or prod, her suspicions were likely to fade. Without meaning to, however, Belladonna's rant _had_ given Astoria a lot to ponder.

For starters, it had never occurred to her to search her father's partnership with Lucius for signs of an ulterior motive. George's desperation, coupled with his savant-like talent and relative lack of ethics, had always made his union with the Malfoys seem entirely natural.

Now that she really thought about it, however, the more it _did_ seem somewhat suspicious. Draco had a tendency to act oddly around her—sometimes even in public. And Lucius was observant. Was it _so_ impossible that he had selected George for all of the obvious reasons in _addition_ to his relationship with Astoria? The answer to this question, of course, was no—it was _exactly_ the sort of thing Mr. Malfoy might do.

Astoria did not really believe that Draco had asked his father to hire George, but that didn't mean there was no grater design in it. Especially when she examined the way that things currently stood. It was clear that Lucius was in a convenient position: he could cut off George's income at any time he liked—a powerful bargaining chip, and an advantage he would surely cash in on if he ever suspected Astoria of trying to coerce his son into doing doing something he disapproved of. Coincidence or a matter of strategy?

There was simply no way of knowing, and a week spent in Belladonna's company had done nothing to nourish Astoria's sense of sanity. Maybe she was overreacting? Her aunt was capable of imagining convincing murder plots within the pages of picture books, after all—perhaps it was not a good idea to dwell overlong on anything she said?

In the end, nothing was capable of soothing her more than sleep. When it finally came, Astoria was so exhausted that no dreams managed to follow after.

0o0

When the next morning dawned, it ushered in a shocking first for everyone. George, anxious to leave the country, arrived on schedule.

Punctually sweeping in at exactly six o'clock, he found Belladonna awake and waiting for him on the other side of the floo. Wearing nothing but a robe and a scowl, she soon began to scream at him.

Astoria was not sure if this was due to Belladonna's tempestuous mood or the need to keep up an act, but either way, the atmosphere escalated to thunderous. Anxious to avoid being involved, Astoria retreated to the garden to wait out their row under the lilac bushes.

It was a damp and heavy kind of day, so foggy that it was easy to pretend a box of powder had been dropped in her eyes; shiny, white and opaque with steam from the night before.

Pretending she could not hear her own name being screeched, Astoria snapped a cluster of blooms from the nearest bush and sat, pulling individual flowers free from their clumps. When her father began to talk about finances, she pinched the purple tufts between her fingers until they were reduced to a sweet, honey-tasting pulp.

George came clattering out a while later, swearing under his breath and kicking both of his legs in such an irritable way that his trousers rode up.

"Mad woman!" he grumbled, rounding Astoria up and ushering her down the gravel walk. " _Honestly_!"

"Good morning!" Astoria returned brightly, knowing it was her job to be merry. She resisted the urge to turn back toward the house to say goodbye to her aunt, swallowing a mouthful of guilt as she did so. _Self control, Greengrass..._

"She'll be shipping your luggage," George continued in a rush, still walking as though his shoes were on fire, "and if she _doesn't_ , we'll spring for a new wardrobe. That will certainly show _her_. I won't have you writing letter after letter begging for your things!"

The odds of Belladonna depriving her niece of formalwear in front of impressive company stood at less than nil, but Astoria smiled winningly and strove to keep up with her father's pace.

"Good," she joked breathlessly, jabbing an elbow at George. "I haven't been shopping in ages!"

George let out a quick-silvery laugh and ran a hand through his hair. The chill vanished in an instant, his eyes returning to their usual state of handsome good-humor.

"Come on!" he panted, breaking into a jog. "We're catching a portkey from the same hollow we used before the World Cup."

"Will it take us straight there?" Astoria asked, gravel crunching rapidly beneath her feet.

"No," George panted, "and since your barmy aunt can't seem to understand the concept of time—if we don't run, we'll miss it!"

Ignoring the hypocrisy of this statement, Astoria sped up to swift sprint.

They started a sweaty countdown the moment the reached the hollow, leaning intently over an ancient cola bottle. With thirty seconds left to go, George snapped his pocket-watch shut and Astoria's fingers scrabbled to find purchase against the glass bottle-neck. At seven thirty exactly, a lurching suction dragged them both forward, spinning them off through time and space.

Astoria landed with a red-faced thump beside her father. Dimly aware that the surface beneath her was harder than dirt and flakey to the touch, she sat up. Astoria was sprawled out on a bleak wooden pier facing the ocean. Rows of dirty, rundown boats bobbed sadly against the docks, pulsing fluidly on the turning tide an iron-grey sea. The sun hung to the west, dangling like a sorcerous orb behind a veil of white clouds, somehow indirect and yet punishingly hot at the same time.

Pulling her shirt away from her sticky back to brush off salt residue, Astoria watched as George barreled off toward a run-down shack. A man with an actual eye-patch greeted him, blathering on about chartered fishing expeditions. But when George lowered his voice, the one-eyed sailor seemed to stand up straighter. Perhaps he had been speaking in code? A moment later, her father returned clutching two tickets and grinning like a schoolboy.

"This way!" he called, indicating that she should follow him further out along the bleak pier. "The next cross-channel passage is at noon—there aren't any portkeys bound for France before that."

Annoyed that George hadn't bothered to refine his itinerary, Astoria tripped over her feet to catch back up with his manic pace. It was on her mind to complain, but the run-down shops and battered booths on either side of them were growing progressively odder and they soon became distracting. It was the strangest beach that Astoria had ever seen: a mixture of a run-down carnival and the sea-side getaway of a victorian novel.

Nearby, a storefront with several broken windows claimed to sell world-famous puppets and marionettes. Another offered shaved ice for five cents. Astoria paused to read a crooked sign hanging from a gaslit lamp-post. It informed her that they were in the _worst_ possible corner of the township of Clacton on Sea.

After several minutes of high-spirited walking, George came to a jaunty stop in front of a grimy and out-of-business chip. Certain that they had gotten turned around, Astoria pivoted to search for another outlet when the door to the chip shop suddenly burst open.

A tipsy looking man in baggy, emerald colored robes came barreling down the ramshackle steps—a wizard if ever there was one—letting out a surprisingly upbeat cloud of sound. Then, the door sucked shut again and everything fell silent, returning to the eerie soundtrack of lapping water and gull calls.

"This'll be it!" murmured George, emboldened by the surefire signs of magic. "It's been _years_ since I've traveled through here—people usually stop over in Dover..."

"Uhuh," Astoria agreed, having traveled to France more times than she could count without ever setting foot in this strange place.

"A bit of second-class option, you know, " George confessed sheepishly. "I was late in booking our passage. Couldn't be avoided, really. But if I remember correctly, they serve a _fantastic_ lager here. We'll just stop and have a drink—" George caught himself, shooting Astoria a guilty, sidelong glance, "—or _lunch_ , I suppose, and then we'll be on our merry way."

Despite all the marvelous conveniences that magic had to offer, the inside of the chip shop was hardly any less dingy than its exterior. George steered them both toward a corner seat (quickly, but not fast enough to prevent a bearded man from eyeing Astoria's skirt and winking) and then set about ordering a plate of clams and a sampler pint of each beer the bar served.

It wasn't exactly a glamourous meal, but it was not in Astoria's current best interests to be picky. Strangeness had never bothered her half as much as George's bothersome tendency to abandon her. Figuring there was no better way to prove her good spirits than to embrace their strange circumstances, Astoria forced down two rubbery clams and liberated her father of one of his drinks. Thankfully, George decided to find this saucy rather than ill-behaved.

"Of course, what your aunt doesn't understand is that Malfoy isn't going to simply bend for her," George insisted. "She'd be far better off getting her affairs in order—it's not _our_ job to cater to her colorful past, you know."

"I'm sure," Astoria agreed lightly. She swallowed her lie with a gulp of lager; an act that might have made a normal parent uneasy, but which George's lifelong flirtation with functional-alcoholism seemed to have largely inured him against. " _Prison_ , though—"

"It's not for _you_ to fret over," breezed George, shrugging her off. "She's a woman of many talents, Belladonna. She'll fall on her feet no matter what they dig up in that lake. _I'm_ certainly not worried."

Astoria had no doubt that this was true. George never worried about anything. In fact, he was _so_ without inner-turmoil that it probably didn't even occur to him how oblivious he was. Perhaps the truth occasionally caught up with him in the dead of night, though? A strangling, nagging anxiety that he forced himself to suppress?

George wrenched a plastic, sword-shaped toothpick out of his lemon wedge and brandished it at her comically.

 _Perhaps not._

"Will Mafilda Hopkirk be in France this summer?" Astoria asked casually, wanting to shift the subject away from her aunt, even if it meant pursuing her father's mistress instead.

"She might," George shrugged. "Actually, its possible we'll see her tonight—it's the Minister's Ball, you know. I figured we might as well stay over for it. You can leave for Monaco with the Mendels in the morning and I'll catch up with you later in the week."

"Oh," said Astoria, trying not to be thrown by this drastic change of plans.

"I meant for us to be in town yesterday, but Belladonna put up a fight," George explained apologetically. "As it is, we'll only arrive with time to eat and change. You brought along something with your sigil? _Damn_ —but your aunt has the luggage!"

Astoria tuned out her father's needless fretting, trying to consider this new information. The Minister's Ball was actually quite a famous affair.

Held annually in France, it was considered an important event by almost every civilized home in Europe. Prestigious enough to be photographed for magazines, the party was celebrated for its wealthy guest-list and feared for its wildly exclusive snobbery. It was a well-deserved reputation, too: the fact that the party had been carried off without a single muggle-born invitee or member of staff in attendance for the first two hundred years of its existence was public knowledge.

The dawn of the twentieth century had seen the end of this practice, with more lenient and modern attitudes finally declaring that it was socially rude to outright ban the riffraff. Wizarding aristocracy had been forced to adapt. This they had done—with cheer and a right good will. Keeping one foot planted as firmly as ever in the feudal days of serfdom, Respectable Society had collectively shaken their heads, murmured dispassionately and then, ultimately, they had donned masks.

Disguise became the event's requisite fashion: gowns draped with furs or topped with artificial hoods, faces obscured by fascinators or silks. The result—quite intentionally—was a room full of familiar strangers made recognizable not by their _faces_ , but by the family sigils they wore on their robes.

For this reason, ancient crests and family pins made their annual showing every year in July. Polished jewels and embroidered insignias announced the identify of every man, woman or child fortunate enough to come from an old and credible family. Those who had not been born into a heritage with a coat of arms—still obligated to abide by the event's style laws—were forced to attend in nameless obscurity.

It was all done in horrid taste, of course, and with such delicate passive-aggression that it was very nearly funny. Still, Astoria had never been old enough to attend before (to say nothing of the effort Belladonna would have had to expend just to get them invitations) and she was rather curious to see with her own eyes what she had ogled so many times in the pages of newspapers and magazines.

"Auntie will send my cases," Astoria assured her father confidently. "She won't want me to make a fool out of myself—it would make _her_ look bad."

"Ha!" George projected, assuming that Astoria was making a wise-crack.

"I really don't know what you see in Mafilda," Astoria went on, pushing the conversation away from Belladonna yet again.

"I'm sure I don't know what you're talking about," George scolded indulgently, switching pint glasses.

"She's too old for you," Astoria smirked, trying on the role of The Frivolous Daughter, certain that George would find her more manageable _and_ entertaining than the sulky, natural version.

"Nonsense!" George cried warmly, no longer pretending at obliviousness. "Mafilda's my age."

"You never date women your age," Astoria pointed out, disregarding the fact that he shouldn't _technically_ be dating anyone at all. "Even Mrs. McLaggen was younger than you, and her son is in the year above me!"

"Well, maybe it's time I made the change," George reasoned, taking a pensive sip. "I'm not getting any younger, you know..."

Astoria studied her father's handsome face, still blessed with great natural vitality and charm.

Despite herself, she was a little moved by the notion that his age worried him. Surely he should be thinking of other things—his wife, his family, his job—but Astoria knew the agony of an irrational fear too well to entirely dismiss him. George had been trapped in a loveless marriage for fourteen years (albeit, a union entirely of his own making) and while his actions did not entirely align with what Astoria considered decent, she also knew that it was something she was going to have to overlook if she wanted to spend a pleasant summer with him.

"You're mad!" Astoria grinned. "You don't look a day over thirty—there's no call to give yourself up to any dour, old ministry witches!"

George laughed boisterously and went to pay their tab, leaving Astoria behind to ponder weather or not she had just done Daphne a disservice. No good could come of encouraging their father to continue his love affair with bimbos, surely. But wasn't it better for George to pursue silly, aspiring actresses than the adultish government officials that his actual wife might see in public?

0o0

The portkey station was located on the packed dirt embankment underneath the pier, so when eleven o'clock rolled around, Astoria and George made their way down onto the sand. The old wizard in the baggy, green cloak was already waiting in the shadows.

Together, they all clutched a deflated beach-ball, sweating uncomfortably in the heat. Astoria closed her eyes at the last minute, trying not to fight against the dragging lurch when they were spun forward.

Space and time dissolved again until the beach was replaced by the familiar darkness of the Paris catacombs. Blinking in the gloom, Astoria became aware of several sounds all at once: the muffled conversation of a distant cafe, the shrill shriek of the buried subway; bird song.

They were in a station she knew this time. No more carnival strangeness. Located in a well-disguised outlet just off an abandoned muggle railway called the Petite Ceinture, they had landed somewhere in the fourteenth arrondissement of Paris. This meant that they were perfectly positioned to stop over at George's hotel in St. Germain before carrying on to meet the Mendels, who lived a stone's throw away from the Musee D'Orsay in the seventh.

Elated that this leg of their journey had gone off without a hitch, Astoria led the way up the crooked stone hallway at a clip. The moment they reached the street, however, it became obvious that they were at yet another impasse.

George, who would normally have Apparated to his destination, had clearly forgotten that he could not do so with Astoria in tow. Side-along Apparition was a challenge for the brightest of wizards and _he_ had consumed four beers over lunch. What was worse, he did not have any muggle money to hire a taxi. Effectively stranded, Astoria could feel her pleasant demeanor slipping away.

"Can't we find a shop that's connected to the floo network?" Astoria suggested desperately, melting under the clear, noon-day sun.

"Oh, never!" exclaimed George, tearing a flier off a nearby wall. "Stay here!"

George crossed the street to consult with a vestibule-shaped box, looking both ways and keeping his wand hand low. He returned with a stack of colorfully transfigured bills denominated in every numerical unit possible.

"Will those work?" Astoria wondered dubiously, eyeing the portraits of foreign currency on the advertisement that her father had copied from.

"Of course they will," breathed George impatiently, signaling for a cab. "They look the same, don't they?"

" _No_ ," Astoria frowned, still double checking against the poster across the street. " _Those_ numbers jump straight from twenty to fifty—you've got a fistful of twenty-fives in here."

"Easy fix," amended George, ripping the offending bills out of his stack and tossing them into the gutter. "Now they're alright?"

"I suppose," Astoria admitted, "but I think the muggles put their money into that machine. Won't it just spit all this rubbish back out?"

"Darling, you're too good!" George cried, unworried and amused. "We're tricking a _cabbie_ —every cent we pay him is probably destined for the pockets of a back-alley thug."

Trying not to look at George's designer wristwatch when he handed over the false bills, Astoria hopped into the car. Harassed by the unfamiliar inconvenience of traffic and weary from their travels, they arrived at George's hotel with just enough time to check for luggage.

"Now remember," George reminded her, sliding his key into the lock, "I'm in room eleven. If anything should happen at the Mendels, this is where you'll be able to find me."

"I thought I was leaving for Monaco with them _tomorrow_ ," Astoria insisted, irritated with her father's inability to keep his plans straight.

"You are," George corrected himself, "but I'm using this as my forwarding address until the end of July. If you need me, you'll have to send your owl here. And in any case, this room only has one bed. I thought you might want to stay with Maudlin..."

"Alright," Astoria sighed, conscious of the fact that it had taken her father less than a day to shunt her off into Aston's care.

"Don't be so glum!" George called back at her, pushing the door open and heading straight for the sink. "I'll meet you in in less than a week!"

Inside, a bedroom abutted a circular sitting area. Breezy, bourgeois and decorated in silvery-gray, the suite suited her father to a tee. A wall of open windows had been thrust open to encourage a draft—cooler here than on the street. Astoria located her trunk and sunk down onto the carpet, inspecting her traveling cases for any sign of damage or disruption.

The door had nearly fallen shut behind them when someone stuck a foot in the crack to impede the progress of its re-locking.

 _THUD._

A string of curse words made Astoria's head jerk up again. A stunning but irritable looking woman was looming over her, her eyes as cold as ice chips.

Tall, blonde and impossibly lovely, this female stranger was built like a luminous will-o'-the-wisp with all of the coloring of spun sugar, but none of its quality. Reminded impossibly of Fleur Delacour, Astoria could only blink in amazement.

"And 'oo is zis?" the blonde girl snapped, rounding on George with the ferocity of a thousand lily-white suns. "I 'ave been waiting in ze lobby for more zen an hour! Ze clerk 'sinks I am a prostitute!"

"Élise!" George cringed disparagingly, swinging his water glass toward the table. "I thought I said—"

"You said, _you said!_ " Élise screamed, repeating George's hesitation with comical correctness. She stomped a perfect foot against the floor. "And now I 'ave pushed my way up 'ere only to find zat you are 'arbouring anozzer woman!"

It all clicked into place several seconds later than it probably should have: the jealous rage, the intimate knowledge of George's hotel room and schedule. Astoria had clearly been remiss to openly discourage George from dating age-appropriate women. He obviously needed no help on that front. Though blazingly sensual, Élise did not look much older than Astoria. Nineteen at most, her purpose for waiting the lobby was crystal clear.

"Look at 'er!" Élise sneered, sniffing in Astoria's direction. "She ees pretty, I suppose, but even younger zen I am! It's really quite sickening."

Astoria dropped her trunk lid with as much dignity as she could muster and stood up.

" _Astoria_ ," she clarified stonily, extending her hand. " _Greengrass_."

"Oh," the girl responded monosyllabically, barely reacting to the news that Astoria was George's daughter and not his consort. "I see." She did not shake Astoria's hand.

" _Do_ you?" sniffed George, put off by the accusations floating around his head.

"In that case, I'll have whatever you're having," Élise sniffed, switching over to French. She dropped onto one of the quick-silvery chairs and motioned toward the glass in George's hand.

Even in her native tongue, her speech did not seem to lose its quality of haphazardness; slightly jarred, a little rough. Gorgeous though she was and dressed in undoubtably high-end clothing, Élise could not seem to shake the fact that there was something of a farm-girl about her. She flopped her feet gracelessly onto the coffee-table and sighed impatiently. _Not from the city_ , Astoria decided distractedly. Not from _anywhere_ important...

"It's water," George explained pointedly, "and there's hardly time for anything else. I was just on my way out.."

"Then why did you tell me to meet you here at all?" demanded Élise, flaring up again. "Those absolute _chucklefucks_ at the front desk won't let me up twice!"

"Here's an idea," Astoria announced pointedly, unwilling to watch her father be haggled by a teenaged tart, "why don't _I_ just use the floo?"

"Yes," Élise agreed insolently. "Why _don't_ you?"

"Astoria, _no_ ," George fought back, moving forward.

"It's fine," Astoria grumbled, taking a pinch of powder from the top of the mantle. "I'll see you tonight, won't I?"

George sighed, eyeing Astoria thankfully. _You better be there_ , Astoria attempted to convey to him, ignoring Élise entirely. George gave a motion of assent so Astoria stepped into the low-burning flames. _A timely escape if ever there was one..._

The Mendels Paris apartments were located in a very calm, clean neighborhood dominated by attractive, dressed-stone buildings on the left bank. Astoria stepped out of the floo and was greeted by the front hall's faintly familiar Hungarian parquet flooring just as the bells of the nearby Orthodox cathedral began to toll for three o'clock.

Tired and bothered to the point of repressive shivers by the scene she had just left, Astoria scanned the room for any sign of a helpful servant. There were no elves in sight. This made sense, of course. Astoria had arrived without warning. She hadn't even had time to send over a card...

Crossing the room with an awkward, burglars gait, Astoria made for the main stairway. The house boasted an impressive four floors for a family that very rarely visited. Astoria knew from previous encounters that the first level was largely given over to a kitchen, several pantries and a wine cellar. The second floor was were she should go if she hoped to find the living, dining or reception rooms but these were formal and she doubted anyone would be there.

It was not until the third floor that Aston Mendel's personal taste began to show. As confidently eccentric as he was wealthy, Maudlin's father had caved to the pressure of keeping a house in a fashionable neighborhood but by the time one reached the family's private living areas, his rebellion began to show.

Darker, stranger and more lived in, the top two levels still retained something of the 1930's in their odd, art-deco furnishings. Slightly out of fashion but wildly interesting to look at, he had spent hours of his life claiming that he would one day renovate them only to put down a fresh coat of paint every two years and leave the rest untouched.

Astoria hesitated on the stairway uncertainly. To the left were Aston's study, bedroom and library; to the right, five guest suites. It was still very early in the day, however, and she had a hunch that Aston would be out...

Conscious of the fact that she had now penetrated the house almost as deeply as she could without announcing herself, Astoria plodded on to the fourth floor, where Maudlin had been allowed to hold his own private court since the age of fifteen.

The compartments were smaller here, and narrower. Astoria could hear voices before she even reached the top hall. A long, rectangular sitting area made up most of the floor, neatly separating Maudlin's bedroom on one side from two guest rooms (former maid's quarters, if you believed the muggle mumbo-jumbo) on the other.

"Astoria!" cried Maudlin, leaping up from a jazzy, red velvet couch. "I didn't hear you come in!"

How he had possibly expected to hear her arrive from four floors above, Astoria did not dare guess. Instead, skirting around the fact that she had probably just left her father to a barely-legal veela tryst, she took an unnecessary dig at Maudlin's staff.

"That's because there isn't a single elf in reception," Astoria replied lightly, taking stock of the scene before her.

Alec was lounging in a similarly velveteen window seat, playing with his lighter. Luc was on the floor, spread out on his back, sipping wine straight from a bottle like a sailor. Above him, a table sported a platter of various cheeses, smoked meats and pickled vegetables. And on the couch closest to her was another white-blonde head, one that she _knew_ would belong to Draco Malfoy before he even turned his neck to catch a glimpse of her.

His presence in town made sense, Astoria supposed. Surely Lucius and his family had been invited to the Minister's Ball? Torn between the thrill of shameful excitement and the memory of Belladonna's rant, Astoria split the difference and tried not to look at him.

"I thought you were coming with your father," prompted Maudlin, faintly disappointed by George's absence.

"I'm sure you'll see him later," Astoria answered waspishly. "He'll be terribly _busy_ though—he gave me the impression I was staying here."

"No matter!" breathed Maudlin excitedly. "We'll make room—you can take the pink room. I was planning to put Malfoy there, but he can stay with Alec in the Little Boys' Room."

"Sorry _,_ " scoffed Draco incredulously, "the _what_?"

As ridiculous as it had sounded, Astoria knew just what Maudlin meant. For years, it had been a burdensome and obsessive trait of his to stash his visiting friends in whatever wing of the house he was currently occupying (a habit that had only been enhanced by his teenage discovery of alcohol). In Monaco, this was little more than a piece of silly trivia, but in Paris it was problematic. The fourth floor only had two guest bedrooms and both were ghastly.

The Pink Room, although bigger, was occupied by a particularly noisy and angry ghost that liked to scream and drop objects onto the floor in the middle of the night. The Little Boys' Room (ostensibly named for its blue walls and perilously small twin beds) was not much better.

"Don't be ridiculous," Astoria scoffed, certain that she would rather sleep on one of the couches. "That room is haunted as shit, I'll just go down a floor—"

" _Oh-no-you-won't_ ," argued Maudlin, already bristling.

"Astoria," called Alec, intervening on her behalf, "have some wine. Draco, trust me—opt for the Little Boys Room."

"Why would anyone _call_ it that?" scoffed Draco snidely.

"You're awfully keen to have a blokes in your room," Luc taunted, put-out by the fact that he alone did not seem to have received an invitation to stay. "Ten galleons says that if someone gave you the option to either blow a guy or die, you'd dive in face first—"

"Of _course_ I would," scoffed Alec, wrinkling his brow almost patronizingly. "What kind of option is that?"

Luc snorted hollowly, undone by Alec's complete lack of macho squeamishness.

"In fact," Alec went on, smirking idly, "there probably isn't a single thing I _wouldn't_ do in order to preserve my own cowardly skin. Not if it came right down to it. Not one. Hell, I'd probably blow _you_."

Luc made a flustered sound somewhere between disgust and fascination. Thinking fast, he opened his mouth to retort.

"Yes," answered Alec, cutting him off. "I don't even need to know what you're thinking of. I'd do it. Even that."

"Well, as long as Alec is content to whore himself out in the name of life," Maudlin cut in loudly, wishing to reclaim the conversation for himself. He thrust a glass into Astoria's hand and pushed her toward the couch.

It soon became apparent that, despite it being the first week of the holidays, nobody was in a particularly enthusiastic mood. Equally obvious was the fact that that an actual spat seemed to be brewing, lingering just below the surface, waiting to be provoked.

It had only been six days since she had last seen them, but Astoria thought Maudlin seemed faintly distracted; Alec unusually quiet and observant. Luc reacted to this in the only way that he knew how—by being twice as goading as usual, if only to ensure that he was not ignored altogether.

Draco alone seemed unperturbed. Normally, this might have caused Astoria to gravitate toward him, but between Blaise's snide insinuations and Belladonna's fury, the idea of looking him in the eye was enough to make her feel awkward and jittery.

"Is Emilie coming tonight?" Astoria asked, desperate to have somewhere to look. Hadn't Emile said she was enrolled in some kind of internship in the city that summer?

"Hmm?" Maudlin grunted. "Yes, of course she is. Wouldn't miss it for the _world_. That's literally _,_ of course..."

Draco stirred, adjusting his legs (wide at the knees, how did he sit like that, girls _never_ sat like that...) and Astoria accidentally glanced at him.

"I suppose Cassandra will be there, too?" Astoria continued quickly, thoughts flashing disjointedly to her own missed connection: Thorfinn Rowle.

"I suppose so. She's back in France, isn't she?" answered Maudlin sneeringly, upending the bottom of a second bottle of wine into his glass. "Not that it matters. I've been in Paris since the weekend and I haven't managed to escape Emilie for a single day—I should be _cheering_ Cassandra back into town with a dozen roses."

"She's your _girlfriend_ ," Luc insisted worriedly, unintentionally reminding Astoria for the hundredth time that he was only here because he was Maudlin's girlfriend's cousin. Alone he was dispensable, and if his tone was anything to go by, he seemed to know it. "It's ridiculous to make such a fuss over her for being clingy..."

It was as though Astoria's eyes were drawn to Draco like magnets, driven by the perverse urge to stare at the only thing she was _not_ supposed to be looking at. But if she couldn't resist where her eyes went, she _could_ at least choose what she decided to see. Astoria gave in, allowing herself to stare at him unabashedly, searching for something that would displease her.

Silently, she picked him apart, focusing on every irregularity in his features. Singularly, there were many things to dislike. The way he held his mouth was snide. His coloring was pale and the effect was not robust. His eyes were intelligent, but without warmth. His nose was too big. From a certain perspective, she could almost make him funny looking...

Then, without warning, the pieces seemed to snap together again, his separate aspects reassembling until she was looking at Draco's _whole_ face. A hot shiver seemed to slide down Astoria's throat like honey, ending between her legs like a breathless jolt.

"The Parkinsons aren't coming this year," Draco volunteered lazily, moving his foot away from Luc, who had flopped over onto his stomach to spy on Maudlin.

Astoria stopped herself from twitching, checked by the fear of appearing bothered. But she _was_ bothered. Why had that made Draco think of Pansy? Was he trying to tell Astoria that Pansy would not be present? Or was he trying to admit that he was finally shagging her? Why was it that everything Astoria did somehow turned into an agony?

 _Because you're never honest with anybody_ , Astoria's subconscious answered cruelly.

"Speak of the devil," muttered Maudlin, craning his ear toward the stairway.

Several floors below, Astoria could just make out a faint commotion. A woman's voice echoed pleasantly in the hall—definitely Cassandra's.

"Nothing can stop the spread of the needy _lingerers_ ," sneered Maudlin in a voice quite unlike his own.

"I make it my personal mission to spread myself everywhere," remarked Alec cleverly, more to himself than to anyone in particular.

"Maudlin!" cried Cassandra, entering the room as if she owned it. "It's been ages!"

"It's been a _week_ ," sniped Maudlin under his breath, rising to greet her just the same.

Emilie hung in the doorway behind Cassandra, as polite and silent as ever.

"Draco!" remarked Cassandra quickly, catching sight of him. "Goodness, you wasted no time in looking up the Mendels." Her eyes flickered toward Astoria, who met her gaze with steely firmness. " _Ria_ ," she cooed falsely, adopting Maudlin's pet-name for the first time ever.

" _Please_ , won't you come in," intoned Maudlin hollowly, motioning toward the seat that Cassandra had already taken. If he had sounded any less enthusiastic, he would have been asleep. "Can I get you anything? I can call the elf—"

"No," Cassandra chirped primly, folding her hands over her skirt. She did not say 'thank you'.

"Suit yourself," Maudlin grunted, forgoing his glass in favor of sipping straight from the wine bottle. Astoria eyed his thirsty gulp warily. If the Third Task had taught her anything, it was that Maudlin could not be counted upon to spend a day stress-drinking and then manage to attend an evening event.

"What time are you leaving tonight?" Cassandra asked, plucking an offending piece of lint from her sleeve. "Emilie thought we should coordinate—and or that matter, so do _I_."

"Are you picking us up or shall we meet you there?" pressed Emilie, still standing. For a clinger, she sure _looked_ awfully content.

Maudlin let out a gust of air through his nose and stared listlessly at the tray of crackers.

" _Maudlin_ ," cautioned Cassandra sharply, determined that he should answer Emilie's question.

"We'll meet at eight," he grunted at last, giving in.

"Good," Cassandra sniffed, standing up again. "Luc, come with us. Your things are stored with Emilie's. You really ought to change—" her lips puckered as she took in the sight of his rumpled shirt.

Luc groaned, pulled himself up from the floor and loped off toward the doorway after Cassandra. Maudlin continued to stare long after he had disappeared, sour-mouthed and drooping.

" _God_ , Maudlin," snorted Alec merrily, breaking the silence. "That was pathetic."

"I didn't ask for an opinion!" snapped Maudlin, heaving himself up as well.

He turned right, turned left, seemed to realize he had nowhere to go, sank back down onto the couch with as much dignity as he could and fixed his pants pockets.

"Right, well, I'm not going," he sneered at last, shoving the cheese tray away as though it had offended him. "It's just the sodding Minister's Ball—I won't miss anything. It's an _annual_ event. They can't make me."

"Are you serious?" Astoria ground out through a clenched jaw. This was a side of Maudlin she had not seen lately, reminiscent of the petulant little boy who had picked on her as a child. Lord even knew where George was—why did Maudlin have to turn her last sanctuary into a battleground? "Luc will throw a fit—"

"I don't care about Luc," Maudlin spat. "Everyone knows his father is going bankrupt. If I paid him enough, he'd probably punch Emilie right in her stupid lungs for me!"

This was possibly true, but also patently awful.

"Done with her, are you?" sneered Draco, sounding very unsurprised.

0o0

* * *

OK, it was a long time coming and it's largely without Draco, but I had to get everybody where they were supposed to be! Promising drama will commence in the rest of the summer-posts. The stage is set!

In other news, sorry about the wait on this chapter. I had to move again and, to make a long and dreary story short (involving lots of paperwork and an octogenarian downstairs neighbor), I did not really _want_ to. That makes two moves since school got out and I'm just so _fatigued_. It really was my intent to have the chapter up on time and the next post will hopefully stick to schedule.

As always, reviews are a wonderful treat! And I'm sitting in a room full of unpacked boxes right now, so they'll brighten my day that much more. :)


	62. Drive

Chapter Sixty Two

Drive

* * *

0o0

Astoria sighed and stared at her feet, letting the richly papered wall of Aston Mendel's fourth floor hallway cradle her sagging head. It was nearly sunset and wide rays of light were blazing in through the windows over the landing, reaching toward her face like an unexpected kiss.

There had been no time to nap. Already, the witching hour between day and dusk was upon them; the moon half-up, the sun half-down. It was an eerie sight, the moon in a pale blue sky. It gave the disorienting impression that time was at a standstill.

Meanwhile, behind her, Maudlin's voice continued to rumble like a truck stuck in mud as he argued with his house-elf.

"Fine. _Yes_ —whatever! This is _boring_. _You're_ boring."

Alec had only just managed to talk Maudlin into attending the ball a half an hour before they were set to depart for it. Then, having fulfilled his obligation as a friend, he had faded away into his guest-room like a ghost. Draco wandered off next—presumably to find his father and dress himself—leaving Astoria behind to change and dither about without purpose.

"Not _those_ cufflinks!" Maudlin snapped, causing a great deal of internal ruckus in the chamber behind her. "For _merlin's_ sake—take your shitty pins and go back to the kitchen!"

The door flew open and an elf scampered out, head down, ears drooping. Astoria stepped aside to avoid being charged and then moved forward, sick to death of waiting.

"Are you decent?" she asked, leaning against the doorjamb.

"Define _decent_ ," Maudlin sneered back, but he yanked the door open to admit her anyway.

It took Astoria's eyes a moment to adjust to the hazy half-lighting inside. Maudlin was standing by his closet door, fixing his tie in a full length mirror. Perhaps to reflect his dark mood, however, all of his window-hangings had been pulled shut, casting his otherwise handsome face into irritable shadow. Only his hands remained clearly visible, fluttering clumsily against his plum-colored neck-tie in the gloom.

"You look nice," observed Astoria.

Her eyes came to a disapproving, last-minute rest on his velvet dinner slippers, but she knew better than to correct herself.

"Uhuh," grunted Maudlin, still struggling to pull an even knot at his throat.

"Let me," murmured Astoria, swatting his fingers away. She worked at his collar in silence, attempting to gauge his sobriety without being overly obvious. "How much wine did you drink today?"

"Not _nearly_ enough," muttered Maudlin bitterly.

"Well, it's time to sharpen up," Astoria sighed, yanking his tangled tie loose with an intolerant, zippy hiss of silk against cotton. "Aston will be furious if he sees you stumbling around in public."

"I _know_ ," countered Maudlin irritably. " _Enough_."

"What's gotten into you, anyway?" Astoria whispered, kneading the tussled fabric between her fingers. "It's like you've come unhinged..."

" _Nothing_ ," sneered Maudlin. "Don't _nag_. I'm fine—what is _that_?"

He gestured toward his tie with a hostile shoulder jerk.

"A half windsor," declared Astoria defiantly, stepping back to have a look at her lousy handiwork.

The knot was not particularly even or straight, but it _was_ the best that she could do in the dark. As a child, George had taught her the clumsy process of tying a tie, but it had been so many years since anyone had asked for her help that, in all probability, Astoria's nine year old self might have done a better job.

"It's crooked," sneered Maudlin thanklessly.

"Yes. But it's _tied_ ," Astoria snapped back, meeting his eye.

A weird charge of expectation and guilt seemed to linger in their exchanged glance. For the first time in Astoria's memory, Maudlin appeared strange and unreadable—even _dangerous_ —enough to make her want to recoil. Without thinking, she removed her hands from his shirtfront. Maudlin's eyes followed the sight of her retreating fingers and then—perhaps because they were standing unusually close in such a poorly lit place—they darted toward her mouth.

Before Astoria could even process this unexpected awkwardness, Maudlin twitched back reflexively, looking extremely uncomfortable with himself.

"Alec's probably dressed," Astoria guessed, happy to leave the moment unmentioned. "Are you ready?"

"Yeah," Maudlin huffed, collecting himself. His hand subconsciously flicked up toward his crooked tie again, but he did not undo or adjust it. Instead, he strode off toward his bureau, ready to regain a sense of purpose.

While Maudlin rummaged about in his drawers, Astoria studied her own outfit in the newly vacated mirror. The red dress that she had originally intended for the Yule Ball glistened back at her; heavy, elegant and dramatically well draped.

Thankfully, it was an outfit made to be worn by a careless owner. Its craftsmanship demanded very little fussing to appear flawless, and at the moment, the idea of casual perfection suited Astoria right down to the ground. In twenty four hours time, she would be on the coast of Monaco and out of harm's way—plenty of time to experiment with fashion then. For now, her primary goal was to get through the eleventh hour without calling down Cassandra's eagle-eyed attention. And to do that, every detail merited careful consideration.

Caught in a whirlwind between feistiness and fear, Astoria had done everything in her power to stick to her own Lestrange family colors. As a result of this over-precaution, not a single speck of Mendel purple _or_ Malfoy silver glittered anywhere on her body save the metalwork of her aunt's heirloom necklace.

Astoria nodded at her own reflection appreciatively. The visual of her decorated head nodded back at her, satisfied. She was going to at least make it _look_ like she was having a good time that evening if it killed her.

"Do you need a mask?" called Maudlin, still rattling about.

"Mhmm," Astoria admitted distractedly, picking a stray bit of lint from the strap of her exposed slip.

She had almost forgotten that she would need to don a mask and Maudlin's reminder did nothing but further reinforce her determination and good humor. Having her face hidden behind a screen would make it that much harder to come across as accidentally displeasing or rude. Another rare point in Astoria's favor.

"Silk, tulle or—" Maudlin fumbled into the back of the drawer, "— _rawhide_? Merlin..."

Maudlin tossed the third mask into the rubbish bin. He gave her dress a decisive once-over and passed her a bit of sheer fabric. Astoria inspected the lining of the mask carefully, privately certain that Maudlin's mother had probably purchased it a decade ago.

"Is Aston meeting us there?" she asked, fixing the fabric over her eyes.

The tulle was conveniently off-black, almost burgundy—a perfect match.

"Yes," muttered Maudlin, yanking the remaining silk mask down over his own head so carelessly that his well-groomed hair poked up around his ears.

Astoria hesitated, afraid of provoking him further. "And your mother...?"

"At a retreat in Iceland," clipped Maudlin, sounding rehearsed and slightly clinical. "An annual facial."

"What should I say if anyone asks about her?" Astoria wondered, keeping her eyes locked safely on the mirror.

Maudlin's mother was a tricky subject. He loved her dearly, that much was certain, but her regular absences meant that even the the most passing of conversations about her whereabouts could potentially set off an emotional explosion.

"I don't _know_ ," hissed Maudlin evasively. "Tell them she's being massaged by _gnomes_ for all I care—or better yet, tell them to go _fu_ —"

"We're officially late," interrupted Alec, undulating in the doorway like smoke. "Your father just sent round for us. We've missed the first call."

Astoria turned to stare, momentarily shocked into silence by the audacity of his strangely villainous suit. Dressed all in powdery blue, Alec had clearly spared the theme of 'a disguise' no idle expense. Complete with a victorian cape pinned back by a diamond brooch, it looked as though he had borrowed his style influence directly from Oscar Wilde's Halloween fever dreams.

"Yes, yes!" hissed Maudlin, immediately returning to his state of harassed petulance. He slammed his rarely used drawers—now empty save a few spare sickles and a mothball—shut. "We're _going_!"

0o0

The Minister's ball, ironically enough, was not held in the house of the French Ministry at all, but in the museum that disguised it. Astoria understood the reasoning behind this choice the moment Maudlin hustled them all through his fireplace. Just like the British, the French government was located underground. But, on the other side of the grate, a surprisingly golden entrance hall blazed up to meet them: an opulent, well-ventilated atrium that bore no resemblance to a dungeon.

Next moment, before Astoria even had a chance to adjust, a wave of light and sound sent her clawing for the front of her mask, subconsciously hoping to dislodge it.

There were people everywhere—a disorienting cacophony of silk and velvet. Two hundred heads and shoulders blazed into greater illumination every time the sickening _flash-pop!_ of a camera bulb went off. Two hundred heads and shoulders fought for space to breathe and laugh on a single navy carpet.

Thankfully, this vast crowd did not seem to be idle. People were clamoring away from the paunchy photographers by the open front doors, funneling _in_ toward a set of magnificent steps that dominated the middle of the room like a giant, tilting walkway.

Harassed by the lack of space and afraid of being trod on, Astoria cast about for Maudlin, but Maudlin was already doing his best to vanish. Despite the fact that no one was really hurrying him, he was fighting his way through a throng of elderly witches like his life depended on it, hell-bent on reaching the stairs.

Appalled, Astoria tossed herself forward, desperate to avoid getting lost. She was _not_ a native, after all—and this party probably hadn't seen a Lestrange pin in attendance since before the war. What if one of the decidedly militaristic looking guards standing near the street entrances did not recognize her house insignia and attempted to toss her out?

She tripped her way up the lushly carpeted steps two at a time and only just managed to catch Maudlin by the elbow before he hustled off down one of the vaulted galleries that lay ahead. Maudlin shot her a look of surprise over his shoulder. ' _Oh. That's right',_ his confused thought bubble seemed to read. _'Sorry.'_

"This way," he muttered, purposefully steering Astoria down the left hallway.

The top tier that they had ascended to soon proved to be laid out in a very unusual way—a long, wide hallway that looped around in the shape of a giant, open square. All along the outside walls, picture galleries glimmered warmly. And on the inside, a vast railing guarded against a brilliantly lit drop down into the glittering ballroom below.

"Where are we going?" Astoria demanded, privately thankful for the carpeting underfoot, as it prevented her from thundering about in her heels at top speed.

"The _bar_ ," explained Maudlin sourly.

The words had barely left his mouth before Aston appeared around the next corner. Panicking, Maudlin forced them both to pivot, queerly anxious to avoid his father's line of sight.

By the time they had retreated and trudged about the long way, Astoria was starting to sweat. She leaned against the railing as Maudlin ordered drinks, studying the nearby ice sculptures enviously. If it weren't for her makeup, she wouldn't have been able to stop herself from pressing her face against one of their glistening surfaces.

"Is that for me?" asked Astoria, reverting her eyes back onto Maudlin's hasty transaction.

Rows of liquor bottles glittered seductively on shelves behind the hired bartender—deceptively pretty, poisonous jewels. Every substance Astoria knew how to recognize seemed to be there, along with several others that she, and probably most of the other teenagers at the party, were too young to have heard of.

"I—what?" exclaimed Maudlin distractedly, clutching his two drinks like twin grenades. "Er. Yes..."

He passed Astoria a flute of champagne, knocked his own back in a single pull, and then motioned for another.

"Fucking _merlin_ ," Astoria muttered sanctimoniously.

"Sorry?"

" _Nothing_ ," she huffed, already resenting the idea of having to spend her evening corralling him like a cattle-herder. Maudlin was clearly in a resentful mood and desperate to run rogue. There was simply no _point_ in supervising him, not if he was going to thwart her every step of the way.

Whatever Maudlin's retort was, Astoria ignored it, momentarily distracted by a very pretty and radically displeased face in the crowd.

It was Élise—the savage Veela from her father's hotel room—standing less than ten feet away, fully recognizable through her mask by her blonde hair, liquid physique and the way that she was actively swearing at an attendant in rapid french.

"I thought we might find you here!" roared Luc, pushing his way up the line to thump Maudlin on the back. Then, either because he had followed Astoria's gaze or because Élise was simply too stunning _not_ to notice, Luc gestured across the room. "Who's the girl?"

It was on Astoria's mind to introduce her as a foul-mouthed harlot, but Maudlin cleared his throat and surprised her by doing the job himself.

"Oh, you've seen her in the papers—that's Élise Bernard. She's absolute _dirt_ , Luc. Walks for all the fashion lines. I don't even think she's _technically_ a witch."

Astoria forced herself not to laugh awkwardly, checked by the fact that she and Élise had been introduced less than ten feet away from her father's bedside.

"I'm sure _I_ don't _care_ about any of that," muttered Luc, entranced past the point of common decency. "She's _gorgeous_."

"When have you ever cared about anything that you couldn't eat, Luc?" called Alec jauntily, working his way through the throng with Draco in tow.

"Right now!" Luc protested. "I care about _that_ girl—Élise Bernard. Does anyone know her?"

"I know _of_ her," admitted Alec slyly. "Isn't she forever running amok in the tabloids?"

"Of course she is," sneered Maudlin, "she's _actual_ trash. Part Veela, part countryside hillbilly—her manager couldn't even get her into Beuxbatons. She's not _human_ enough."

"Magic is magic," argued Luc half-heartedly, unable to tear his eyes away. "I suppose she can do her _own_ sort of witchcraft."

"What type would that be?" snorted Draco sarcastically, quick to take Maudlin's hard view of things.

"No one knows her?" demanded Luc, ignoring the scorn. " _Really?_ How can she make the papers every week without one of you ever meeting her?"

"Because she's a gold-digging whore," pronounced Maudlin cruelly. "I don't _want_ to meet her."

Several feet away, George Greengrass was in the process of joining the line for drinks. And beside him, clutching his arm and murmuring in a dignified sort of way, stood Mafalda Hopkirk. Astoria's entire body went still at the sight. An invisible sheen of perspiration broke out across her skin. This was a scene she had seen play out before: two mistresses, one room.

Only this time, it was Mafalda being wronged and the new prize—Élise—was _no_ Lady MacLaggen: she was prettier, angrier and louder. Unlike her monied contemporaries, Élise struck Astoria as the type who would require very little provocation to make a scene. Indeed, if the poor, blushing attendant that she was currently swearing at counted as an indicator, making scenes appeared to be what she did _best_.

"Ah!" Idle and unaware of himself as always, George made a polite gesture of acknowledgment toward Maudlin across the bar. Then, fooled by Astoria's disguise, his eyes skimmed right over his daughter and landed on Draco with an approving nod.

Rage. _Rage_ such as she had never experience—repressed by the rules of public decorum and imprisoned behind a mask—washed over Astoria like a wave of hot water. In an instant, the protective chrysalis she had created to shield herself against her father's stupidity shattered. Emerging on the other side of this transformation, Astoria found that she had been scrubbed clean of everything but a trembling fury.

She seized Maudlin's third drink straight out of his hands and downed it. _Fine_ , her mind reeled, _if it's a mess he wants, let him have one._

Her vision seemed to flicker—not reproachfully, but violently. _Or better yet,_ her thoughts insisted _, why don't you make sure he gets the mess that he really deserves?_

Guided by a blind, murderous instinct, Astoria turned back toward Élise. The girl was no longer screaming. Instead, she appeared to be studying George and Mafalda from afar. There was lightning in her expression; a vivid hostility just waiting for a chance to strike.

But Astoria was burning a hole into her face—one that was impossible to ignore—and Élise's chilly gaze soon snapped toward the source. They stared at each other. Filled with a tingling thrill of madness, Astoria held her eye—an experience not all together dissimilar from the act of standing in the path of an oncoming storm.

"Astoria!" cried Élise warmly, coming to some kind of decision. Her persona transformed immediately with her shift in attitude; lacking the banshee-like glower of her former suspiciousness, she positively glowed.

Astoria reciprocated the smile carefully, determined not to be fooled by the sudden turn-around. When she had met Élise earlier, Astoria had looked like an unexplained intruder—perhaps even a threat. But now, situated between Alec and Maudlin, she was an access point to a veritable social buffet. Of _course_ Élise was going to play nice—she wanted nothing more than to draw George's notice by talking loudly to important people. Or, failing that, to find a new boyfriend who could be described as a member of the landed gentry. Either would do.

But _Astoria?_ Astoria simply wanted to make her father's skin crawl, and _that_ was a far less ambitious goal.

Élise swept forward and kissed both of Astoria's cheeks with the familiarity of a very old friend, going so far as to extend one of her willowy limbs to test the texture of Astoria's hair.

"Ow 'ar you?" she trilled, exposing her poor English with a breathy chuckle. "And 'ere I was theenking I would not know anyone 'ere! I see your father is already getting on _very_ nicely."

"Her father?" scoffed Draco, narrowing his eyes suspiciously.

"Have you met my friends?" Astoria quickly pressed on, switching over to French, hoping to prevent Maudlin from commenting on Élise's clumsy accent _and_ limit Draco's ability to eavesdrop in one fell swoop.

Élise's attentive eyes swept onto the collection of very surprised boys behind her and quickened. Her focus lingered on Alec's family sigil a bit longer than was strictly polite, but then, perhaps because he was not _quite_ good looking enough for her, she switched targets. For a horrible and obvious moment, her icy gaze flickered excitedly between Draco and Maudlin, unable to choose. Both of their family crests were associated with vast wealth and family influence, both boys were younger than sixty...

Astoria let out a nervous breath and tried not to notice, suddenly painfully re-aware of how perfect Élise's hair and teeth were.

She had just introduced a social climbing temptress—a girl who had likely slept with her own father—to a pack of wealthy boys, two of whom she might legitimately feel compelled to defend, should it come to it. The rashness of such an act was quickly forcing a new thought to become obvious: both Draco and Maudlin _claimed_ that Élise was beneath them. But how long could any prejudice against half-breeds—no matter _how_ deep-rooted—stand up against such a murderously lovely face?

Thankfully, her wait was at an end. Maudlin, the oldest of Élise two best choices, and perhaps the handsomer, soon won the silent battle to become her prize. She fixed her full attention on him and Astoria could not help but feel somewhat relieved.

 _He's in a foul mood and he's been drinking. He'll make an ass out of himself. It's no matter._

"'Av we met?" Élise breathed, stubbornly persisting in her use of English. "I am Élise Bernard."

"Mhm," grunted Maudlin, somehow too drunk and hostile to allow for the ego-boost of being singled out by someone of such other-worldly radiance, no matter how classless the source.

A rarely encouraged part of Astoria might have triumphed over this, but George was watching now, and she couldn't afford to be careless.

"This is Luc Millefeuille," Astoria continued, trying to pry Élise's avid trajectory off of Maudlin in order to introduce the only person present who was truly willing to receive her.

Luc's hand shot out immediately, but it was no use.

"I met your father, once," Élise continued, still trying to pull Maudlin into a conversation. "'At a dinner—'ee was very charming."

"Eh?" Maudlin raised an insultingly disengaged eyebrow. "Oh, of course. People tend to find him so, yes."

Cassandra and Emilie were not far away. Choosing their moment as only they could, they had finally noticed Maudlin and were beginning their approach.

"Should we walk the gallery?" Maudlin jolted, giving Alec a hearty push away from his rapidly advancing girlfriend.

Élise's eyelashes fluttered angrily, aware that she was being slighted. In an instant, it became clear that she might be woman seeking a fortune, she was _not_ the type to willingly take an insult. Her surprising sense of self-worth was not particularly helpful to Astoria's cause, but she couldn't help liking Élise a bit more for knowing it.

"Wait," Astoria murmured, carefully extending a hand to stop her from moving away as the group broke up.

Alec, Maudlin and Draco were shuffling down the hall. Luc, still hopeful, lingered a little way behind, but he was soon out of earshot.

Élise turned on Astoria. With all false pretension stripped away, she was once again the raging bitch of the afternoon.

"For what?" she snapped in French. "To watch your father hang on an old hag! What does he mean by it—is he hoping for important introductions? _Ha!_ What a joke!"

"He's as vain as you are," ventured Astoria slyly, egged on by the fact that her father was beginning to shuffle his feet nervously, watching the two of them out of the corner of his eye. _Apparently_ , his trouble noticing his own daughter did not stretch far enough to effectively block out her interactions with his mistress...

"What is _that_ supposed to mean?" Élise flared.

"It's fine for him to turn up at an event with someone respectable," Astoria reasoned, displaying a startling level of disassociation for her father's well being. "It makes him look good. Only, deep down, he likes to think of himself as a Don Juan. In his mind, it's perfectly acceptable for him to slight _you_ —but if you were to look smitten with someone younger than him... well, I think that would break the spell, if you know what I mean."

For a moment, Élise said nothing. Then, just when Astoria thought she might wind up with her eyes clawed out, Élise threw her head back and laughed a grand laugh.

"Oh, precious!" she cried coldly, amused in the extreme. "He is insecure? He cannot tolerate competition?"

"He's nearly forty," Astoria explained, thinking of her father's passing comments about age in the chip shop that afternoon. "He's used to being the most handsome man in the room. Give him a run for his money. He'll come back to you."

The most incredible thing about this plan was not even the fact that Astoria had made it up on the spot—it was the fact that it would very likely _work_. Even if George had no interest in Élise beyond her magnificent looks, he would not appreciate having to watch a former tryst run off with someone else under his nose. Particularly if that someone else was half his age.

"That is very clever," mused Élise appreciatively, angling her head, seeing Astoria in a new light. "But why are you helping me? We do not even know each other. I've _always_ known that George has a wife—"

"The woman he came here with tonight isn't his wife. She's a British ministry official," Astoria clarified, hoping to hide her true motive—resentment. "It's sloppy of him. She knows people in his wife's circle. In any case, I'm convinced she's not his taste."

Élise let out another mercenary chuckle and leaned in until they were only an inch or two apart. "Are we going to be friends, then?"

"Stay close to Luc," Astoria advised, sidestepping this question entirely. "And me," she added at the last moment, almost uncomfortably, "stay close to me."

0o0

It was both the best and the worst plan that Astoria had ever dreamed up. Nerve-janglingly reckless, her theory began to prove itself in under fifteen minutes. Luc needed no encouragement to fawn all over Élise and it was apparent that, for his own part, George could not keep from turning to watch every time she let him.

The first real hangup—if it could even be _called_ a hangup—was Cassandra's reaction. A born snob, there was only thing that she was less likely to tolerate than Astoria's unlikely usurpation of her best friend's boyfriend—and _that_ was a low-rent hanger-on.

"What is it that you _do_ , exactly?" Cassandra soon asked Élise, employing a tone that could have made flowers shrivel.

"She _models_ , Cassandra," explained Luc tersely, scoffing in a way that seemed to suggest that this should have been obvious. "She wears _clothes_."

" _Yes_ ," allowed Cassandra flatly, pursing her lips. "Don't we all?"

Maudlin alone seemed to be resisting the urge to confront the things that he found unpleasant, (this being Cassandra, Emilie _and_ Élise, he was soon effectively mute) but his stiffness was beginning to matter less, because the party itself was loosening.

All around, women were letting out cries of laughter and bouncing flirtatiously off of their dates'—or, in some cases, their _friends'_ dates'—shoulders. Men clapped each other on the back and thrust arms through crowded corridors to encourages handshakes. Deals and engagements were made and then regretted. Introductions evoked wild enthusiasm for faces and names that were forgotten twice as fast as they were given.

All the while, a strange exhilaration was thundering through Astoria's veins, made only more potent by the climate around her.

It had been a very long time since Astoria had found herself in charge of _anything_. The rapid escalation of her aunt's fight with Lucius (followed by her father's legal involvement) had rendered her largely useless in almost all of her domestic affairs. Theodore's growing interest in a girl who loathed her hadn't helped matters. The sensation of taking control of something—of anything, really—was very nearly intoxicating.

And she _had_ taken control, hadn't she? True, Astoria might be in a foreign country on her aunt's orders, and George might still be shunting her off onto Aston Mendel so that he could cavort about more freely, but Astoria was no longer laying idly by while it happened. And if it took a pseudo-sexual manipulation involving her own father to achieve this? Well, then, so what? Astoria no longer cared. As far as she was concerned, she had outwitted a fully grown adult and the resulting effect was something closer to startling smugness than one of guilt or regret.

Her talk grew freer, more goading. If she did not watch her mouth, she was likely to miss her own mark—a very Draco-like mistake. Still, the temptation to luxuriate in her own cleverness was a powerful one, and she could not entirely prevent herself from doing so.

"Which designers do you work with?" asked Astoria, going out of her way to provide Élise with yet another excuse to speak.

Élise rattled off a list, stopping to giggle when Luc grabbed her waist from behind.

At the other end of the picture gallery, George lost track of his conversation with the German Minister of Magic in order to watch this sloppy embrace with strained eyes. The monster in Astoria's chest purred correspondingly.

"Giambattista Valli?" inquired Luc, who had been paying _much_ better attention to what Élise was actually saying than Astoria. "My mother adores him! Isn't he your first choice too, Cassandra?"

"Not anymore," dismissed Cassandra with comical coldness.

"And no wonder!" agreed Élise, taking her subtle revenge. "You are too short! Ze wrong silhouette!"

The offended look on Cassandra's face _alone_ was enough to make all of Astoria's work seem merited.

Emilie hissed under her breath and pinched Maudlin's arm, displaying more gall than Astoria had assumed she was capable of. "Are you going to let that _awful_ girl talk to my best friend like that?" she demanded.

 _"Wyeh wyeh wyeh wyeh!?"_ mocked Maudlin in a high-pitched voice, forgetting that he was among company.

A silence fell. In all fairness, Astoria was certain that Maudlin's level of intoxication meant that he had essentially been speaking only to himself, but this was _still_ so shitty of him that no one seemed to know how to respond.

Emilie jerked back a step as if she had been struck and even Astoria was reduced to wide-eyed wonder. Cassandra, on the other hand, went straight from surprise to ludicrous anger in the blink of an eye and it was plainly time to start searching for the escape hatch.

Only there was nowhere to go—the square hallway simply connected back around again in an infinity lap. Could she slip away toward the ballroom without being called back?

"To the loo," declared Élise contentedly, threading her arm through Astoria's.

They made it as far as the corner before Élise dropped Astoria's wrist and began to cackle freely, causing several old ladies to move away from them.

On the wall behind her, the glass of a giant portrait reflected both of their faces with cruel accuracy. Perhaps it was only because Élise was so striking, or perhaps it was simply the effect of a good dress, but they seemed to impress a similarly disarming picture: one blonde, the other dark, _both_ fickle and dangerous. Normally, Astoria might have have shied away from her own warped image, but the concept of thoughtless dominance was very seductive, and it was easy to accidentally think of the feeling as empowering rather than cruel.

"God, what a wretched bitch!" exclaimed Élise. "The both of them!"

Astoria smiled tightly, wary of being taken-in by the passing rush of a toxic new friendship. Especially since, if given the chance, Élise seemed capable of cheerfully burning Astoria alive for even the slightest gain.

"There you are!" called Luc, turning the corner himself. "Unpleasant scene, that!"

Assuming that Luc was simply making an effort to keep Élise in sight, Astoria was little surprised to see that Draco and Alec were not far behind him.

"He's just told her that he thinks her face is ' _gay'_ ," chuckled Alec informatively, leaning against the wall between picture frames. "The bloody great fool..."

"What?" demanded Astoria, unnerved.

"A _gay_ face," repeated Alec almost joyfully.

"She's absolutely _sobbing_ into his Chardonnay," sneered Draco, more annoyed than amused. "Honestly. If I didn't have to look at _either_ of them for the rest of the night, I'd consider it a _gift_."

"Darling?"

It was George this time, butting his way into their circle, carrying himself with rather less grace than usual. "Darling, could I speak to you for a second?"

Astoria _and_ Élise both turned toward him instinctually, displaying identical expressions of resentment.

"Er—" George extended a hand and patted Astoria on the shoulder, wishing to to subtly clarify himself: _this_ darling.

"Humph!" sniffed Élise, melting sideways into the curve of Luc's elated embrace.

"Ridiculous, _HOMOPHOBIC_ thing to say about a person's face!" stormed Emilie, rushing around the corner at top speed.

"Steady on," muttered Luc awkwardly, and it was mark of how disturbed he was by his cousin's discomfort that he was able to overcome the distraction of Élise's sensuous lean-in.

"It's nothing!" shrilled Emilie, dabbing passively at her face. "I'll be fine—as _always_."

"What—are—you— _doing_?" thundered Maudlin furiously, close on her heels. "Don't _cry_ in public—it's embarrassing!"

"Why don't you take a break from it, Maudlin?" suggested Luc sternly, plainly concerned by this turn of events but insufficiently confident enough about his place in the pecking order to actually say so.

" _Why?_ " snarled Maudlin defensively, gesturing toward Emilie. "She's _bawling_ in the middle of a party. It's ridiculous!"

Emilie let out a long-suffering sob. Luc reached forward to brace Maudlin by the arm, and Maudlin—perhaps mistaking Luc's grip for his girlfriend's—yanked free so violently that his arm shot backwards and upwards...

With a sickening crack, his elbow collided with Draco's face. Too stunned to even let loose a stream of obscenities, Draco shocked back a step and sucked in a shuddering gasp of pain.

In matter of seconds, blood was everywhere. Astoria blinked rapidly, hypnotized by the dizzying presence of so much red, still trying to process the chain of events that had lead to its spilling in the first place.

" _Hoh!_ " exclaimed Luc nauseously, jumping out of the way before Draco could stumble into him.

Emilie rounded on Maudlin, who looked just as shocked as Astoria was. "Look what you did!" she screamed. "You broke his nose!"

"— _Uhh!_ " Draco shuddered.

Unlike his forever-bandaged hippogriff arm, it was clear _this_ was no pretend injury. Raising a trembling hand, Draco tried to staunch the flow of blood from his face and gagged, overcome by a sharp spasm of pain and his own bodily fluids.

"Find a sink," commanded Alec, offering up his periwinkle colored pocket square. Even in a daze, Astoria could not help but notice that he seemed queerly unfazed by the mortally worrisome sight of gushing blood.

Draco seized the handkerchief—a dainty, useless thing—and pressed it against his face, shoulder-checking his way past Maudlin. Too surprised to even put up a fight, Maudlin took the blow in stunned silence.

After a stunted pause, Emilie grabbed Maudlin and began to stomp her feet. Astoria could not quite bring herself to pay attention, however, not while there was such a nagging weight crouching in her stomach.

 _It's nothing. Head wounds always bleed more than they should._

 _Not that much, they don't._

Part of Astoria desperately wanted to sit down but another, rather Pansy-like, impulse was urging her to follow Draco and make certain he didn't pass out in the bathrooms.

Quietly, before George could remember why he had come over in the first place, Astoria backed up and retreated silently down the hall. It was entirely possible that Draco would not want her help, and even _more_ probable that she would look like a sap for trying. But if that was the case, she would simply swallow her pride and retreat. Better safe than sorry.

Astoria cut around the railing, giving the bar a wide berth, positive that anyone who was bleeding so profusely would try to avoid the crowd. Seeing no other options, she made directly for the staircase.

The golden lobby was entirely empty now. Even the guards had disappeared, leaving behind a vacant, echoey chamber made spicier by a hint of cigar smoke trickling in from the street. There did not appear to be any bathrooms on this level, but Astoria walked all the way to the front doors anyway, determined to make a full circuit. A good thing too, because the moment she pivoted, she spotted him: Draco had ducked off into the coat check to fret in front of its abandoned mirror.

A long bench stood in the middle of the surprisingly cramped room behind him. Three out of the four walls—entirely obscured by overflowing coat racks—bulged inward and cubbies stuffed with ladies shoes spilled out onto the floor like colorful easter-eggs, smelling strongly of dust and leather.

Astoria announced herself in the doorway, afraid of startling him while his hands were near his face. "Are you alright?"

Malfoy jumped anyway, wincing horribly when he jabbed his thumb against his nose.

"I'm fine!" he sneered savagely. "Leave off, Greengrass!"

But he didn't _look_ fine. His breathing was hitched, coming out short and hard like a panicky metronome. If Astoria had to guess why he wanted her to leave so badly, she would have put money on the way his eyelashes were fluttering. It was entirely possible that he was on the verge of becoming teary-eyed.

"Stop," commanded Astoria softly, trying to pull his arm away from his face, "let me look."

"Can you fix it?" Draco muttered, still blinking very fast.

"Maybe..." Astoria trailed off dubiously, afraid of using a healing spell that would leave him with a crooked nose. "Hold on."

In the far corner, partially hidden behind a cramped desk, a bottle of un-opened champagne from the bar sat in a sweating bucket of ice. Assuming that the staff were planning a midnight toast when they got off work, Astoria untied the white napkin wrapped around the bottleneck and scooped up a fistful of ice.

"Keep your chin up," she advised, testing the napkin against his face.

Draco made a horrible noise to match his involuntary grimace, so Astoria lowered the icepack and tried to make an inspection. It was no good. His features were entirely obstructed by blood.

"Fucking _wanker_!" Draco hissed wrathfully. "He broke my _face_!"

Breathing through her mouth, Astoria gulped hard and overturned the slushy mixture onto the bench. The napkin was damp all the way through—wet enough to mop up blood...

" _Don't_ ," muttered Draco nasally, realizing what she was doing, torn between embarrassment and the crippling inconvenience of a facial wound that really _did_ need attention. "I'm _alright_ —"

"No, you're not, you're wearing a pint of blood!" Astoria snapped, nervous enough to sound annoyed by accident.

Draco squeezed his eyes shut, frozen in a mask of silent pain as she worked. The bruise soon appeared, spanning between his left cheek and his lip: a ghastly lavender crush in the shape of a lopsided circle.

" _Shh!_ " Astoria muttered quickly, trying to quell his quivering limbs as she got closer to the point of impact. "Maybe your father can do something—?"

 _"_ And force him to explain to his friends why I look like I've been _savaged_?" Draco sneered quickly. "I'm a mess—he'll think I got into a fight..."

He was rambling, speaking loosely—thoughtlessly, distracted by his injured face. The suggestion that Draco would willingly suffer in order to spare his father an awkward conversation struck Astoria as being somewhat out of character. But then, when it came to the way that Draco acted around Lucius, who knew?

"Alright, sit," Astoria muttered, going back for more ice.

"I'm not a _baby_ , you don't have to mop me up!" sneered Draco stubbornly, sinking down onto the bench just the same. For all of his macho-posing, it was clear that he would be very down if Astoria abandoned him.

A silence fell. Astoria sunk to her knees, bizarrely conscious of the fact that she was kneeling between his legs.

"Is it crooked?" he finally forced out.

"Is _what_ crooked?" breathed Astoria. "Stop looking down—you'll start bleeding again!"

"My nose," Draco clarified, giving up his protest, focusing instead on trying to resist the urge to glance at her.

"No," Astoria decided, studying his profile carefully. "There's a mark, but it doesn't _look_ broken."

"I guess that means you're off the hook," Draco sneered shakily. "If you see Maudlin before me, feel free to toss an anvil in his face."

Astoria said nothing, unwilling to take the bait.

"He's _so_ happy you're visiting, you know," Draco jeered, working himself up, pain fueling his natural propensity toward anger. "He wouldn't even talk until you showed up earlier. Come to think of it, I don't know why you're _here_. You're obviously batting for your aunt's team and your father doesn't have time for you anyway."

Astoria went very still, willing herself not break Malfoy's nose in another place, this time on purpose.

"You'll have to spend your whole summer with Maudlin this way!" he finally burst, hurting himself a little in the process.

And there it was: the bug that was eating at him. It was on Astoria mind to suggest that, if Maudlin's proximity to Astoria bothered him so much, Draco might very easily tag along as well, but she couldn't quite bring herself to do it.

When Astoria didn't respond, Draco sank bank against the coat rack, bruised and miserable.

"He's probably a woman beater," he ventured at last, taking a final stab.

"Oh for God's sake!" Astoria breathed exasperatedly, allowing her concentration to shift away from Draco's face and onto his clothes. " _You_ look like an axe murderer."

"Yeah?" Draco snapped bitterly. "Whose fault is that?"

Astoria gently began to unknot his tie, emboldened by wine and the practicality of her purpose. Draco watched her in perfect, trusting silence, worn out entirely. She pulled the slip of fabric free, much more gently than she had managed Maudlin's earlier, shuddering a little at the color: _Bloody Baron Silver._

"If you button your coat, you might make it out of here without starting a rumor—black hides the mess better."

Draco winced and leaned forward to do up his buttons. Astoria waited for him to sink back again but he lingered at a tilt, dangerously close to pressing his bloodied face against her shoulder.

A little uncertain of herself, Astoria raised her hand, trying to decide if she should pat him on the back. Between her own penchant for disaster and Draco's uncanny ability to intuit her distress, the two of them had shared many strange moments. But none of them had ever involved Astoria soothing _him_ , and it was clear that she had no idea how it was to be done.

Without really thinking, Astoria leaned forward just a little until their faces were touching. An instinct that turned out to be more intimate than she expected when his vulnerable bruise and her lack of squeamishness were taken into account.

"Your nose isn't broken," she muttered in a tiny voice, speaking directly into his skin, "nothing is really wrong. _Stop_."

Draco opened his mouth to respond but Alec interrupted him.

"There you two are!" he exclaimed, crossing the empty entrance hall.

"Are we going?" asked Astoria, sinking back onto her feet. Draco, however, remained hunched over with his eyes still closed.

"Naturally," chuckled Alec. "There's blood all over the gallery, Maudlin's sauced and Emilie's trying to pin him for a murder."

"I think I'm going to be sick," muttered Draco, almost incoherently.

"Headache?" guessed Alec. "A blow to the face will do that."

Astoria helped Draco to his feet, conscious of how solidly he was leaning against her. Feeling Alec's eyes on them, she worked quickly, tucking in Draco's collar, yanking fabric until the worst of his ghastly shirt was obscured from sight.

All things considered, he didn't look terrible. Money had the effect of preserving even broken things with a certain kindness and it was amazing what a difference an expensive suit and a recent haircut made. If Astoria been attempting to fix up George Weasley instead, she would have been forced to steal him a trench coat.

Maudlin was waiting on the steps for them, pacing back and forth irritably, but one look at Draco sent a furious blush to his cheeks.

"Oh, what the _hell_ ," he muttered to himself. "I really got you—"

"Forget it," snapped Draco, unable to expend precious energy on another fight.

0o0

It was as quiet on the fourth floor of the Mendels apartment as it had been in the museum lobby. Aston was still engaged at the party; Cassandra and Emilie were conspicuously absent. What had become of Luc and Élise, Astoria did not dare guess.

"I don't know," muttered Maudlin, brushing soot off his coat, trying to think of what they could do to employ themselves. "Cards, or...?"

"Bed," Malfoy sneered, officially the color of turned cream beneath his bruise.

"I'll play," ventured Alec and because Astoria could think of no reason to go to sleep before ten o'clock, she watched Malfoy lope off alone. Their game did not last long, however. Maudlin had clearly drank a good deal more than ought to have and the game did not hold his attention. Using the fact that they were traveling the next morning as an excuse, Astoria made her escape just before midnight.

Safely enclosed in her bedroom, she slid out of her weighty, dazzling dress. The fabric fell a dark pool on the floor, where it glistened sinisterly in the moonlight. Stripped down to her slip, Astoria got into bed, shivering a little in the humid air. Finally alone again, her thoughts seemed to grow noisier in the dark.

All of her recollections about the evening were disjointed; a weird storm of anger and blood and wine. She didn't feel at all right about what had happened, but she could not seem to pinpoint where things had started to go wrong.

A moment later, still absorbed by her own musings, the sound of a horrible scream jolted her back to reality. Her head came flying out from underneath the covers. Glancing around in a panic, she could not immediately perceive the source of the yelling. Then, with a tumultuous creak, the mirror on the furthest wall fell off its hook and slammed into the baseboard, trembling with enough force to blow Astoria's nerves clean out of her limbs.

 _The bloody ghost._ She had forgotten that her room was haunted...

Gripping the sheets with shaking fingers, Astoria tried make herself calm down, but it was no use. Every time she came close to dozing off, the ghost would shriek louder, edging closer to her face each time it did so. After an hour-long struggle, Astoria kicked her blankets clean off her bed and vacated the room. Stalking down the hall, she pushed open the door to the next room over as quietly as she could, and padded across the floor on tip-toe.

She could hardly bring herself to crawl into bed with Alec, and if that meant that her choice was between Draco and Maudlin, then Astoria's work was already cut out for her.

"Move over," Astoria whispered, waking Draco from a drowsy, aching slumber.

The twins beds in this room were so small that there was hardly anywhere to move over _to_ , but after a minute of squinting groggily, he did his best to shuffle over.

"S'Alec in here?" he muttered, sounding very stuffed up.

"Not yet," Astoria whispered back, eyeing Alec's un-rumpled covers. "I don't care. The ghost in my room is throwing things."

The moonlight flickered sinisterly over Draco's face as she spoke, throwing his wounds into great illumination. The bruise was beginning to spread, reaching up toward his eye with purpling fingers.

Astoria sunk down, half on top of him, doing her best to avoid hurting anything. He was shirtless and warm—too warm, maybe even feverish and the daze in his expression seemed to hint at a thundering headache.

Draco waited for her to finish moving and then pulled her heavily toward him. The press of his skin against hers had a new sensation to it, however, and it suddenly occurred to Astoria that she had never seen him undressed before. It was a little embarrassing, but mostly _very_ fascinating. Before now, they had only ever shared a bed in awkward, watchful places; Belladonna's house, or—in the case of the World Cup—a tent that also happened to be housing Lucius. As a result, he had always been too well behaved to casually strip naked. A quick peak confirmed that his armpits were just as blonde as his head; a revelation that left her with a strange, juvenile desire to giggle.

Narrowly resisting this urge, Astoria bit down on her own fingers to smother a laugh and wriggled, searching for a comfortable nook underneath Draco's dense limbs. Between the lingering essence of blood and his sweaty hair, it was easily the furthest that she had ever intruded into his personal space. For _just_ a moment, lulled by his snuffly breathing, Astoria let herself give in and belong to it.

The heat was still sweltering, but it was infinitely preferable to a haunting; it seemed to cut right through the fog of her solitary thoughts. The nagging sense that she had acted unkindly all evening evaporated too, leaving nothing behind but the curiously primal safety of a privately inhabited space.

Trying to ignore the obvious—that she clearly did fancy Draco just a _little_ bit, otherwise his smothering proximity would have been thoroughly repugnant—Astoria closed her eyes and breathed out against his arm contentedly: "I Love you."

Huh. _Interesting_.

Wait. No— _not_ interesting. It wasn't what she had meant to say. In fact, it wasn't what she had meant to say at _all_. Had that sentence actually left _her_ mouth? It took every bit of self control Astoria possessed to keep her eyes from flying open. God, had he _heard_ her?

Concentrating hard on Draco's injury-obstructed intake of breath, Astoria prayed silently, hoping to hear a snore. Every particle of her being flared to life as she waited, fixated on the body behind her—searching for signs of consciousness.

"Hm?" Malfoy grunted into her hair.

Astoria did not respond, determined to make it look as though her _own_ limbs were loose with slumber. Because if Draco wasn't asleep, _she_ bloody well had to be.

"What?" Draco persisted, more clearly now, fighting through his headache to lift his head up. She could feel him squinting at her face, trying to decide if he had heard her correctly.

Astoria mumbled something unintelligible, imitating the opiated babble of genuine sleep-talk.

Several minutes passed before Draco sank back down into drowsiness. Confused and thoroughly annoyed with herself, it was almost dawn before Astoria could really join him.

0o0

The next morning arrived with a bang— _literally_.

"Up! Everybody up!" bellowed Maudlin. A door bounced off the wall, punctuating this command like a rough exclamation point.

Startled, Astoria struggled her way back toward consciousness, twitching away from the weight of Draco's shoulder in an attempt to regain the surface. The sun was barely visible... Why was Maudlin screaming?

"Portkey's not till noon," yawned Alec, who must've come in very late if Astoria hadn't heard him enter. "Is there breakfast?"

"I know what time it is, and no, there isn't!" snapped Maudlin shrilly, flying about the room like a whirling dervish in a cashmere robe. "We have to get out before then—there's _no_ time to lose!"

"What's happening?" Astoria stuttered, bleary-eyed and disoriented.

"I've broken up with Emilie, _that's_ what," returned Maudlin swiftly, hunting through the pockets of an antique writing desk in the corner of the room for a spare bit of stationary. "Last night after you went to bed. And now that _slag_ Cassandra's decided to unleash the hounds!"

Astoria blinked in astonishment.

"Wait a minute—what are _you_ doing in here?" demanded Maudlin, caching himself. "I thought you were in the pink room..."

"I _was._ Until your ghost broke a mirror," Astoria muttered, privately thankful that she had jolted away from Draco during the chaos of Maudlin's wrecking-ball entrance. Her current position was decidedly less comfortably entwined than it had been moments before. Which was just as well, because her presence seemed to have thrown Maudlin off kilter.

"Oh. Right." Maudlin frowned. He hesitated. "There _are_ couches..."

"Bastille day is this weekend," rejoined Alec, stretching out until his feet extended past the end of his undersized mattress. "It doesn't matter how much you're willing to tip. You won't be able to get us all a new portkey without a reservation."

"I'm sorry, _he_ looks naked under there," insisted Maudlin, still off-topic, thoroughly arrested by the sight of Astoria in Draco's bed. "Are _you_ naked under there?"

Clearly, the threat of Astoria turning up nude with one of his guests had never occurred to him. And now that it had, it did not seem to be sitting well.

" _No_ ," Astoria grumbled, annoyed.

To her surprise, Draco offered up no reassurances of his own, sagging back against the pillows without word. When the silence continued to drag on, he shrugged and shot Maudlin a smarmy, almost insolent, look from underneath his massive bruise.

"You broke up with Emilie while we were sleeping?" demanded Astoria, anxious to stabilize the topic at hand before Malfoy decided to flip Maudlin a set of middle fingers.

"Yes," Maudlin confirmed distractedly, still staring at Draco, perhaps detecting his first real hint of the hostility that so often flowed from that quarter. "She and Cassandra came over around midnight, kicking up a fuss. They'll be back again today—mark my words."

"So?" sneered Draco.

" _So_ , Cassandra's already asked her cousin to pull me off the museum board!" groused Maudlin, returning to his search for paper and a pen. "Who _knows_ what she'll do next. I got a letter this morning from Old Man Bonaccord 'regretfully' accepting my resignation! What do you make of _that,_ Astoria?"

The fact that he felt the need to finish this complaint by addressing Astoria directly landed with a curious, but unmissable edge.

" _What_ museum board?" Astoria snorted, more puzzled than hostile.

" _The_ museum board, Astoria! It's been one of Father's charities for a decade!" Maudlin ranted, pacing, lost to his own worries again. "He passed it along to me on my seventeenth birthday—what am I going to tell him?"

"Old Man Bonaccord?" Astoria repeated this name, savoring something familiar in the taste. "You _don't_ mean _Mr_. Bonaccord? The man whose watch you tricked me into stealing when we were little?"

"Of course I do! How many Bonaccords do _you_ know?" sneered Maudlin.

Alec moaned. "If I hear the word 'Bonaccord' _one_ more time, I'm going to shove my arm so far up—"

"Oh!" Astoria exclaimed, securing the top of her flimsy slip as she staggered out of bed. " _Please!_ That tiny man is the greediest weasel in Europe! Write him back and tell him there's been a mix up. Say that you aren't trying to resign—in fact, you and your father were actually just discussing a larger donation."

"You mean bribe him?" Maudlin prompted, seeking clarification.

"Whatever you want to call it," Astoria insisted. "Just throw some money at the problem before Cassandra takes a bite out of you. Give me that parchment. I'll start and you can copy down the letter in your own handwriting."

Draco opened his mouth to say something scathing but Maudlin raised a robed arm, effectively silencing the room.

" _That_ might work," he declared in ponderous triumph.

"Fantastic," drawled Alec. "Now ring for tea."

"No, no. There's no time for that!" Maudlin insisted, bouncing from foot to foot almost shiftily. "If we're _not_ catching the portkey, we're going to have to drive."

"To Monaco?" Alec reiterated flatly, finally perceiving the aggravating chain of events that were about to unfold. " _Today?_ "

"It's only nine hours," breezed Maudlin, waving all complaints aside. "We can take father's car. We'll be there before six."

Alec passed a hand across his bloodshot eyes, thoroughly unamused.

" _You_ might want to see someone about your face, though," continued Maudlin obliviously, gesturing toward Draco. "Otherwise we'll be stopped by the muggles at a check point."

Astoria had not even realized that Draco had been _invited_ to Monaco, and the idea of him tagging along after her midnight slip-up was somewhat stressful.

Perhaps Draco had not realized he was coming _either_ , because he let out a tiny, contemptuous laugh. "Yeah?" he sneered. "Think so?"

"You're not still sore about last night?" pressed Maudlin nervously, taking his best stab a cajoling smile. "I mean, it was an _accident_. Blame Luc—he's the one who grabbed me."

Astoria stared. This was yet another childhood trait that she hadn't seen Maudlin exhibit so obviously in years: his compulsive fear of being disliked by anybody who actually _knew_ him. Despite Malfoy's glare and the inherent turf invasion that he had committed by somehow inducing Astoria to sleep next to him, Maudlin was still going to do everything he could to get Draco into a car before eight o'clock.

"Where _is_ Luc?" wondered Alec at last, peering around lazily.

"The devil knows," Maudlin sneered. " _He's_ not coming—you can be sure of that. The last thing _I_ need is Emilie's spy eating his way through my father's menu and making a nuisance of himself. His ride is _over_."

"Ring for the tea," sighed Alec decisively, heaving himself up out of bed. "Draco needs to see his father, anyway. You got too drunk and forgot to properly invite him along yesterday."

This was fully true, and the fact that someone had at least _noticed_ seemed to calm Draco's mounting wrath considerably. His eyes flicked from Maudlin to Astoria, trying to decide if he should hustle and make time for a shower or tell Maudlin to go fuck himself.

"Fine!" Maudlin agreed, adding up this harassed mental math. "Everyone gets thirty minutes, but that's _it_. Astoria, you come with me. If we're going to outwit Cassandra, we'll need to focus. She's as much your enemy as mine."

"What does _that_ mean?" Astoria snorted, thoroughly surprised that Maudlin had even _noticed_ Astoria and Cassandra's mutual animosity, let alone guessed its depths.

"We wouldn't be in this mess at all if _she_ hadn't made an ultimatum out of it," Maudlin sneered. "She made me choose: you or Emilie."

Astoria looked up from her half-composed note to Mr. Bonaccord, the tip of her quill hovering in midair. Then, with great restraint, she put it down and slowly swiveled about in her chair. " _Excuse_ me?"

"You heard me. Have you ever heard of anything so presumptuous?" exclaimed Maudlin, mistaking Astoria's intensity for shared scorn. "Coming into my _own_ house and telling me who I can and can't have in it—oh, I could just _strangle_ her."

He raised both of his hands to wring an imaginary neck

"But you broke up with Emilie because you're tired of her!" Astoria insisted almost pleadingly. "You _told_ her that you don't want to date her anymore."

Maudlin made a tiny motion of assent but his expression, caught between surprise and guilt, told another story entirely.

"No! You _idiot!_ " Astoria moaned, appalled. "Cassandra is going to think you broke up with Emilie for _me_!"

"She won't think that," muttered Maudlin evasively.

"Yes, she will!" Astoria yelled, working herself up. "Of _course_ she will. Because you DID!"

" _Fine!_ So what?" Maudlin hissed, cracking under pressure. "You don't like Cassandra anyway, so what difference does it make? You should be happy that I stood up for you!"

"You didn't stand up for me!" Astoria snarled furiously. " _You_ threw me under the bitch bus! Do you even realize what you've done?"

"I can't listen to this," muttered Maudlin. "We don't have _time_ —"

"Draco, go find your father!" Astoria begged. "And come _back_! _Please_ come back. _Nine hours in a car_ —I'll be a murderer after two, if you don't!"

"We'll meet in my room!" Maudlin bellowed, halfway out the door. "THIRTY minutes!"

0o0

* * *

Oh man, this took forever and a day. My summer has been far more hectic than I predicted it would turn out to be. So much moving, so little sanity. Thank you so much for being patient!

However, I'm going to go ahead and admit right now that this whole chapter probably didn't get the loving edit it deserves. I always try to avoid premature updating, but I work tomorrow and I have family coming the day after. At this point, I'm making the executive decision to just post. It's been SO long since I've updated, and the wait feels like it is getting out of hand. If you spot something weirdly italicized or punctuated, try to understand and resist the urge to flog me. I promise to come through and tighten up on Sunday. (Size is the trouble—the longer the chapter, the more times it needs to be checked over. Otherwise I ALWAYS miss something stupid.)

Similarly, there were a bunch questions in the reviews that I'd _really_ like to answer, particularly those concerning The Cursed Child. But at this point, it's almost three in the morning, and I'm truncating so I can catch a fast nap. Remember, I love you and I ALWAYS read your input, so please don't think I'm ignoring you! Maudlin was literally my spirit animal today at the end of this chapter ( _Time? Tiiimmee._ TIME!) but I promise to update the author's note on Sunday.

There's also some super exciting stuff coming up in the next chapter, guys. Hopefully I'll be able get it up in a civilized fashion. I have from Sunday to Sunday off work, so I'm feeling optimistic.

As always, reviews make my day! :)


	63. Sons And Spies

Chapter Sixty Three

Sons and Spies

* * *

0o0

A preposterously vast buffet of food was already laid out in Maudlin's room by the time Draco returned. As usual, the elves had overdone themselves: platters of fruit balanced precariously on the mantelpiece, a small table—barely large enough to accommodate Astoria's letter _and_ Maudlin's elbows—positively sagged under the weight of several trays of pastry, and a collection of teacups was fighting a losing battle against a vase of ornamental lilies.

Draco had made very quick work of showering and changing. It had taken him less than half an hour to reclaim all of his usual health and vigor, not to mention a hefty portion of his old arrogance. His bruised face—recently purple enough to be considered startling—was his own again; unmarked, restored. Even with a cup of tea under her nose, Astoria could smell the misty perfume of his soap.

"I don't know that I like how smug this sounds," declared Maudlin, who was proof-reading the letter to Mr. Bonaccord over Astoria's shoulder. "My father would call this unctuous, you know."

"He would _not_ ," Astoria prickled. "It's clever."

And it _was_. She had managed to make all of Maudlin's points clearly enough without ever once having to resort to obvious bribery or ill-natured threats. Furthermore, having skipped a bath to cobble together a thankless favor for him, she was not overly anxious to hear the final product abused.

"You've said everything Bonaccord wants to hear!" hissed Maudlin, gesturing with the parchment. "What about _my_ dignity? This isn't a reprimand, it's a love letter!"

"That's the point," said Astoria tartly.

She reached for her tea but stopped herself short at the last minute, conscious of the fact that Draco was standing silently behind her. Illogical though it was, his reappearance had caused a short burst of nervous energy to shoot through her limbs and she was a little afraid that her hands might shake and cause the porcelain to rattle.

 _Stupid._

"I wanted you to put some fear in him!" persisted Maudlin under his breath. "Really _punish_ him, you know?"

" _He's_ not your enemy," Astoria sighed exasperatedly. "Cassandra is. There's no point in being short with Mr. Bonaccord. Especially not now—you still _want_ something from him."

"Fine," Maudlin grunted, unbuttoning his sports coat so that he could sink into a slouch behind his writing desk. "You look better," he finally called, observing Draco in the doorway. "Everything's set with your father, I take it? Have we got you until the weekend?"

Draco shrugged and raised his eyebrows. It was a subtle sign of agreement, but even at a glance, Astoria could tell that having to crawl home like a wounded drunk had done nothing for his mood. Hidden behind a properly mended nose, Draco's earlier annoyance was almost disguised, but it hadn't evaporated entirely.

Maudlin took his silence for an enthusiastic assent, tone deaf as ever, and returned to the letter.

"Do I have to call him 'sir'?" he sneered, pausing again. "I mean, the man is a walking _pumpkin_..."

"Only if you want to stay on the museum board!" Astoria finally snapped, groping about for her teacup, officially irritated past the point of nerves. "The letter might look sweet to _you_ , but the poison is meant for Cassandra. Just copy it down."

"It's not like it matters anyway," scoffed Draco, breaking his silence. "Cassandra's going to know that _Astoria_ wrote it."

"She doesn't know _everything,_ " clucked Maudlin dismissively. "Why should she guess that Astoria helped me?"

"Because she knows that you're too thick to think fast in a crisis," returned Draco insolently.

Maudlin bristled but, mercifully, a house elf came in at the same exact moment to change the toast rack and distracted him.

"We should be off," Maudlin announced, sealing off the new letter (now written out beautifully in his own hand) before passing it over to the elf.

Astoria heaved a deep breath and prepared to get to her feet. Unlike Draco, who appeared _magically_ refreshed, she was still dog-tired. A ghost of the wine she had consumed the night before was churning fitfully in her stomach, leaving a fog of residual stupidity about her ears. She did not want to go on a car ride. What she _wanted_ was a breath of fresh air.

"We'll have the trunks sent along," Maudlin continued, wrapping a handkerchief around what looked suspiciously like a pocket flask. "We don't have room for the luggage."

"Aren't _you_ driving?" asked Astoria, eyeing the ill-concealed pocket flask uncomfortably.

Merlin, how was he even _standing_?

"Of course I'm driving," Maudlin scoffed. "No one else here knows how."

"It can't be _that_ hard," sneered Draco, irritated by the insinuation that Maudlin was capable of doing anything that _he_ couldn't. "Muggles manage it all the time."

"Well, it's _not_ hard exactly," Maudlin admitted, missing the nuance of unpleasantness in Draco's tone. "Not when it comes right down to it. A toddler could probably manage it..."

"If he could reach the pedals," rejoined Alec wryly, finished off his scone and getting up. "Let me drive, you're preoccupied. Scrap the flask and bring the bottle."

Astoria let out a tight sigh of relief and turned toward Alec, appreciating this offer for what it really was—a clever safety precaution disguised as a treat. For a person who often required assistance in order to accomplish even the most mundane of tasks, Maudlin could be curiously proud. Alec's trademark air of chilly benevolence was so mild by nature, however, that it was almost impossible to tell when he was concealing an ulterior-motive. It was the perfect tact to take.

"Alright," Maudlin agreed cheerfully. " _You_ play captain."

0o0

Despite being frantic to depart, they were held up another twenty minutes because Maudlin's vanity would not permit him to leave home half-dressed.

While Astoria and the rest loitered on the landing, Maudlin darted off for closets that had stood unused for years, loudly demanding to know where his belongings—clearly stored elsewhere—could possibly be. All the while, seizing their twice annual opportunity to appear productive, elves continued to sweep in and out of the room delivering letters.

These notes, all hastily addressed in Luc's handwriting, were almost enough to drive Maudlin over the edge.

"What does Luc _want_ from me?" he hissed aggressively, snatching the latest bit of post out of the air. "He knows he can't come with us—surely he must? I don't _want_ him there! Is he really going to make me come right out and say it?"

"Ignore the letters!" Astoria insisted, making every attempt to funnel his frantic limbs toward the stairway. "You can write him later!"

"You realize he's trying to _apologize,_ don't you?" sneered Maudlin contemptuously, pivoting about on the stairs. He tripped on a step and teetered dangerously into the railing. "The slimy git says he sympathizes with me! As _if_ that could be true! Everyone knows that Emilie's father is the only reason his schooling was paid off! What would Luc do without her? His _own_ lousy, alcoholic father can't take him anywhere!"

"And where could he possibly find _another_ rich benefactor to assist him?" wondered Alec out-loud, his lips curving upward somewhat sarcastically.

Astoria blushed, unable to laugh. There was a hint of something about Luc's financial status that could almost be applied to _herself_ with very little twisting. She felt no inclination to mock him for it.

For all of Maudlin's loud protestations, his certainty was short lived. He grabbed Alec by the arm as they stumbled into the foyer. " _You_ don't think he actually does agree with me, do you?" he demanded in a low, unsure aside. "That is, do you think it's possible that he _doesn't_ blame me?"

"He's in mourning for his lost vacation," sighed Alec, steering Maudlin toward the front doors. "Don't dwell on it. _I'm_ not..."

The car—an antique sports-model that might have been right at home outside a country house in a high-end jewelry commercial—had already been brought around. Without a word, Astoria clambered into the cramped backseat. Paying thanklessly little mind to the glamour of her new aesthetic, she propped up her knees, breathed in the scent of sun-warmed leather and closed her eyes.

It was fully Astoria's intention to remain groggy and hostile for the rest of the day, but the claustrophobic clamor of other cars began to subside soon after they left the city. Realizing now that Maudlin's route did not seem to be restricted to any major motorway, she reluctantly began to take in the view. Outside, the word was expanding in a blur of glorious, yellow heat.

Loping hills had sprung up in the distance while she pretended to doze off. Now, zooming past them at criminal speeds, the sense of having escaped the grips of something undefinable and tiresome began to take hold of Astoria's spirit. They had done the impossible: they had left the dust of Paris—of home, even—behind. Maudlin's dark cloud of romantic agitation was all but burned off and none of them—not even Draco—could really fight the gleeful allure of their truancy.

Growing looser and more excited by the minute, Astoria unfolded her limbs and let one arm dangle past the window to test the jet stream.

"We should be on the A6," argued Alec, urging Maudlin to consult the glove-box atlas.

"Nonsense," Maudlin snorted, passing the bottle he had pocketed earlier over his shoulder into the backseat. "I've made this drive a dozen times! We'll end up in the right place. _I_ always do..."

Wincing skittishly, Draco snatched the bottle Maudlin was waving before he sustained another unexpected blow to the face.

Whether this was true or not, Astoria did not dare guess. What she _did_ know what that the blazing sunshine had radically reduced most of her desire to complete their journey as quickly as possible. She no longer _cared_ where they ended up so long as it was someplace very far away. She eyed the amber contents of the flask uncertainly, however.

It looked like exactly the kind of velvety-brown scotch that Malfoy himself usually tended to favor; an oak-smooth poison that Astoria had never been able to acquire much of a taste for. Still, despite her reservations (and lingering hangover) she found herself sipping tentatively from the bottle when Draco was finished with it—a decision she regretted almost immediately.

" _Eugh,_ " she trembled, fighting back a wave of revulsion. Astoria thrust out her hand to pass the treacherous Scotch along, but Alec would not take it from her. Perhaps driving was slightly more than the child's play that Maudlin had made it out to be?

"What?" snorted Maudlin incredulously. "You _don't_ like it?"

"No," gulped Astoria thickly, raising a hand to her chest. Her lungs felt like _fire_. "I _hate_ it."

For some reason this struck both Draco and Maudlin as immensely funny.

"You _do_ realize that's what the French Minister drinks, don't you?" insisted Maudlin in his most patronizing tone. "It's good enough for _him_..."

"Just because two people share the same bad taste doesn't mean it suddenly becomes _good_ ," Astoria scoffed, but the insult was toothless; she was smirking into her lap, conscious of the warmth rising in her cheeks.

It was precisely the last thing she should be doing—prolonging her state of witlessness—but their drive (which had promised to be a torturous experience from the first) was beginning to take a radical slide toward hilarity because of it.

Maudlin was in top form; as funny and cajoling as Astoria had ever seen him, delighted by his company and relived of the burden of a girlfriend for the first time since pubescence. Draco, assisted somewhat by the Scotch, soon forgot all about his recent head wound and became nearly as a pleasant as Maudlin.

Such was Astoria's sense of contentment that, when their conversation somehow turned to Belladonna—or, more specifically, to Maudlin's general terror of all things that _concerned_ Belladonna—she did not immediately think to change the subject.

"The woman used to tell these _stories_ about children being drowned in rivers or snatched up in dark alleyways!" cackled Maudlin, clapping a hand against his arm rest. "Do you remember those, Astoria?"

"Yes," Astoria scoffed, wondering if Maudlin had forgotten her current address.

"It's perfectly normal to be nervous around her," he continued. "Even my father thinks so—"

"He does not!" protested Astoria laughingly, knowing full well that Aston was _not_ overly fond of Belladonna, even if he was too polite to admit it more often. "I think he finds her charming..."

"Al- _arming_ , maybe," Maudlin corrected lazily, tossing the handkerchief he had used to hide the liquor out his window.

Astoria watched the fabric billow in the breeze like a ship's sail before sinking down onto the pavement. Lost forever.

"What do _you_ make of her, Draco?" continued Maudlin scornfully. "Am I being unfair? You've met her enough times to form an opinion, haven't you?"

" _Hah_ ," Draco jeered, red-faced with amusement. But then he caught Astoria's eye and seemed to remember the predicament that this question put him in. "Well, _my_ father would certainly agree with you," he drawled, rather cleverly managing to press his point without having to outright admit that he found Astoria's aunt unpleasant.

"They don't get on?" asked Maudlin. For a moment, curiosity rendered his features somewhat crafty.

"Not especially, no," admitted Astoria, finally remembering the dangers of allowing her aunt to remain a topic of discussion.

"You _might_ even call it a feud," taunted Draco, smirking in a way that Astoria found extremely annoying.

"Really?" pressed Maudlin, enthralled by the prospect of theatrics. "Why?"

"Some silly thing," Astoria muttered.

Draco let out a nasal scoff but took the hint and fell silent, gazing smugly at the back of Maudlin's head.

"So, what? She hides from him at parties, does she?" laughed Maudlin, unable to let the matter go, clearly savoring the idea of Belladonna in state of panic. "She sees him coming up the stairs and ducks into the loos?"

Astoria paused, bemused by this notion. In all reality, if circumstances ever conspired to arrange a meeting between Lucius and Belladonna at the top of a staircase, Astoria's safe money was on Belladonna sweeping him a magnificently lethal leg halfway up.

"Who knows," she muttered evasively, unsure what else to say.

"No," agreed Draco drawlingly, "I suppose she _wouldn't_. She's too competitive for that, isn't she?"

Astoria paused awkwardly. Since the beginning, Draco had generally handled the subject of Lucius and Belladonna's fight with an air of vague indifference—as though he found the matter slightly inconvenient and just little boring. He had _not_ gone out of his way to ask Astoria any questions about her aunt, sensing—quite correctly—that he would be treading into dangerous waters by doing so.

But now, for the first time, Astoria detected a hint of inquisition. _Was_ Belladonna competitive, he seemed to be asking? Did she enjoy the hunt? And with both Maudlin and Alec in the car, Astoria could not help but feel how strange it would look if she went out of her way to avoid his question.

"Yes," Astoria finally returned stonily. "She is."

"She sees him and decides the game is afoot?" Draco pressed, talking to Astoria but looking at Maudlin, avoiding her eyes in a way that struck her as being somewhat sly.

Astoria forced a laugh. "She _does_ have a soft spot for an elegant foe," she admitted lightly.

This was more than a little stupid, but it served as a brilliant defuser. Maudlin chortled and Alec, who had been unusually silent all morning, let out a belly-laugh and caught her eye in the rearview mirror.

"Seriously though," sneered Draco, narrowing his eyes.

Astoria tittered and moved forward to jostle Maudlin's arm, certain that his lack of focus would help her change the conversation.

0o0

By the time the sun began to show signs of setting, it was becoming abundantly clear that they had wandered off course. Maudlin thought that they were somewhere near Avignon. Alec said that this was impossible, as they had passed through it hours ago. The only thing that seemed certain was that it was nearly dinner time.

Headlights blazed up and down the road now, casting Maudlin's face into sinister illumination as he checked over his map. In the backseat, Astoria shivered at the sudden change in temperature. There was a low, moist dew in the air that seemed to penetrate the fabric of her dress with bizarre ease; a barometric drop that put her in mind of the sea at night. Hoping this might be a sign that they were finally approaching the ocean, she turned to peer through the windows.

One more road turned into another. Then another. The sloping ground grew steeper. They seemed to be heading South, but there weren't any large towns or signposts to mark the way; only a bumpy, scrubby wilderness made up of low-lying shrubs and fan palms, all burning under the very last rays of a magnificent sunset.

Then, mercifully, just when Astoria was beginning to despair of ever eating again, Alec crested a hill, turned a corner, and the sea came into view below.

"I told you so," declared Maudlin, dusting off his hands and returning the atlas to the glove box triumphantly.

They skirted around the brightly lit casinos and restaurants of Monte Carlo as they descended, then rocketed along the darker, pebbly beaches at top speed. Maudlin seemed to think it was possible that his father would have company—a dinner party after the Minister's Ball was not uncommon. Realizing now that they would be arriving quite late, he began to murmur uncomfortably and become fussy again.

"We'll want to slip in and change right away," he kept repeating. "No time for anything else. Father was expecting us hours ago."

"Of course he was," scoffed Draco. "He thought you were taking a Portkey at _noon_."

Aston's home, situated at the very top of a high hill overlooking the water, was still a sight to behold even in the dwindling twilight.

Built in the sixteenth century, it had served as a monastery for the better part of several centuries before it had fallen into Aston's hands the year before Maudlin was born. Ancient and constructed largely from stone, it more closely resembled a palace than a villa and the Mendels' influence had certainly done nothing to detract from its imposing face.

Renovations had been made, allowing space for a new standard of luxury while remaining faithful to the building's history—the walls between the Spartan-like dormitories of the monks had been demolished to make way for larger, grand-scale bedrooms, but the structure of several vaulted halls remained untouched, as did the courtyards and water gardens.

The grounds themselves were no less marvelous. Contained in tiers, the lawns and gardens undulated down the slope of the hill toward the beach; a feat of gardening ingenuity and _water_ , which seemed to be the dominant theme here. Expressed in the form of fountains and ancient aqueducts, water was everywhere.

Alec turned in at the gates and made quick work of advancing up the gravel drive. Every single light in the house seemed to be lit; every window from top to bottom blazing outward expectantly.

Maudlin leapt from the car the moment it came to a stop.

"This way," he insisted hurriedly, ushering them all past the front doors and down a well-tended walk, stopping only when he reached a courtyard that dripped with grape vines. "We'll go in through the side. The luggage _should_ be here."

He burst in through a narrow wooden door, jolting a house-elf right off of a rickety foot-stool.

Astoria blinked and adjusted to the rush of heat. They were in a square, sparsely appointed room made up of high-reaching drawers filled with cutlery and wooden cabinets that housed fine china.

"Young Master Maudlin!" the elf screamed shrilly, fumbling to catch a large serving platter before it hit the ground.

But Maudlin had no time for explanations _or_ greetings. He pushed around the elf's ladder at a manic speed and made for the next room, reminding Astoria irresistibly of the way her own father tended to move about at events.

They chased him through the kitchen and up the thin, spiral stairway used by the servants to the second floor.

There was something faintly Hogwarts-like about the halls above; tall and echoey, but paler—stone the color of untouched snow or sun-bleached linen. The floor was carpeted with a lustrous oriental runner as purple as a ripe plum and the tall, leaded windows glistened with the warmth of candlelight on one side and starlight on the other.

Now that they had moved away from the cacophony of elves baking, Astoria became aware of murmured voices below in the house proper. Laugher bounced off of the acoustics of the vaulted ceiling and the hum of polite conversation was almost loud enough to be comprehensible.

"What time is it?" hissed Maudlin, shooting past the main staircase, aiming for his rooms in the east wing.

Draco, for his part, now seemed content to ignore Maudlin. He was busy studying the hall and any visible rooms beyond with a strangely discriminatory eye—searching for a flaw in their styling or quality.

It was Alec that answered him: "Eight," he announced, consulting his wristwatch.

"Good, they won't be eating just yet," Maudlin rambled, talking chiefly to himself. "They'll be on cocktails. If we're quick, we may catch them before they go in. Alec, be expedient—no one cares if your tie matches your eyes. Astoria, wear something purple. Father will like it. And Draco—well, _you're_ sane, I suppose you can do as you like..."

He blasted through his own bedroom door, leaving the rest of them to suss out which suite had been appointed to whom based on the contents of the luggage therein.

Locating her own things in the smallest of the guest rooms near the eaves, Astoria shut the door behind her and tore through her belongings in a rush, shamefully infected by Maudlin's anxiety. She chose the purple, fluttery silk dress she had worn to the Yule Ball and then promptly tripped over her own cases in her desperation to reach the bathroom.

 _Breathe_ , she urged herself, pulling the dress over her head. _Aston's never yelled at you in his life._

Somewhat calmed, she took her time accessorizing, layering several necklaces of various lengths until she felt that she achieved something faintly glamorous and unique. Content that she was well draped and that her makeup was not smeared, she sat on the edge of her bed and fastened a pair of high-heeled sandals about her ankles, hopeful that for the first time in several months, she would not be forced to jog in them.

Draco was already waiting for Maudlin when she came out, leaning against the wall directly beside her door.

He had changed his shirt and run a comb through his hair, but he had not done much else. Conscious of the fact that Draco typically knew how to schmooze with the best of them, Astoria couldn't help but wonder if he was intentionally going out of his way _not_ to appear especially desperate to please.

"Ironic, isn't it?" he drawled when he caught sight of her. "Rushing everybody around and then taking forever to get ready? I suppose Alec's in there hunting for that bloody diamond cravat pin of his."

"The _only_ thing that sparkles more sinisterly than his eyes," Astoria allowed, smirking repressively.

" _Really_ , though," Draco jeered. "You're a girl and _you've_ finished up first."

As though summoned by the sound of laughter, Alec and Maudlin both opened their doors at nearly the same time.

Alec was as cool and pastel as a lavender dawn. Maudlin, meanwhile, had swapped one pair of ugly velvet loafers for another and was actively tucking something that looked suspiciously like a velvet handkerchief into his breast pocket.

"Time?" Maudlin demanded, tucking and patting at random.

"Eight _twenty_ ," issued Alec, eyeing Maudlin's pocket square in a way that seemed to suggest that he was imagining all of the many ways it could be turned into a murder weapon.

This preoccupation with time—while annoying—soon proved to be a somewhat merited. Maudlin had guessed his father's schedule with an almost mathematical exactness. Aston had _not_ yet led his guests in to dinner, and they found him sitting with no less than fifteen people in the library when they came down to the first floor.

"Father!" Maudlin attempted jauntily, striding across the well-lit room. He interrupted a conversation in order to shake Aston's hand, thrusting his body between the couch and an end table.

"You've arrived, have you?" returned Aston mildly, surveying his son with a penetrating gaze. "I was beginning to fear that I had seen the last of you. I waited for nearly an hour this morning before the elves finally came in to tell me that you had decided to drive."

"Did you!?" Maudlin startled, plainly aggrieved by this. "Oh, that is to say—well, we _did_ drive. I certainly didn't think we would keep _you_ waiting..."

Such was Aston's marvelous gift for self-possession that he managed to appear perfectly at ease while Maudlin stuttered and fumbled. By the time he had sputtered out a feeble excuse and fallen silent, even Astoria felt bad for him.

"Astoria, darling!" Aston brightened, turning away from his son. "Come here and let me have a look at you—Maudlin managed to sneak you past me last night and I wasn't there to greet you when you arrived."

Maudlin stepped aside to make room for Astoria looking stunned and faintly intoxicated—two things that Astoria was _certain_ Aston's sharp eyes would not have missed.

Aston, of course, had been born into a very old family, but his _own_ father—a gambler on the best of days, and an addict on the worst—had made it necessary for him to spend much of his youth rebuilding his family's fortune. The fact that he had struggled (and then succeeded beyond any common standard) had long ago gifted Aston with a humility that his son would never posses. But it also—in what could only be described as a cruelly ironic twist—left him somewhat predisposed to disdain idleness, lack of self-reliance and public intoxication. In short, the sum total of Maudlin's very character was made up of every trait that Aston admired the last. It was an ugly truth that both father _and_ son generally endeavored to hide—or at the very least, to _overlook_.

"You're in purple," Aston chuckled, amused. "You _do_ have an easy gift for flattery."

"It was your son's idea," breathed Astoria, consciously throwing Maudlin the bone.

"Yes, of course it was," Aston snorted. "How delightfully thoughtful the guilty _always_ are!"

Maudlin laughed hollowly and pivoted about to glance across the room, desperate for a distraction. Astoria followed suit politely. Draco had moved away from them. With a nervous lurch, she suddenly understood why.

The library was filled with queerest company she had ever seen in Aston's home: Draco had gravitated toward the fire because _Lucius_ was standing in that quarter, talking busily to Alistair Yaxley. And behind Alistair was Roland Yaxley, his hand fixed politely on Cassandra Rowle's elbow.

Without so much as an exchanged glance, Astoria felt Maudlin's body freeze violently beside her. For long moment—perhaps _too_ long—they both remained stock-still, united in a state of agitated silence.

"Huh," Maudlin finally shrugged, attempting to get ahold of himself. "Well, _I_ need a drink."

He stormed off toward a table of hors d'oeuvres indignantly, determined to turn up a cocktail.

"It's nothing to worry about," murmured Aston quietly, following Astoria's line of sight. "I'll keep the hounds at bay."

Astoria startled. How could he have possibly have known that the sight of Lucius would send a thrill of fear down her spine? Then, a half-beat later than it _should_ have occurred to her, she understood that he had been talking about the Yaxleys.

Belladonna had let Aston in on the secret of the Lestrange inheritance years ago, most likely in an attempt to extract money from him out of pity. Whether or not Belladonna had been successful, Astoria did not know—although a shameful sense of intuition made her think that she probably _had_ —and Aston's conscious pity now seemed to indicate that he had not forgotten Astoria's unfortunate connection to the Yaxley family.

"Is my father here?" asked Astoria, trying to remain calm.

"No," returned Aston mildly. "I'll confess, it never occurred to me that I _should_ invite him. I take it he's been making something of a circuit with Lucius these days?"

He glanced sideways at Astoria, privately amused in the extreme.

"He has," Astoria laughed, charmed by the foolishness of Aston's repressed mirth.

"How thrilling for Belladonna," Aston continued, somehow managing to stare straight ahead without compromising the impression that he was still speaking directly to _her_. "You _will_ tell me more later, won't you? I've been positively yearning for the tale since Malfoy arrived, but talking to _him_ is rather like consulting an oracle—he never seems speak in anything other than sinister riddles..."

A weird, jittery laugh escaped through Astoria's clenched jaw. For a wild second, she was almost afraid that she would choke on her own spit.

"Astoria!" called Maudlin stoutly. "Do _you_ want something?"

He raised his chin, meeting the brunt of his father's displeasure defiantly.

Astoria hesitated. She was quite certain that Aston would _not_ care if she spent the evening working on a single cocktail, but something about Maudlin's brazenness was uncomfortably suggestive of a challenge.

"Pour her half of whatever you're having, Maudlin," answered Aston coldly, "and leave it at that."

Maudlin snorted and dropped an ice cube into a second glass before recrossing the room.

"Here," he declared grimly, offering Astoria one drink while gesturing over her shoulder with the other. "We'll walk toward the garden. If you fancy it, I reckon there's a cliff on the west side that's high enough for _both_ of us to kill ourselves. I don't think either one of us would be in any danger of breaking the other's fall."

Terribly conscious of the fact that Maudlin was reclaiming Astoria's attention from his own father in a way that felt bizarrely deliberate—to the point that it verged on hostile—Astoria turned toward the patio, hoping to defuse any tension with her own complacency.

They had barely taken two steps forward when one of the patio doors suddenly flew open. In crashed Luc, followed closely by the other-worldly specter of Élise Bernard wreathed in a plume of cigar smoke.

They both stopped short at the sight of Maudlin, and the smile slid right off Luc's face.

"You've _got_ to me kidding me," sneered Maudlin.

"Ho- _hoo_!" burst Astoria wildly, reacting with a knee-jerk explosion of poorly concealed glee. Well, wasn't _this_ a development?

Blinking rapidly to clear away her shock, Astoria began to search for any sign that might indicate whether Luc and Élise had traveled _together_. If George wasn't present, then surely they must have? Aston would _never_ have invited Élise on her own...

"Hey," breathed Luc shiftily, leaning forward. "Listen, Maudlin, do you have a minute?"

"No," snapped Maudlin, stepping around him.

Unbidden, Astoria's eyes flitted toward the fire in search of Draco. She was more than a little startled to find that he was already staring at her, ignoring the reappearance of Luc and Élise entirely—or rather, he seemed to studying her closely in order to see what her _reaction_ to them might be.

Unnerved, Astoria followed Maudlin out onto the terrace.

"Can you fucking believe it?" he hissed, closing in on her at once. "The _nerve_ of him!"

"Did you actually _tell_ Luc and Cassandra not to come today?" asked Astoria, unable to account for so much wildly inappropriate behavior otherwise.

" _No_!" snarled Maudlin. "But after the blow up last night, I'd say it was pretty well implied! At this rate, who knows who might show up? I suppose Emilie is lying in wait upstairs with a knife!"

"Calm down!" Astoria whispered nervously. "They'll _hear_ you—"

"So _what_?" demanded Maudlin. "Enemies at the gate! If I had it my way, I'd kick the whole lot of them out!"

He closed his hands around an invisible neck and mimed a brutal strangling for the _second_ time in twenty four hours.

"Dinner, Maudlin," announced Aston, interrupting his outburst from the doorway. "We're going through."

0o0

The only thing capable of casting their tense group in an even less flattering light was the restrictive pomp and circumstance of a formal meal.

Seated next to Alistair and directly _across_ from Cassandra, Astoria suffered in silence, alternating between chewing and spying on the guests at the far ends of the table. After the soup came a second appetizer of picked beets and then, to Astoria's horror, a _third_ of tartare. Bored and more than a little anxious, Astoria cleared each plate, eating with the passionless zeal of a robot.

"I am sorry," interrupted a curious voice from very close at hand, "but I think I must know from you somewhere."

Astoria glanced casually to her left. A set of eyes peered directly back at her from the center of a handsome, honey-colored face.

"Hmm?" Astoria jolted, realizing that this stranger was speaking to _her_. "I'm sorry, what was that?"

"I know you," repeated the man slowly, tapping his soft chin with a well-groomed finger. "I met you at a party—oh, the better part of two years ago now I should think."

"Yes!" breathed Astoria, brightening with recognition. "I met you at the McLaggen's christmas party! You came with Giambattista Valli—you're Vincent!"

"I am!" laughed Vincent, relived to have landed upon such an easy solution to their puzzle. "That's _exactly_ right."

Two years had done very little to change the features of Vincent's face, but his accent had altered considerably. When Astoria had first met Vincent, he had spoken such broken English that they had been forced to rely almost entirely upon their mutual ability to converse in French. Now, however, he seemed to speak Astoria's language as fluidly as Maudlin did—maybe even better because he took pains to be mindful of what he was saying.

"You're perhaps marveling at the improvements in my English," mused Vincent, smiling wryly.

It was on Astoria's mind to deny this accusation vehemently, but something about the clever way that he had read her expression warned her against it.

"Do they make a spell for that sort of thing?" she whispered conspiratorially, sliding her water glass forward so that she could lean toward him.

"No," laughed Vincent, amused by the notion, "but an expanding market in Britain has done wonders for my comprehension. No one can account for the upsweep in spending there! Giam seems quite convinced that you'll all soon be plunged into war."

"You still work together, then?" asked Astoria, determined to keep the subject from turning toward Voldemort. "You and Giambattista?"

" _Together_ , no, never," insisted Vincent brusquely, clearly wishing to stress some kind of a point. "I _am_ still employed by Giambattista, although I no longer work as a tailor. I manage a good portion of his business now—as something of a salesman, you understand. I promote his line to the people he scorns, I travel when he does not wish to. That sort of thing."

From Astoria's point of view, this definitely _sounded_ like a promotion, but the topic seemed to bring Vincent strangely little joy because he did not dwell on it long.

"We are staying in Monte Carlo for the month of July," he told her."The little whitest villa—nothing but a goat path between the terrace and the sea. The new collection is all done in white and blues. Less elegant than the last, but much softer..."

Then, very suddenly, Vincent straightened up as though he had been struck by a brilliant notion.

"You'll come visit!" he decided. "It would do Giam some good to entertain—and you're very perceptive company. That will please him more than anything."

"I'm sure you're both too busy," Astoria stuttered, overwhelmed by such a sudden and fantastical offer.

"Bah!" declared Vincent, waving this thought away. "He hasn't left his room in days...all he does is sketch and bemoan the heat. And he _did_ like you the last time, didn't he? That's key—he never likes anybody, you know. Yes, I think a visit would do _everyone_ a world of good..."

Astoria smiled, unable to think of anything to say. An opportunity to casually glimpse the inner-workings of high fashion was _immensely_ appealing, but a dark thought immediately rose up to cast a pall over her excitement: _surely_ Vincent had miss-judged her age?

After all, Vincent The Tailor had been silly enough to become the victim of a pack of third year Slytherins, but Vincent The Salesman had something of a grown man about him. His suit was pristine, his face neatly shaven, and his eyes heavy with the tedium of daily responsibility. What was more, unlike Alec, who seemed to carry his femininity with the aplomb of a heterosexual imp, there was something much less vested in the way Vincent seemed to regard her. Everything about him, from his posture to his manner of speaking, spoke of an unabashed desire to make it very plain that women were not—and perhaps never even had been—much in line with his romantic tastes.

But if that was the case, then Astoria could see even _less_ reason for him to show such a sudden interest in her. As near as she could tell, Vincent was an educated, gay man at the start of a promising career. What motive could he possibly have for spending any of his precious time and energy on _her_? And why on Earth would he take the trouble of inviting her anywhere—least of all to the home of his illustrious and very famous boss?

"You'll come tomorrow," Vincent continued rapidly, growing more certain of himself by the second. "Or the day after, if you can manage it. Yes, I really think that _is_ a good idea. Shake him out of the doldrums..."

Willing but altogether baffled, Astoria agreed.

"I'll come and fetch you myself, of course," Vincent reassured her. "I couldn't ask you to come on your own—Lord no! Knowing Giam, he'd dump an ink pot over your head before I could reintroduce you."

He exhaled thoughtfully as plates of lamb were deposited before them.

"... _or spit in your bloody eye,_ the great fool _..."_

"Sorry?" squinted Astoria, positive that she must have miss-heard.

"Nothing," insisted Vincent eagerly. "You'll write to me and fix the date?"

The lamb was followed by a very unwanted salad of melons. Only when the final sorbet bowls had been cleared away did Astoria feel as though she had finally been given leave to stand, at which point more than three _solid_ hours had elapsed and she had nearly nodded off over her plate twice.

Slightly desperate to escape the dining room and more than a little afraid that _someone_ would suggest coffee and cheese, Astoria was the first person out of her seat. To her immense relief, however, it was nearly midnight and the group was definitely breaking up. Lucius was not staying—that much she had managed to glean by eavesdropping. Astoria watched him get up to follow Aston into the drawing room for a final round of port, safe in the knowledge that he would be gone soon after. The Yaxleys and Cassandra were also getting ready to depart; Roland was saying his goodbyes and Maudlin was struggling to escape before Cassandra could reach his end of the table.

Luc, on the other hand, was now in extremely awkward predicament. It was painfully obvious that he had arrived with every intention of sleeping over. As his invitation had been issued _before_ Maudlin had broken up with Emilie, it could not be immediately withdrawn that evening—but that did not seem to make Maudlin resent him any less.

Eager to confront Maudlin on the stairs and put things right, Luc steeled his nerves and slipped quietly out into the hall. A low, verbal scuffle ensued, undercut with a hint of real violence. Astoria waited until both of their voices had faded away to the second floor before leaving the dining room.

Alone for the first time all night, it now occurred to Astoria that she did not really know what to do with herself. She was fairly certain that Alec had followed Aston—indicating that she was probably more than welcome to join them for port. But if Luc was upstairs battling with Maudlin, then where was Élise? Could she have possibly trailed along behind Alec?

The prospect of having to choke down a glass of wine between Lucius and a glorified call-girl was enough to make her skin crawl. She was going to bed.

The hall was magnificently empty and very nearly dark when she reached it; the somber marble floors were the color a Roman winter and two or three doors had been thrown open near the far end to encourage a breeze. There was something exciting about the air; full of promise. She was halfway toward the stairs when someone called out to her.

"Where are you going?"

Astoria pivoted and spotted Draco. He was leaning against the wall near the open doors—Astoria had missed the shape of him amongst the fluttering of the drapery. Still, his off-hand location was odd; had he hung back to catch her before she could sneak off?

"I don't know," answered Astoria, unable to shake the feeling that she has just been cornered. "Bed."

"Had enough of the veela-girl, have you?" he demanded snidely.

Astoria shrugged, not wanting to admit that her desire to avoid Élise was equal only to her desire to avoid Lucius.

"It's funny," continued Draco, just a bit too keenly, "I didn't think she seemed very interested in Luc. I guess he must have improved on her."

"He must have done," agreed Astoria noncommittally, eyeing the stairs.

"Yeah," drawled Draco, drawing the word out like a threat. "How does she know your father, anyway? I forgot to ask."

" _Does_ she know my father?" wondered Astoria, feigning stupidity.

"She did yesterday," scowled Draco, losing his patience. "Or I suppose you _didn't_ notice that she followed him from room to room giggling?"

"And you're— _what_?—keeping tabs on my father now?" snapped Astoria, fueled by her discomfort. "How should _I_ know where they met? He probably ran into her a party somewhere..."

"A party for _two_ maybe," sneered Draco. "She didn't want anything to do with Luc until after _you_ talked to her."

Astoria's eyes darted about the hall nervously, checking to see if anyone had overheard. What would Luc do if he knew that Astoria had suggested Élise use him to get back at George? What would _Maudlin_ say?

"No, but seriously," continued Draco in disgust. "What the hell can you _possibly_ be planning?"

"Shh!" Astoria hissed, pushing Draco toward the nearest doorway. She shoved him backward into a music room—decorated with Maudlin's mother in mind, and frequented by absolutely no one. Just as Astoria had expected, there were no candles lit in here and all of the light seemed to be coming from the moon outside. Despite the girly trimmings (floral silk on the couch, beads on the lamps) the room had obviously once served a more practical practical purpose for the monks that had built it. The stone was more gothic in shade here than it was in the hall, and there were several formidable engravings of gargoyles and sea serpents in the moulding that no excess of fine fabrics or delicate artwork could entirely soften.

Astoria snapped the door shut behind her, blinking rapidly to adjust her eyes to the greater darkness.

"Why are you _always_ so _loud_?" she hissed through gritted teeth.

"Huh?" grunted Draco stupidly, bouncing off the edge of a piano behind him, somehow managing to twist her panic into a confession of the worst sort at the same time. "Don't yell at _me_. You're the one pushing _daddy's_ affairs off onto your school friends! Do you know how _freudian_ that looks?"

"It's none of your business!" snarled Astoria, more shamefaced than angry. "So stop shouting—"

"None of _my_ business?" repeated Draco nastily. "What fiction do you live in, Greengrass? Your father's all twisted up with mine in this rubbish with your aunt! The last thing anyone needs is for you to be sneaking around throwing punches. I suppose the girl was your aunt's idea?"

Astoria paused, thoroughly taken aback. The possibility that Belladonna might have arranged a meeting between George and Élise on purpose had never occurred to her. Had Astoria accidentally been interfering with her aunt's plans without even knowing it?

She toyed with this idea for a moment in silence, but it did not seem to make a lick of sense. What was the point of foisting an embarrassing love affair onto George? To make him look bad? He already _had_ a reputation and there was no evidence that Élise ever would have told anyone. In fact, until Astoria had stepped in, it was a scenario that played to no one's advantage but her father's. And besides, even if the story _had_ gotten out, there was no proof that Lucius was puritanical enough to drop George simply because he was a rubbish husband.

Draco squinted at her face in the moonlight, plainly surprised by her reaction.

"I _mean_ it," he finally forced out. "Aren't you supposed to be pretending to side with your father, anyway? You were doing a rubbish job before, but this _really_ takes the cake."

Astoria let out a hollow laugh.

"If you don't sharpen up my father's going to notice!" snapped Draco urgently, and there was a real edge in his tone now. So much so that the quiver of his nervousness lingered, trembling in Astoria's ears like a warning siren. With a fresh chill, she recalled how strange Draco's questions in the car had been that morning.

"Are you spying on me?" asked Astoria slowly, horrified despite herself.

""What?" scoffed Draco.

"Did your father ask you to fish around for information?" demanded Astoria, this time less faintly. "Did he ask you to report back anything I might say about my aunt?"

" _No_ ," sneered Draco contemptuously. "He has better things to do than obsess over what Belladonna Lestrange is doing in her spare time!"

Everything about Draco's tone seemed to support this story, but there was a stiffness about his jaw that Astoria did not like the look of at _all._

"You're lying," she realized dully, and it was suddenly very plain that he was. She could practically smell it on him; Lucius had _fully_ suggested that Draco play the part of an undercover agent. What was worse, the only reason Astoria had noticed was because he had already taken a feeble stab at it.

True, it hadn't been a very solid attempt at espionage—surely Lucius already _knew_ Belladonna's personality traits, or whatever it was Draco had been asking about—but the fact that his instinct had been to rustle up _something_ to report was frightening. For all of the midnight plans and conspiracies that Astoria had mulled over with her aunt, she had never once consented to trick Draco into betraying his father. This difference, however technically small, suddenly seemed to mean a great deal. She groped about for the door-handle angrily, ready to storm off.

" _Fine_!" Draco confessed repressively. His arm darted out wildly to stop the door. "But really, what did you expect? Something about the woman puts the bloody wind up his arse!"

Astoria blinked and continued to stare at him coldly.

"Stop messing around and I won't have anything to tell him!" Draco hissed, discomfited. "This doesn't have to mean anything to you!"

Astoria pushed her head back. Part of her wanted to claw his eyes out, but another, equally strong instinct was urging her toward restraint. This was a low and underhanded revelation, but Draco was something of a low and underhanded _person_ —and he had admitted the truth to her after less than forty seconds of pressure. Maybe she was jumping the gun?

"Lie to him, then," whispered Astoria quietly, surprising even herself. "If it means nothing, lie to him."

Draco stiffened. His pale eyes swept sharply toward Astoria's face. A ray of moonlight exposed his conflicted expression; a mixture of calculation and unfathomable frustration.

Lying to Lucius was something that Draco did not do idly—especially when the reason for doing so offered him no personal gain. Astoria held her ground, expecting an outburst. When none came, she was forced to hide her astonishment at his eerie silence instead. Perhaps he was waiting for her to offer him something?

"I won't tell anyone..." she pleaded weakly.

"Do you know what a world of _shit_ I would be in if he found out?" Draco finally hissed, sounding curiously annoyed with himself. " _No_."

"Don't get caught, then," Astoria trembled, uncomfortably conscious of the fact that she was suggesting a very dangerous idea in a very careless way. "You're clever enough—"

Draco let out a sharp noise of contention.

"Nothing would even change for him!" Astoria burst shrilly, trying not to let a lump form in her throat. Somehow the balance of power had shifted; she could feel herself losing control. "I don't care about the lake—I don't care about any of it! I just don't want to live with my father! I swear to God, I'll move in with Maudlin first—"

"Yeah?" recoiled Draco, irrationally irritated by this. "Go beg _him_ for help, then! I'm sure he'd make a _faithful_ little minion—"

"Why bother?" sneered Astoria wetly. "He's so fucking useless. I want _you_..."

God, what was she saying? Was she going to cry? She had originally intended to yell at Malfoy and retreat to her bedroom, but she seemed to have fallen off the wagon. If she was laying it on too thick, however, Draco did not seem to have noticed; indeed, he was as still as a watchful statue.

"You _know_ I do," Astoria persisted in a small voice, conscious of the fact that she was on the verge of really embarrassing herself. She raised a hand to wipe at her face, but Malfoy's arm was in the way. Confused, he caught her by the wrist.

A pulse of electricity shot through Astoria's chest at this contact, but when she blinked, her eyes were completely dry. There was no need to dab at her cheeks—she wasn't actually crying. With a flash of comprehension, Astoria suddenly realized that, deep down, she knew exactly what she was doing. If there was a villain in the room, it was no longer Malfoy.

Astoria shifted in the dark and her nose accidentally made contact with Draco's jaw. Then, just as she was beginning to grasp the full scope of what her pathetic pleading might bring her, he pushed her back against the wall and kissed her so deliberately that she almost forgot what they were talking about in the first place.

Just like that, in a matter of seconds, the game as Astoria knew it shifted, probably forever. _She_ had begged Draco betray his own family and _he_ had responded by putting his mouth on her—he would never again be able to insist that he wasn't attracted to her and Astoria would never be able to convincingly pretend that she didn't know it. The ruse was up and the result was a disarming, slippery mash of sensation. His touch was possessive, desperate and far more deliberate than she had ever experienced. This was no kiss on a dare; if Astoria let him, he was going to literally devour her.

Confused, aroused and just a little bit overwhelmed, Astoria put a hand out to create an inch of distance, suddenly desperate for clarity.

Draco let out nasal sound of displeasure and she was suddenly back against the wall again.

"I'll say whatever you want," he muttered, breathing just hard enough to stir her hair. "I'll lie—he won't know."He pressed his lips against her jaw instinctually.

It was a bad idea, such a bad idea. So _very_ bad. Astoria let him kiss her again, absolutely positive that her death would one day arrive on the wings of murder. One of his hands was in her hair. The other grabbed at her hips, her stomach, anything he could reach in search of more friction. Astoria pushed herself up against him, giving in to the inevitable—because it was, in a way, wasn't it? A part of her had always known that she was going to do this, she had just assumed that it would take a bit longer to happen. That it would be on clearer terms. That Lucius would not be in the same building...

Her head knocked against the wall again so Astoria pushed away from it. There was a very ugly silk couch near the piano. Draco hit it with the back of his knees and pulled her down onto his lap. Astoria fell against him bonelessly.

Women like Ursula Flint and Tippy Tippman—who both deplored the idea of giving anything away for free when a man _could_ reasonably be forced to pay for it—had spent a lifetime warning girls like Astoria against this sort of thing. It was with the tiniest bit of satisfaction that she realized their efforts had been wasted.

No, the only thing really capable of stopping her from indulging in reckless nudity was _fear,_ but Astoria had never been faint hearted and Draco did not inspire much shame. If he had been a better sort of person—as moral as Harry, or as fiercely kind as Neville—Astoria might have experienced enough self-consciousness enough to become nervous. But he wasn't any of those things, and Astoria could not bring herself to work up enough anxiety to second-guess herself.

Her hand fell on his thigh and sought inward, working at his belt with about as much timidity as a seasoned sociopath. Realizing what she was doing, Astoria only had to fumble once before he finished the job for her. She shivered a little as Draco slid a hand beneath her skirt and pulled her toward him breathlessly.

"If you tell anyone, I'll kill you," she muttered against his mouth, pushing his shoulder back.

Expecting to experience obvious pain or gratification, Astoria was somewhat surprised when the reality of sex turned out to be much closer to faint discomfort. It was not _altogether_ bad, but it strained her in a way that fell just short of properly pleasant. This sensation, like an itch she could not quite scratch, was clearly one-sided, however. Lacking experience, she quite literally _fell_ forward into Draco's chest, but it seemed as though she would have to try much harder to make Draco actually dislike what she was doing, no matter how ungraceful she was; writhing wildly didn't appear to bother him in the slightest.

Despite the edge of penetrative pain, Astoria was still drawing Draco closer rather than pushing him away, compelled by a primitive urge to rock against him (the only rhythm she seemed capable of establishing) in a way that made her knee bump against the arm of the couch and Draco lurch forward with shivery spasm. He grabbed at her, pulled on her, as if by delving deeper he might somehow discover the piece of Astoria that eluded him for so long.

One of her hands was tangled up near the collar of his shirt. She was yanking his tie askew, but if she was choking him, he didn't seem to care—a sharp contrast to the boy who was often fussy enough to avoid anything so off-putting as a mess in potions class. Every movement now seemed preposterously, burningly slow, categorized by baited breath, elated wonderment on Draco's part, and a mortal terror of being discovered on Astoria's

They tilted sideways. Astoria wrapped a leg around his waist in an attempt to stabilize herself. Draco's choppy breathing—heavy with a repressed moan in the back of his throat—gusted against her hair as she struggled underneath the bulk of his sudden weight. One of her hands remained trapped his shirt. Draco pressed the other into the cushions by her side.

Astoria pressed her face against his neck, sucking in a gasp of genuine excitement. He was unusually sweaty; his skin smelled as salty and reassuring as the sea breeze at the bottom of the hill.

Then, with an undignified sound that Astoria was positive Draco would regret making later, it was suddenly over before she even knew what to think. Strangely sedated, Astoria blinked into the darkness against Draco's neck, conscious of the fact that a major milestone had just rushed by without ceremony. She waited silently for a wave of regret to wash over her, but it did not seem to come. Bemused, Astoria struggled upwards. The sound of Draco's rapid pulse—like an earthquake underground—made her own body tremble with its residual urgency.

0o0

* * *

Ok, so seriously, I take a _lot_ of liberties with this story—the life choices of the main characters are chronically hazardous and I've gotten pretty spoiled because you guys give me an amazing amount of artistic leeway to work with. Still, I feel like I have to tag a warning on the end of this one: please don't drink and drive! Maudlin's character is literally Darwinian—without money, I'm convinced he would die trying to feed himself, (so I think it's safe to assume that he probably _would_ drink in a car) but yikes! Remember what a terribly foolish and preventable thing it is in real life! Appreciate fiction, but always be safe!

Anyway, moving along: Hello, friends! It's been a while! (Actually, this might be the longest I've gone between updates.) The truth is, I've had a fairly hectic end of summer-shift into fall. There was a lot of moving. And a lot of me being tired and therefore heinously lazy. I really am sorry, but I'm settled in now so posting should go back to something more closely resembling normal! The next chapter, if all goes as planned, should be especially hillarious.

Oh, and sorry to dive back in with a (hilariously awkward?) sex scene. Honestly though, this story has been rated M for a while, and I'm getting to the point where I'm really _over_ the kind of fanfiction where the main character has sex for the first time and the whole thing reads like a highly glossed-up and choreographed montage. If you're the type of person that likes smooth, mentally-stable romantic scenes, you may have to wait a while longer. If, however, you are the type of person that likes awkward grunting sounds and a preposterous amount of plot-based angst, then this next section of the story is for you. (You have my apologies if you howled in agony. Lord knows I chuckled while I was editing it).

As always, reviews are just the best. :)


	64. Lanterns and Lies Pt 1

Chapter Sixty Four

Lanterns and Lies Pt. One

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0o0

At exactly five o'clock the next morning, Astoria awoke to the sound of an enormous crash. She held her breath and listened intently for a moment; her eyelashes scratched loudly against her pillowcase, magnified by the silence between waking and sleeping. _What?_

The clarity of the smash had been so sharp—like a galleon hitting the sidewalk on a cold day—that even though she knew that she was half unconscious, there didn't seem to be any chance that she had imagined it. Was the house falling down around them? Maybe she _had_ been dreaming? The longer Astoria waited, the more likely this second option seemed to be. Groaning softly, she rolled over and attempted make sense out of her darkened bedroom.

Her immediate surroundings offered no hints of imagined mischief either: an alarm clock was ticking heavily somewhere to her left, a pale blue crack of light was running along a gap in the curtains. Nothing stirred. Feeling disoriented and unaccountably paranoid, Astoria groped about for a lamp. Her hand swung out through the darkness blindly; she could not remember what side of the bed it was on.

Outside, a well-timed gust of salty air whispered against the side of the house. It caressed the window furnishings across the room, letting in bit more light and just a hint of the playful lushness that was brewing. Astoria stopped hunting about for a light-switch and grew very still, sniffing the air.

The grounds of Aston's estate had been largely obscured by darkness the night before, but she already knew what they looked like during the day: flowering fruit trees and patches of lavender fringed the house, shrubs and vines exploded along the cliffs below. Grapes of every taste and color could be plucked from the courtyards and paths. Best of all, at the bottom of the low cliffs lay a sprawling and pebbly expanse of rough white beach. The sea was as warm and transparent as bathwater there—it was her favorite and most natural part of the entire estate.

Unbidden, a lick of excitement rolled through Astoria's sleepy limbs. She really was in Monaco, wasn't she? She was hundreds of miles away from her aunt, her father and the threat of Voldemort. Already the dawn smelled hot and peaceful—what was to stop her from getting up and doing whatever she pleased?

Immediately, as though waiting to pounce, the spirit of the night before seemed to rise up again, reclaiming the shadowy corners of her mind; a phantom eager to remind her of every reason why she was _not_ at liberty to feel peaceful.

The last memory she had before sleep had taken her the night before was of curling up alone beneath the heavy linen duvet. She had left the music room first (the sound of Aston seeing Lucius off in the hall had sobered Astoria almost as much as Draco) but instead of spending the rest of the night wallowing about in the labyrinth of her mind (she had certainly expected to), Astoria had dozed off almost immediately. As a result, she was still dressed in her evening clothes and the lingering scent of sweat mixed with wine clung to her hair like a guilty after-thought.

Meanwhile, somewhere in Monte Carlo, Lucius Malfoy, the Yaxleys _and_ the Rowles were all sleeping off the port that Aston had continued pouring them until long after midnight. But _why_ where they there?

Astoria pondered this question uneasily. She was keenly aware that each family's motive for travelling was probably boring enough, but a natural tendency towards suspicion (not to mention a history of strange luck) made it hard for Astoria to disconnect the sudden appearance of such strange company from _herself_. After all, there could be no denying that each party posed its own unique threat to her happiness: Lucius was fighting with Belladonna, the Yaxleys loathed the Lestranges to distraction, and Cassandra Rowle probably considered Maudlin's poor treatment of Emilie to be the turning point in what would end up becoming a great crusade against both Astoria and the Mendel family.

But hadn't Astoria's aunt predicted that something like this might happen? Belladonna _had_ warned her that she might end up in the thick of it—that the return of the Dark Lord would lead well-connected English families to tie up financial assets overseas. What was worth pursuing in Monaco? Aston, perhaps?

Or was she overthinking things again? Was it possible that Lucius and the Yaxleys weren't worried about Voldemort at all? Perhaps Monaco was simply a nicer place to lay out on the beach?

Matters inside the Mendel household were even stranger.

At Astoria's suggestion, Élise Bernard had seduced Luc—only now it seemed that she had tailed him all the way to the French Riviera? What on Earth had compelled her to leave Paris? They had already succeeded in making George jealous at the Minister's Ball. Astoria had seen to that. What more did she want?

Astoria shifted violently, kicking the blankets off her feet. Other than herself, Élise was the only person capable of divulging her history as George's mistress _and_ the hand that Astoria had played to ensure their mutual revenge later. Draco had guessed at Astoria's involvement, but he lacked factual proof. What would happen if Élise tattled? Astoria's imagination ran wild at the thought, skipping straight from the mundane to the fantastic.

One thing was certain: Maudlin was _not_ embracing his new single life as an empowered bachelor. In fact, he seemed to be edging steadily toward a freefall into alcoholic paranoia. Surely the last thing he needed was to find out that Luc had dragged a Veela to his father's house because of Astoria?

And _Draco_. Astoria hissed quietly and pressed her face into her blankets.

She had been resisting the mounting desire to give in to temptation in that quarter for months. It was the worst possible time for her to have snapped so spontaneously. What had _happened_ there?

It wasn't as though she was _really_ afraid of what Draco might tell his father, was she? Of course not—he didn't know enough to pose a legitimate threat.

No, on some level, Astoria acknowledged that her choice to throw herself at Malfoy had had very little to do with bribery (although she could suddenly see how it might have seemed that way) and much more to do with a quiet, rarely acknowledged longing for— _what_ exactly? Something of her own? Attention? Malfoy himself?

She did not know, and what was worse, she had even less of an idea how to proceed now that the act had already taken place. She didn't seem to feel particularly _guilty_ about sleeping with him, that much was obvious. But if she continued down the same line of thought, she _also_ knew that she didn't want anyone else to find that she had done it. _Ever_.

What was another dirty secret when she already had so many? Keeping secrets had never bothered _her_ …

Astoria continued to fidget, restless and uncomfortable. The ghost of Draco's cologne, still playing about near her neck, did not help matters.

Now that she actually had something to hide, her long-ingrained instinct towards secrecy seemed to be weighing on her. How could something so normal suddenly become so unbearably petty and dishonest overnight?

Astoria considered this. Most of her tendency to conceal her dealings with Draco stemmed from embarrassment; it always had. But if she allowed herself to think clearly, she knew that embarrassment was not her only reason for wanting this story to remain hidden. In all probability, her list of options would begin to shrink the moment her fling with Malfoy became public knowledge. Keeping their juicy bit of gossip quiet would obviously making pretending that nothing had happened much easier—and she found herself instinctively clinging to this notion—but what if that was not _entirely_ what she wanted? Wouldn't living in a household where nobody suspected a thing also make _pursuing_ Draco easier?

 _No._

Astoria sneered at herself, unwilling to allow this fickle idea much traction. One time could reasonably be explained away as a mistake; anything more and she was looking at a bad habit. It was a dangerous way to be thinking, anyway—there was nothing to be gained from it. Trifling about with Draco was tantamount to playing with fire; inevitably, she would end up burned. And perhaps homeless in the bargain.

As far as Lucius was concerned, Astoria felt relatively safe; Draco was far too self-preserving to let anything slip in front of his father. He wouldn't want to risk being yelled at on a holiday, and possibly—Astoria's stomach did a sick little flip-flop—he would feel somewhat ashamed of himself. He had certainly offered up vague but incriminating promises concerning his father the night before. Had he _really_ insinuated that he would lie for her? He must surely be regretting _that_ now.

To distract herself, Astoria continued down the list of possible leaks, organizing each threat by the level of fear that it induced.

Belladonna was too far away to be taken into account, thank the heavens. But what about friends their own age? Suddenly wide awake and fully nauseous, Astoria squeezed her eyes shut and forced herself to seriously contemplate what might happen if Draco (either smugly or vengefully) decided to brag to Maudlin about getting off with her in his mother's music room.

Merlin, what a hot mess _that_ would be—perhaps even worse than the reality of Lucius's displeasure. Maudlin had long played the part of pompous Big Brother around Astoria, using his age to lord over her, loudly praising common sense that he did not actually possess. Finding out that Astoria was secretly shagging his house-guest was sure to throw him into a violent temper-tantrum. And where would that leave her? Maudlin had just broken up with his girlfriend: he was erratic, emotionally unstable, needy. Astoria's father was God knew where and _she_ was supposed to be staying with the Mendels for another month—she could not risk an upset now. Malfoy _had_ to stay quiet.

Unprompted, but not necessarily unconnected, Astoria's thoughts ventured back to the awkwardly charged moment with Maudlin in his bedroom on the night she had arrived in France. _That was nothing,_ she told herself uneasily. _He was drunk._

Somewhere down the hall, a second thunderous _thunk_ finally jolted Astoria back to reality. There could be no mistaking it now: she _had_ heard a crash.

Struggling awkwardly to sit up—her dress was gathered about her waist in a river of wrinkles—Astoria lurched forward. Her hands crept up to her neck: two of her necklaces were tangled so tightly that it was a wonder she hadn't choked in her sleep.

A muffled scream shot through the walls like lightning. Another smash. Astoria recognized Élise Bernard's voice now, reverberating off the hallway ceiling at top volume.

What was happening? More importantly, what was Élise _saying_? Astoria's clumsy fingers fell away from her throat before she could finish untwisting the pearls. The notion that she had been woken up by the sound of Luc and Élise energetically molesting each-other was appaling, but the threat of Élise spilling secrets prompted her to listen closely anyway. She picked apart each sound, searching for signs of violence.

The sound of rapidly approaching foot-steps disproved the first of her fears almost immediately. _People do not have sex and jog at the same time_ , Astoria realized stupidly. She was listening to a row; a very _loud_ one.

Heaving herself to her feet, Astoria tumbled through the darkness towards the curtains. Élise's volume was more than a little alarming. It was still very early in the morning—any reason she might have for screeching was undoubtedly bad. What if Élise had said something incriminating?

 _Nonsense,_ decided Astoria, panting slightly. Surely Luc wasn't so annoying that Élise would risk showing her hand so soon? The Mendels were unprecedentedly rich and powerful—Élise _must_ know that Luc was her only meal ticket here. Without him, she would be sent packing.

Astoria reflected on this, lingering by the low-lit window glass, only partly soothed. Her original plan might still work, but only if Élise was as ambitious as she was spiteful—an assumption that Astoria had made quickly and was betting quite a lot on. What if Élise was not the cunning money-grasper that she had taken her for? What if Élise was actually stupid?

"Come _on_ ," Astoria muttered tensely, straining her ears. A pale and suspicious silence fell. Then, an unexpected rap on the bedroom door broke the quiet and provoked something close to a nervous spasm in her chest.

Mouthing wordless profanity, Astoria gestured at the door, warding herself against whatever waited on the other side. Élise (for who else could it be?) knocked again, this time more insistently. Making the stubborn decision to feign sleep, Astoria waited with baited breath until the unwanted footsteps retreated again.

The moment the coast was clear, she yanked off her jewelry off and threw it toward her rumpled blankets. Both necklaces slid down onto the floor again with a series of resentful clicks.

An angry red line had appeared near her collar bone—she had slept more heavily than she knew, and her weight seemed to have pressed several baubles into her skin like musket-shot. Annoyed, Astoria massaged her neck feebly.

How was it possible to have so little privacy in such a large house? What was _the matter_ with people? Setting aside the fact that Astoria's list of grievances would be much smaller if she resisted the urge to manipulate, she began to pace the room. Belladonna might genuinely enjoy antics, but Astoria did not have her aunt's constitution for _constant_ battle—especially when danger seemed to be coming at her from all sides.

Conscious of the fact that she was intentionally channeling her aunt for strength, Astoria let out a hollow laugh and yanked her fingers through her hair. She froze. A particularly ardent snarl had formed near base of her head and the memory of the couch friction that had surely put it there was almost enough to undo her. Pulling her hand free, she massaged her left eye until she saw dots.

There was no point in going back to bed—her one shot at uninterrupted rest was spent. What she needed now was a plan. Some light occupation to distract her from her thoughts.

Aston _might_ be eating an early breakfast. Only the more Astoria considered this option, the less eager she was to actually explore it. Their late arrival the day before had obviously nettled him and the fact that both Astoria _and_ Maudlin had gone to bed early without bidding anyone goodnight—a bit of negligence that had struck her as permissibly lazy in the moment—now made their behavior seem doubly rude. Perhaps he would not be in very good spirits even if he _was_ awake?

Astoria's eyes strayed thoughtfully toward the bedside clock.

There was already a long-standing tradition in the Mendel household of getting up early after a bout of rule breaking. As child, the sight of Maudlin slinking outside at dawn to play hand-ball against the courtyard walls had never been entirely uncommon. In fact, dressed in sharp tennis whites, Maudlin had always made something of a show of these incidents, perhaps reasoning that his early morning exercise might be considered proof of manful self-mastery by his irate father.

Astoria had always found Maudlin's morning charades slightly foolish—as far as she knew, Aston was never up early enough to actually _witness_ them. But perhaps there _was_ something to it? She would certainly not be the first person to sulk about the Mendel gardens before breakfast and any plan that bought her more time before she had to see Draco again appealed to her. Pulling her wrinkled dress over her head, Astoria strode toward the bathroom.

The world was somewhat brighter and chillier here, characterized by the ghostly scents of lotion, orange tea and steam long given-over to condensation. Astoria heaved a deep breath, allowing the space to put her in mind of un-brushed hair and leisure. A diamond shaped window was situated behind the claw-footed tub, letting in the yellowing sparkle of early morning.

Too lazy to retrieve her own things, she turned the tap until the water in the tub ran hot and un-stoppered a bottle of amber soap sitting atop the sink. An expensive-smelling cloud of steam rose the moment she dumped it under the spray; the scent of lilies suddenly overpowered the fainter aroma of oranges.

Astoria sank into the water, shivering slightly amidst the flowery froth. Too tired to do anything else, she let her head droop against the side of the tub and stared in the direction of the oncoming sunrise.

It was fully her intention to relax and focus on nothing, but between the shock of the heat and the presence of her own nudity, she found her thoughts doubling back toward Draco again.

She didn't like the idea of being numbered—of being organized into a specific slot by a single action or acquaintance. Life shouldn't work that way. Only, somehow, by allowing Draco to touch her, it seemed as though she had done just that. This thought—although maddeningly obscure—depressed her.

Astoria struggled to understand herself. Calling up every bit of dinner party gossip she had ever heard, she reached an alarming conclusion: the magical world was not so very vast—society women were most frequently measured by their list of lovers and their age, not their jobs or achievements. She had not taken this vague but frightening idea into account the night before—that by having sex with Draco would be giving up something that she could not get back and taking on something that she could not give away.

Someday—in forty years perhaps?—would an aging dowager entertain youngsters at a ball by whispering the story of Astoria's life over the punch bowl, starting with Malfoy and working her way up? What kind of impression would that give? That Astoria was cruel? Greedy? At the very least, she was certain that the picture it painted was not a very true one.

And what about Draco? Even now, at the age of fifteen, Astoria was wise enough to know that when _he_ was forty, she would be the last person that anyone would think to connect his name with. Was that because he was wealthier than she was? Or was it simply because he was a male? _If no one finds out, it won't matter,_ she reasoned quickly.

Astoria slouched, rankling at this injustice. What kind of boy even was Draco? Astoria was obviously fond of him on some level, but _still_.

Sometimes he acted with great care, she had to give him that. He was obviously capable of cunning and even, on occasion, of wit. But then, he was _also_ liable to act in an obvious and big-headed way that Astoria had always found shockingly stupid. This dichotomy of behavior—on the one hand self-preserving and cleverly efficient, on the other smug and desperate to prove—had more than once worked against Draco's best interests. If Astoria could just intercept him _first_ —before he saw Maudlin or Alec...

But what could she possibly say that wouldn't sound offensive? All she really wanted to do was coax him into keeping his mouth shut, but what if he found her lack of besotted bashfulness _insulting?_ Or worse, what if he enthusiastically _agreed_ with her?

Astoria shivered. She had not considered Draco's _own_ potential lack of enthusiasm. Now that she thought of it, wasn't it possible that he had already gotten what he wanted? What if Astoria had built herself up, assumed that she was worth something to him? What if, in reality, she was nothing more than a wet and forbidden diversion that he had simply never been allowed to enjoy before? She hadn't exactly extracted any real promises from him before she slept with him. What if he was done with her?

The prospect of this dismissal was strangely tragic. Had he said or done anything to give her that impression?

Try as she might, Astoria could not seem to entirely focus. She could feel herself losing track of logic, favoring memory in a perversely overwhelming way instead; the smell of Draco's hair, the tension in his shoulders, the exact feel of his thighs underneath her.

Astoria blinked stupidly, realizing that she had sagged sideways with her eyes half closed. _For Merlins sake!_ The entire incident had been awkward enough the first time. There was no point in romanticizing it.

A sudden hiss, as of a draft sucking across the floor, was Astoria's only warning to pull her legs up toward her chest before another door—one that she had entirely overlooked—shot open.

"Ah!" cried Élise in her scornful lilt, strolling in at her leisure, "there you are! I thought you must be sleeping."

Astoria opened her mouth to respond but surprise seemed to have rendered her momentarily mute.

"Unless you were _ignoring_ me?" Élise continue accusingly, leaning against the sink. She was wearing pale silver slip that barely covered the curve of her hips. A small cigarette case clinked against the porcelain as she pulled herself up to sit, flashing Astoria an eyeful of black lace knickers.

" _What_ are you doing in here?" Astoria finally managed, slowly coming to her senses.

"I wanted to catch you alone," Élise shrugged. She produced a cigarette and a match from the case in her boney white hand and lit up.

She was wearing a tiny silver ring in the shape of a moon on her forefinger. Did Veelas worship celestial bodies? With her pale hair tousled and her shiny nightwear pooling into the sink like mercury, Élise certainly _looked_ like she might.

"Do you mind?" asked Élise, gesturing disinterestedly with her smoking hand.

Astoria eyed the decidedly toxic-smelling fumes in disbelief as she exhaled.

"A little, yeah," she finally managed, making sure that her knees were properly placed to cover her nipples. Something about Élise's aquatic grace—a girl perpetually floating in six inches of water—only served to make Astoria feel less confident about her own, decidedly more human edges.

"Too bad," Élise scoffed. "It's the only way I can stop myself from _eating_ —six courses last night! I don't know how the rich do it. I'll be lucky if I'm ever hired to walk a show again."

"Uhuh," Astoria sneered, fanning smoke away her face. She did not want to listen to Élise, who had possibly the best body she had ever seen, prattle on about poisonous diet tips. "What do you want? I'm _bathing_."

"I followed you here," admitted Élise, exuding an odd aura that was at once passive and predatory. Geisha-like, thought Astoria. A supplicating tyrant.

"I'd noticed that," Astoria supplied, torn between her own discomfort and the strange allure of such wild, almost _clandestine_ , inappropriateness.

It was clear that Élise found the concept of modesty to be a bit puritanical for her tastes, but she also seemed to _know_ that she was making Astoria uncomfortable. She leaned back against the mirror confidently, observing the parts of Astoria that she _could_ see with curious and un-shuttered eyes.

Unwilling to cower under anyone's gaze, Astoria defiantly let her knees drop. _Fine,_ she seethed inwardly. _Let her look._

Élise raised her eyebrows.

"Will your father be along soon?" Élise went on, realizing that she had lost her edge and returning to her breakfast of smoke and cruelty. "It'll be a waste of my time if he isn't coming."

"I don't know what his plans are," Astoria admitted begrudgingly, surprised by the notion that Élise was still thinking about George in the midst of so much splendor. "Probably. He said he'd be along in a week, but who knows what _that_ means."

Élise snorted appreciatively.

"You didn't need to tie down Luc," continued Astoria, unable to conceal her scorn. "Just flirting with him would have been enough."

"But then I wouldn't be _here_ , would I?" taunted Élise, cocking Astoria a rogue grin. "You have _very_ nice legs, you know."

"Maybe," Astoria flashed back, ignoring the compliment, irritated by Élise's unwillingness to acknowledge any fear, "but if you want to _stay_ here, you shouldn't be fighting with him so loudly. Anyone could have heard you earlier."

"I _know_ ," groaned Élise, snickering with great animation. "But then it's so hard not to, isn't it? He really is _such_ a pig!"

If she had meant this as an insult, Astoria could not help but feel as though she had spoken with entirely too much glee.

"Right," muttered Astoria, standing up and reaching for a towel. "I'll let you know when my father says he's coming. Until then, you need to keep your mouth shut and make peace with Luc."

Élise raised her eyebrows a bit higher, perhaps disliking the hint of dismissal in Astoria's tone.

"Alight," she agreed, positively reeking of false lightness. She extinguished her cigarette in the sink. "Have it your way. Worst case scenario, I can always trade up."

"What does that mean?" asked Astoria sharply, forgetting to tuck the end of her towel down properly.

"It means that I'll find someone else if I need to," explained Élise, tittering cruelly under her breath. "There are _other_ boys."

" _No_ ," Astoria hissed, anxious to make Élise understand how precarious matters already stood. "There _is_ no one else. Alec will spot the trap immediately. Maudlin's uncomfortable eating lunch with _any_ girl in front of his father and Draco's a little fascist. _Don't_ drop Luc."

"Hah!" laughed Élise, surveying her coldly. "All of that means nothing to me. I'm very persuasive. Which one is yours?"

"No one is mine" Astoria sneered, hating how shrill she sounded.

"Oh, no?" scoffed Élise rather patronizingly. "Come now. If you're afraid that I'll pick a favorite, you might as well tell me who to avoid. There are already secrets between us, so what's one more? I'm not even particular."

"Try the lot for all I care!" Astoria declared. This was no lost weekend—she was confident that Draco was too much of a racist to allow Élise anywhere near him in a house that was crawling with important people. "It won't do you any good. If you lose Luc, you're out. And for God's sake, be careful what you say! If you tell anyone that I'm helping you, I'll have the elves poison you!"

Even to Astoria's ears this sounded a bit more violent than she had perhaps intended.

"Hm." Élise let out a single hiccup of a laugh and then bit the air in front of Astoria's face, missing her nose by inches.

Too shocked to react quickly, Élise was able to stride around Astoria and let the door slam shut behind her in silence.

0o0

Dressed in a starched white tennis skirt that matched her obnoxiously white polo, Astoria descended the main staircase several minutes later. Almost every door in the long marble hall stood open to admit the quickening air. The smell of lavender blooming silently over the rocks outside mingled freely with the sea breeze. For an instant, Astoria felt as clean and delicate as her outfit. Élise and Malfoy be damned.

Certain that she detected a hint of coffee on the boisterous wind, Astoria continued down the length of the hall to a long, formal sitting room where the Mendels often installed breakfast for visiting guests.

This same room—the longest in the house, currently inhabited by sturdy tables, vast floral arrangements and long couches upholstered in roman-purple velvet—had more than once been stripped of its carpets and furniture to accommodate dancing at formal parties. It was a vast space, lined along each wall with hinged glass doors that opened out onto the lawn. Today, it was a flurry of airy drapery and spangled golden light.

True to form, Maudlin was already hovering over the tea table when Astoria approached. He was standing with his back to her, striking an earnest profile against the sunrise, but he stirred when he caught sight of movement in the corner of his eye.

His gaze tumbled onto Astoria in surprise. For a fleeting second, his face brightened with instinctual delight. But then, taking in her clothing and guessing her motive, his joy was swiftly replaced by annoyance.

" _Well_ ," he clipped, "if it isn't 'Captain Suck Ass'."

" _Kiss_ Ass," Astoria corrected, trying not to smirk at this rare example of confused English on his part. Mauldin had been tutored well—when he made a mistake, it was usually idiomatic and the results were typically hilarious.

" _Whatever_ ," Maudlin sniffed, sipping his tea through rather pursed lips.

"Why are you up so early?" asked Astoria, locating the coffee and pouring herself a measure.

"The same reason you are, I suppose," sneered Maudlin. "Have you seen my father yet?"

"No," Astoria admitted. "I think he's still sleeping. He was up later than both of us."

"Oh. _You_ went to bed early too, did you?" he reacted grimly, brow furrowing. This changed things. "Well, no matter. We'll just have to make up for it at lunch."

Jauntiness somewhat regained, Maudlin downed his tea and reclaimed a small rubber ball that he had stashed between a pot of honey and some rolls. "Come on, we'll use the courtyard."

It was already blisteringly hot outside. Small patches of shade retained the moist atmosphere of dawn, but the naked stones of the courtyard were baking under rays of slanting sunlight.

"Stand back," commanded Maudlin, casting his ball forward.

No matter how authoritative his warning, it was still a limp throw. Maudlin managed to catch the return bounce with one hand almost half-heartedly.

"The nerve of them all!" he suddenly burst, slamming the ball against the ground instead. "Don't look at me like that, you feel the same way!" he continued irritably. " _You_ can't stand this either."

Assuming he was talking about Cassandra (because why would he guess that Luc's presence was anything to scare her?) Astoria leaned against a patch of wall and fanned her face. "Are the Rowles usually in Monaco this time of year?"

"Of course not!" shot Maudlin irritably. "Cassandra's here with some great aunt who hasn't left France in a century. It's all a ruse! She's here to keep tabs on me. Or _you_ —"

He pronounced the word 'you' with such affected scorn that Astoria could not help but feel as though he was trying to rile her up on purpose. Searching for an ally, perhaps. Or someone else to blame.

"She fancies that Yaxley bloke," Astoria ventured carefully, trying not to sound as though she was fishing. "Maybe she followed _him_ here. It's not as though she said anything to you last night. Or _did_ she?"

"No," admitted Maudlin nastily, "but I've got her number. If she thinks she can trick me, she can guess again. Malfoy's her cousin, isn't he? I sent him over for breakfast this morning to drag it out of her."

"I'm sorry, _what_?" asked Astoria. The mention of Malfoy's name of Maudlin's lips had made her light-headed. She really did not know if she had heard him.

"Yeah," continued Maudlin, sounding curiously proud of himself. "I woke him up an hour ago when Luc and that she-elf of his were having a go. Can you imagine letting a half-breed scream at you like that?"

"What did he say?" Astoria pressed, horrified by the notion that she had been thwarted so early. Her tongue was sticking to the roof of her mouth; she twisted her cheeks to dislodge it.

"Luc?" Maudlin shrugged. "Only that he was sorry about how things played out. I think he's trying to distance himself from Emilie. But who can blame him, you know? She's deadly dull, I've always said that." Maudlin diverted his eyes toward a distant bird and when he spoke again it was in a mutter: "I told him he can stay if he wants... _not_ that I'm caving. It's perfectly reasonable for me to feel bad for him!"

"No, _Draco!_ " Astoria insisted, trying to imagine this scene playing out—Maudlin bursting erratically into Draco's room before sun-up, making wild demands. "I don't care about Luc."

Maudlin frowned and Astoria immediately regretted her wording.

"You know what I mean," she continued quickly. "Do you think you can trust Malfoy with Cassandra? They're related."

"Oh," Maudlin shrugged, "I think so. He's never given me the impression that they're especially close. And you _know_ how Cassandra is."

"Draco agreed to go?" Astoria spluttered stupidly, even less able to imagine this scenario than the first one.

"Well, I mean, he was bit rumpled and out of sorts when I woke him," admitted Maudlin evasively, "but he seemed willing enough."

Certain that 'rumpled and out of sorts' was probably an extreme under-exaggeration of Malfoy's annoyance, Astoria said nothing. Instead, she watched Maudlin's face, searching for signs of suspicion, signs that he knew more than he was letting on, that Draco had told him.

But Maudlin's face was an open—if irritated—slate of naivety. _If_ Draco had said anything about her, Maudlin had misunderstood him.

"He's going to visit her this morning?" Astoria continued, unwilling to let the conversation trickle off before she was satisfied.

"He's there _now_ ," Maudlin snorted. "I'm not stupid. I didn't want to give Cassandra so much as an hour to rally."

But Astoria was barely listening. Draco had already seen Maudlin and the worst had not yet happened. This seemed to indicate that he, too, recognized the dangers of irritating his host. That was a very good sign. And the fact that he had agreed to run an early morning favor for Maudlin? Even better. It suggested that, at least for now, Draco might be keen to stay in his good graces.

Beyond that, Astoria could not resist the notion that Draco's willingness to be forced from bed at dawn and sent out on a pointless mission was somewhat attributed to herself. Would he have catered to Maudlin's irrational whims if she was not distantly related to the bargain? Somehow Astoria didn't think so. Her mouth-sticking fear began to transmute itself into something closer to foolish pride.

"This game is rubbish," she remarked, still light-headed, only now with unexplained glee.

"And father is sleeping in the south wing," agreed Maudlin, studying the house with pensive, dissatisfied eyes. "We're west. I doubt he can even see us here. Beach?"

"Beach," Astoria agreed cheerfully, ducking to avoid Maudlin's final, wild ball toss.

0o0

A stately lime path connected to a well-tended stretch of cove not far away, following the gentlest slope of the lawn down toward the sea. But Maudlin, seeking privacy (or else hoping to instigate his own orneriness to even greater heights) soon broke away from this easy route and began to pick his way out along an old goat track. This less formal path sputtered through a patch of remote pine woods and ended at a headland of craggy rock that jutted out over the ocean.

Astoria followed him peacefully enough through the trees, enjoying the balmy silence and golden sun. When they reached the dazzling and wide-open expanse along the top of the cliff, however, she began to have second thoughts.

"Have you brought me here to murder me?" wondered Astoria wryly. She was only partly kidding.

"Huh?" Maudlin barked over the sound of the pounding surf. "No," he sneered. "This way."

He had located an even thinner passage among the bramble. From where Astoria stood, _this_ path looked as though it plunged disconcertingly over the crest of the rust colored peak. From there, it was sure to drop steeply down toward the shore. Praying silently that this was not an elaborate scheme to exact some kind of revenge for hidden dalliances, Astoria reached out unsteadily. She grabbed the sleeve of Maudlin's white tennis sweater and slid down a foot or two of pebbly earth onto a slightly lower precipice.

From here, the path was obvious and sturdy; half-carved into the stone some ten feet above the water was a dry, cave-like stairway that sloped down to where the waves lapped at a shelf of equally bright but very stable rock.

"I've never seen his before," Astoria exclaimed, slipping on a patch of crushed seashells in her excitement.

"Why would you?" jeered Maudlin depressively. "You can't see the second ledge until you're ready to jump from the first."

Ignoring this bit of wretched humor, Astoria turned her eyes seaward. Twenty or so small sailboats hugged the coast; they looked like nothing more than white dots swallowed up by so much blue from where she stood. The wind was not so fierce here, but the sun seemed doubly so. By the time Astoria turned around again, Maudlin had already pulled off his sweater and his polo. He was stretched out shirtless on the driest patch of rock he could find, ignoring her completely.

"Is this literally your man cave?" Astoria demanded, choking on a laugh.

Maudlin raised an arm to shade his eyes against the sun and shot her haughty, intolerant look. "Fuck you."

He had misunderstood her delight; Astoria was not feeling at all inclined towards scorn. If anything, she could hardly believe that Maudlin, the most idle and least adventurous of her friends (to say nothing of his aversion for nature), had discovered such a perilously well-concealed hide-out.

To prove how content she was, Astoria hastily undid the zipper on her skirt and kicked it off toward a pile of small boulders. Her shoulders gloried in the naked kiss of sunlight next. Trusting in the sturdiness of undergarments designed for sport, she tipped sideways into the cool sea without as much as a second thought.

For the next half hour she plunged about stupidly, glorying in the toss of every wave. She dove as deep as she could and opened her eyes onto the greenness of the silent world beneath the surface until they stung from the salt. When, finally, the water had leached all of the warmth from her fingers and rinsed her thoroughly though, she climbed back out again.

Maudlin was still sprawled out on his back but she could tell by his relaxed forehead that he was appeased. In the short time that Astoria had been preoccupied he seemed to have grown two whole shades browner and his hair, normally as well-groomed as a man fresh from the barber, looked thick and tousled by sweat.

It was a strange departure from the way that she was accustomed to seeing him: buttoned up, pompous, oblivious. Half-naked and at peace, there was something rather more Latin about his features than she usually recognized; his face was very dark, almost earnest. If she squinted, she found that she was capable of experiencing his handsomeness—a force she tended to acknowledge in a dispassionate, sisterly way—far more organically. There was a _reason_ that Élise had tried to single him out first at the Minister's Ball first and settled on Luc as a _second_ option. If Élise tried to switch targets again, it would not be Malfoy that she would set her sights on. She had been foolish to even think it.

"I've done something obnoxious," sighed Astoria, settling down onto the rock next to him, prepared to unburden herself.

Her shirt, she noticed, had been retrieved from the boulder she had flung it at. It was already balled up and ready to serve her as a pillow. Astoria's insides squirmed as she looked at it, unable to bring herself to rest her head.

"Hmm?" he grunted.

Astoria opened her mouth, uncertain about where she ought to begin. What was she even admitting to, exactly? She _wanted_ to warn him about Élise, but she didn't know how. She also wanted to avoid any sense of betrayal that Maudlin might feel if he were to discover Astoria's dealings with Draco, but she didn't want to risk provoking the tyrant he had been in their youth to do it. The idea of Maudlin becoming angry with her in place that was obviously special to him struck her as deeply depressing. How long had it been since they had spent any time together in true, companionable silence? Had they ever?

Maudlin shifted lazily, perhaps sensing Astoria's distress. " _What?_ "

His tone was clipped again. Everything had been going wrong for him lately and he seemed to know that he was about to be dealt another blow. Astoria's blinking stuttered and she found that she could not look at him.

"I don't think I've packed enough," she managed stupidly, trying for a deflection.

Her ears rattled with the idiocy of this statement. It was a miserable lie, but she hadn't been able to come up with anything better on the spot—all she had done since she'd arrived in Maudlin's home was eat and dress herself.

 _You still found time to shag his friend,_ a nasty little voice snickered inside her ear. Astoria twitched her head, hoping to dislodge this thought.

"Oh!" returned Maudlin pertly. His brow immediately rumpled, the way it always did when his mind was working hard to make out mountain out of a molehill. Astoria watched the gears turn uncomfortably.

As a boy, Maudlin had been able to recite works from three languages. Now, at the brink of manhood, he spoke all three of these tongues fluently but he still could not piece together a solution to a simple problem. Money had a way of poisoning a promising intellect that way. And in Maudlin, the comforts of excess had found a perfect victim.

"Do you have something to wear tonight, at least?" he continued earnestly, addressing this false catastrophe in the best way he knew how. "Father's planning a dinner on the terrace for some of the visiting businessmen."

 _No_ , the hard little voice snickered again, _I've packed nothing but tennis whites._

"Of course," Astoria scoffed, wanting to backtrack before her excuse wore thin. "I'm being silly, I was only thinking out loud."

"Make an appointment somewhere after the weekend," he suggested, his head sagging again. "I think Giambattista's in town. You can't do much better than that."

"I can't afford him," said Astoria at once, thankful to have such an iron-clad reason to refuse this advice. "My aunt would go ballistic."

"Charge it to my father," scoffed Maudlin. To him, this was such a natural and obvious fallback that he almost appeared to scorn her for not thinking of it sooner. "Come to think of it, Giambattista's tailors might have _my_ name. You can probably put it on my account."

Astoria said nothing. By attempting to set the record straight and warn Maudlin, she had somehow managed to rob him instead. How did _that_ add up?

"I hope there's shrimp for lunch," yawned Maudlin, considering the crisis averted. "It's the right sort of day for it."

0o0

The humidity of the morning was all but gone by the time that Astoria and Maudlin regained the lofty front hall again. It was noon and so many hours of sunlight had worked their magic on her. Feeling salty and well-exercised, Astoria was dreaming of a nap. She dithered just long enough for her eyes to adjust and was on the verge of announcing her intent when an elf swept in to announce that lunch was being served on the porch.

Realizing that this was their best chance to win Aston back into their good-graces before the evening guests arrived, Astoria gave up any hope of sleep and withdrew to her room immediately to freshen up.

Another industrious elf had whisked away the crumpled lavender dress she had worn the night before, but she took little joy in selecting a new one. By lying to Maudlin, she had restricted herself to the most basic wardrobe staples that she possessed—for the next several days she would be forced to wear day-clothes to avoid rousing his suspicions. She brushed out her sea-dried hair and spritzed it with perfume to add some conviction.

 _Charming_ , she reminded herself, _be charming_. _You used to be good at that._

The patio in question soon proved to be a balcony off a second story sitting room. Thankful for the increased breeze that height afforded, Astoria was the first person to arrive. It was very sunny here and the view was spectacular; the perfect place for a mid-day meal. She was so busy scoping out the buffet of salads and cold cuts waiting on a wrought iron table that she did not notice a flash of blonde hair on the other end of the terrace until it was almost too late.

In an instant she knew that it was Draco. There was nothing very special in the way that he was dressed or the manner in which he was sitting, but she knew that it was him by the way her stomach lunged forward into her throat.

Only it wasn't Draco; it was Alec and Alec had never worn a plain outfit in his life. Blinking to clear away her hallucinatory first impression, Astoria saw him plainly now. Dressed in a pink and white seersucker suit, he was drinking a glass of champagne topped with juice. On his head tipped a panama hat so ludicrous that Astoria wondered how she could have _ever_ mistaken him for Malfoy.

"High on a dream?" murmured Alec. "Where have you been all morning? I ate breakfast alone with Aston."

"The beach," supplied Astoria after a lengthy pause. She sunk into a deck chair. God, what was the matter with her? "Maudlin and I went at sun-up."

"Mm," grunted Alec, taking a sip of his drink. His eyelashes fluttered. He looked irritated.

"Oh, good!" cried Maudlin, bursting through the curtain behind her. "You're already here! Alec, where's my father?"

He proceeded without pause toward a line of champagne bottles on the table.

"Sailing," returned Alec, settling back rather smugly.

Maudlin's shoulders stiffened, but he did not turn around and betray his nervousness. "Is that right?"

"He left after breakfast," Alec clarified.

"Did he seem very put-out that we weren't there?" asked Maudlin evasively, busying himself with a cork.

"Not really," shrugged Alec. "I got the impression that he was taking company with him. Of course, we might have been _among_ their party if you hadn't slipped off so mysteriously."

Maudlin returned to mixing his mimosa, but his shoulders did not relax. Alec obviously resented them for making sure that he was stuck in the house all day, but Maudlin had other problems on his mind.

"Who went?" asked Astoria, already knowing the answer to her question.

"The visiting English, mostly," returned Alec. "I saw Draco's father."

"Any idea when they'll be back?" rejoined Maudlin, annoyed by Alec's nonchalance. They had known each other too long for this; Alec plainly _knew_ that this news made Maudlin uncomfortable. There was no miscommunication—they were having a standoff.

"They'll dock before dinner-time," supplied Alec, finally taking pity and loosening. "Your father is planning something on the lawn."

"Yes," muttered Maudlin tersely. "He mentioned that at dinner last night."

He came over to the deck chairs clutching a mimosa in each hand. Astoria was more than a little surprised when he offered her the second one.

"Luc is still sleeping," Alec continued, confirming what Astoria already suspected, "he rolled out of bed around ten but couldn't stomach the sunlight. I have no idea what happened to Draco. He went to bed as early as you did."

"I sent him to the Rowles," admitted Maudlin, trying his drink. "Did he _really_ slink off last night too? The nerve of us!"

Astoria downed her mimosa in a single pull. She had never been so tempted to get roaringly drunk in her life—but what good would it do? She would only be trading awkwardness for uselessness.

"You sent him to _spy_ on his relatives?" demanded Alec leeringly. "The poor boy's been here less than a day!"

Alec had a bad habit of occasionally looking at _people_ as though they were objects, but there was no trace of this distance in his expression now. If anything, a lively animation seemed to be dancing behind his features. The effect was possibly even _more_ disconcerting.

"Of course he did," answered a snide, familiar voice belonging to the real Draco Malfoy, announcing his presence in the doorway. "Not that it did any good."

"Ah, Draco!" exclaimed Maudlin, popping his head up. "What happened? She wouldn't see you?"

" _What_?" scoffed Draco, drawing closer to their circle of chairs. "Of _course_ she saw me, don't be stupid."

" _And_?" demanded Maudlin, leaping up to draw him a seat.

Astoria fixed her eyes on the horizon, wishing desperately that she had followed Aston to sea. She had wanted a private word with Draco all morning, but now that he was actually here, she found that she could not look at him.

"And _nothing_ ," Draco sneered. "She spent all morning working on a batch of horrifyingly homemade scones that _I_ ended up having to choke down and accused you of cheating on your girlfriend. Does _any_ of this sound new to you?"

"I didn't cheat on Emilie!" bristled Maudlin. "Why is she saying _that_?"

" _Who cares_?" sneered Draco emphatically. "You dumped her."

"That's not the point!" hissed Maudlin, compulsively loosening his neck-tie. "What _proof_ does she think she has? I'll _bury_ her before she tries to make _me_ look bad!"

"Something about a house-elf?" scowled Draco, plainly sick to death of the entire conversation.

"Which one?" demanded Maudlin at once. Perhaps he had not been as faithful to Emilie as he would like them to think?

"I don't know," sneered Malfoy exaggeratedly. "Kinky The Sneak?"

"I don't have a house-elf named kinky!" declared Maudlin shrilly, bounding to his feet again. "I don't have one! There! See, she's a _liar_!"

Astoria raised a hand to dab her cheek, certain that Maudlin had just spit on her. Malfoy, meanwhile, was squinting in the shade of the table umbrella, considering Maudlin with a look of great distaste. If he was at all preoccupied about what had happened the night before he was doing a wondrous—almost sociopathic—job of hiding it. He had not so much as glanced at her.

"Tell him, Astoria!" demanded Maudlin, leveling her with an accusing finger. "Tell him I don't have a house elf named 'Kinky'!"

"He doesn't have a house elf named Kinky," intoned Astoria flatly. Why wasn't he looking her?

Maudlin held up a hand and began to count his elves: "Daisy, Lavender, Parsley, Sage—"

"Rosemary and Thyme?" suggested Draco snidely, unable to believe what he was hearing. "I told her Kinky the house-elf was lying. You're covered."

"Why would you _do_ that?" breathed Maudlin, flabbergasted.

"Do _what_?" repeated Malfoy dubiously. His eyebrows shot up. "You wanted me to tell her it was true?"

"I don't _have_ a house elf named Kinky!" repeated Maudlin shrilly. "I don't _have_ one! Only now, no one will believe me!"

"Dress up another elf as Kinky and have it refute the story if you need to," interjected Astoria, beginning to feel a bit bad for Draco. "It's no matter..."

"I _can't_ do that!" snarled Maudlin, choking an invisible neck. "Cassandra's been here with Emilie a thousand times with. She knows all the elves by sight!"

"She's lying, Maudlin," insisted Astoria calmly. "She won't want to risk being discovered."

"Are we talking about the same person at all?" demanded Maudlin.

" _Jesus_ ," heaved Alec, getting up to pour himself another drink.

"She'd call me out in a second for producing the wrong elf!" Maudlin went on. "And she knows the house so well that people will believe her!"

"Fine, have it your way," mused Astoria slowly, driven to distraction by Draco's sullen silence. "Maybe the answer isn't trying to pretend that Kinky is real. Maybe it would be easier to pretend that Kinky is _dead_."

A short, stunned silence followed this pronouncement.

"Oh-hoo," choked Alec gleefully over the cold cuts.

"She knows there is no Kinky!" hissed Maudlin.

"But no one else does," continued Astoria thoughtfully. "No, hear me out on this. Spread the word that the poor thing died. Then it will be your word against hers— _if_ she even says anything, which I doubt."

"Well!" Maudlin huffed. "It's just—I mean, how does one go about convincing the world that his house elf is dead? What am I supposed to do? Throw the wretched thing a funeral?"

" _Sure_ ," insisted Astoria stubbornly. "Serve rum drinks. Wear black. Toss the lie back in her face."

Alec was beside himself.

"No," murmured Maudlin, "I can't. That's just _unseemly_."

" _Oh_ , do it!" pleaded Alec, alive to the novelty. "It'll be the most fun we've had in _ages_."

"Won't I look like a crack-pot?" scoffed Maudlin.

"No," drawled Alec. "Not if the people who _might_ scorn you for it are already in on the joke. Give Rowle a week to spread her story and start sending invitations."

This idea was so stupid that it was very nearly genius. Maudlin sunk back into his chair again. He began to laugh. Vaguely at first, then more heartily.

Draco's sneer slid uncomfortably into a tight-lipped frown.

0o0

The afternoon passed in a blur of anxious discomfort. Maudlin, thoroughly rejuvenated, didn't want to do anything other than drink and congratulate himself. This was bad news for Astoria because Draco's presence, although no more than uncharacteristically quiet, was very disheartening. Less than eight hours previously she had wanted nothing more than for him to stay silent; now she found herself wishing he would say anything at all.

Although on the surface their party appeared mostly content and high-spirited, it took everything Astoria had to keep up the act. She laughed loudly when she was expected to, but without comprehension. Outwardly, Draco did not appear to be troubled, but his own mannerisms all had the focused quality of intense concentration—how he might have appeared if he had chosen to appear naturally, Astoria did not dare guess. In the end, the fact that he was not _entirely_ at ease was her only consolation. When the sun finally began to set and Maudlin had exhausted every open bottle on ice, Astoria quietly withdrew to change for dinner feeling glummer and less exhilarated than she had in ages.

Her one rule for the evening—that she dress plainly—now went against every principle that she stood by. So she broke it. Astoria had spent the day ceaselessly blending into the backdrop; she hadn't managed so much as a single, telling look from Draco and if she was going to be spurned, she was bloody well going to make him _look_ at her first.

Perched in the double-doored bathroom, she wrought her magic, drawing eyeliner with the practiced violence of a warrior sharpening knives before battle. Whenever it occurred to her that she was dressing for a boy who might not want her, she redoubled her efforts with an even steadier hand. She chose a dress that was form-fitting, soft and showed the entirety of her sun-kissed back. She was trying too hard.

Ironically, this effort was perhaps the single-most flattering compliment that she had ever paid Malfoy. She doubted he would have the sense to realize it.

When she returned to the first floor, the garden was awash with floating lanterns. Voices rumbled from every side—some trickling in through the long French doors, other's echoing across the hall from the direction of the living room bar. It was plain that Aston had returned, but he had brought so many people with him that Astoria did not dare to hunt him down. Spotting Maudlin slouching against the nearest entryway, she wandered forward. Anything to avoid looking lost.

A small cocktail party was well-underway in the formal garden. Guests were mingling about on the white alleyways between groves of ornamental hedges and the austere stone courtyards. Draco had already come down; he was talking to his mother in the fairy-tale shadow of a linden tree.

"Strap in," murmured Maudlin dispassionately. "Father's talking about marching them all down to the beach."

He cast her a wary glance and then straightened up again, shooting her a furtive double-take over the rim of his scotch. Was he catching her in the lie about her luggage? Or had she simply overdressed to the point of ridiculousness?

"It's not as though I didn't pack _anything_ ," Astoria reminded him self-consciously, afraid of being accused. There was only so much she could contend with in one night and she had already firmly met her limit.

"Huh?" frowned Maudlin, confused.

"Astoria!" a familiar voice called out. "Darling!"

Astoria did not move. Her blood had turned to ice. George couldn't possibly be behind her—he was in France.

"Darling, you look marvelous!"

Astoria turned a stunned cheek and allowed her father to swoop in and kiss her. What was he _doing_ here? Her thoughts dashed wildly to Élise, savoring the connection far less than she once had. She hadn't been expecting to see George for another week! What new chaos was this?

"George!" declared Maudlin, perking considerably. "Father said we shouldn't expect you!"

"Well, you know how it is," chuckled George warmly. "There's the place you are and the place you'd rather be! Have you met Mafalda—?"

Astoria let out an audible gasp. The sight of Mafalda Hopkirk on her father's other side hit her like a ton of bricks.

0o0

* * *

Ughh, I haven't updated in so long. I feel dreadful about coming back with a two-parter (especially when the first half mostly amounts to set-up) but this chapter was getting long and it seemed wiser to simply post half instead of waiting for the whole thing to be completed. The upshoot? The second part is well under way and should be posted MUCH faster than this one. I'm sorry for being such a fair-weather, holiday-lost author. I promise a big ol' pay-off in part two. Barring sudden death or kidnap, I have no plans to abandon this story.

As always, your reviews mean the most!


	65. Lanterns and Lies Pt 2

Chapter Sixty Five

Lanterns and Lies Pt. Two

* * *

0o0

George let out a snort of pleasure, oblivious to Astoria's distress. As far as he was concerned, everything was going swimmingly; he was rubbing elbows with the extremely rich and he didn't seem to be using any of his usual business ploys to do it.

Meanwhile, Astoria subtly pressed a hand against her stomach, trying to stabilize herself. Her father's unexpected arrival could not have come at a worse time. Still, it was possible that the evening _might_ pass off without a public meltdown. Perhaps Élise would actually be _glad_ to see George? His presence would provide her with an ideal opportunity to rub his nose in the face of her newest sexual conquest—and wasn't that why she was with Luc in the first place? Astoria had no reason to assume that a shouting match would ensue—and really, even if it did, what could her father do about it? Nothing. Not with Mafalda on his arm. He always took the easiest way out.

"Ah, look!" cried George, causing Astoria to flinch. "Isn't that Bertie Higgs? What on Earth can he be doing here—he never travels, the poor man!"

"Hmm," frowned Mafalda, "and no wonder."

"Half the Ministry has abandoned post!" chortled George. "What a thrill."

"Bertie _is_ colorful, I'll give you that," griped Mafalda, "but he hardly counts as half the Ministry. He drinks too much."

"Yes, yes. Of course he does," amended George, flashing his most placating smile. Colorful drinkers had never bothered _him_ one iota, but he had a knack for knowing when it was best to nod along.

Astoria stared. This was the most that she had ever heard Mafalda speak and she was curious to see how her father managed it.

"Of course, I _know_ that you're fond of him," continued Mafalda, unable to conceal her scorn, "but he really is a fantastic dunce. There's no denying _that_."

"Right you are!" George agreed teasingly. "A person to be avoided at all costs! Shall we turn around and flee right back to France?"

Astoria did not know what surprised her more: Mafalda's power to temporarily check George's behavior or the rosy blush that George's cajoling seemed to produce in Mafalda's cheeks.

It was a strange thing to witness all around. Mafalda did not have a face for girlish expressions; she was proud, handsome in her own way, but very rigid. Didn't she know that the basis for George and Bertie's friendship was a decade of mutually respected dilettantism? Could she really be naive enough to think that she would change his mind with a single comment? Astoria had seen certainly seen women behave foolishly in George's company before, but none of _them_ had been old enough to earn a large government salary. Her ability to find Mafalda tolerable—already a mere formality—only continued to decrease.

"Well, I like the look of him," declared Maudlin, trying hard to sound impassioned. "At least he's fun."

"Oh?" wondered George, eyes twinkling with a hundred fond reminiscences. "Do you know Bertie?"

"No," admitted Maudlin stoutly, "but I make it a rule never to pass up an amusement simply because it doesn't require a brilliant mind."

George laughed buoyantly.

"Careful!" shot Mafalda. Her romantic glow faded to scorn. "The way you talk! You might as well be quoting some passage from Oscar Wilde. Someday, someone will think you mean what you say. And then what? Are you prepared for a lifetime of stunted experiences?"

Maudlin shot Mafalda a sour look. The upshot of having Aston for a father meant that people—even grown adults—did not often correct him at home. Mafalda's logic was sound, but Astoria could tell that Maudlin resented her for making him realize it.

"Now, now," chuckled George sheepishly. "There are worse things than a little youthful philosophy!"

Sensing disaster and wishing to spare Maudlin any scorn (she had a feeling that Mafalda's sensible nature would round-house him in an argument), Astoria placed a hand firmly on his elbow, intending to steer him away.

"Will you show me where the bar is?" she asked quietly.

The bar was obviously located in the garden—in fact, it was visible from where they were all standing. Still, Astoria had a hunch that _this_ was the best suggestion to distract Maudlin and she turned out to be quite right.

"Oh!" he jerked about, drifting away from George without meaning to. "Right, it's just over here."

Astoria followed him out onto the immaculate green turf, taking great breaths of fresh air. It really was a beautiful night outside; full of low stars and purple clouds that passed across the moon. Between the heat and the heavy greenery, the scene could almost pass for tropical. It was soothing.

"What an _awful_ woman," muttered Maudlin under his breath. "I can't think what your father is doing with _her_."

Astoria gritted her teeth. This was it—the perfect moment to bring up Élise. She had wanted to do it all day and now, prompted by fate, the topic was finally at hand. Perhaps Maudlin wouldn't even be angry with her? With any luck, Mafalda's general aura of strictness would be enough to turn the tide in Astoria's favor. Maudlin loathed criticism. It was not in his nature to defend anyone who had ever offered him any. And he was _so_ careless—wasn't it possible that he would forgive the presence of a veela in his home if he thought Astoria had a good reason for it?

"She's his mistress," admitted Astoria quietly, giving a gaggle of well-dressed wizards a wide berth.

"Hah!" burst Maudlin joylessly. "You're kidding! George is still a young man, isn't he? He could certainly do better."

George was not, strictly, a _young_ man, but Astoria understood what Maudlin meant by this. George was very buoyant and he had the kind of face that seemed likely to disagree with anyone who would call him 'sir'. For as long as Astoria could remember he had been greeted with equal familiarity by high ranking ministry clients and card playing vagabonds alike. Anybody who could _not_ see him for what he really was—a mostly good-natured materialist, equally fond of pleasure and the evasion of serious duty—was simply not in on the joke.

 _Mafalda_ , Astoria realized uncomfortably, was exactly the sort of person who would never be able to understand this. Despite being educated and well-off, the poor woman _probably_ didn't know what she had gotten herself into. She was million times more clever than Lady MacLaggen, but the only thing Mafalda's respectability and self-worth did was blind her. She behaved too well to understand what a scoundrel George was and there was every chance she would end up humiliated because of it.

 _But what if that same sense of high self-regard eventually lead her to believe that she was too good to be somebody's mistress?_

Suppose Maflada encouraged George to leave his wife—Daphne's mother—because she was too proud to be a long-term adulterer? Astoria's blood ran cold. She could picture exactly the sort of things Mafalda would say _: "I know it will be hard at first, but it will be better this way. We'll never be happy as long as we're lying."_

George was a coward, but he was also as moldable as clay. Mafalda had more grit than Beatrice. Wasn't it possible that George would find it easier in the long run to divorce his legal wife than to extract himself from the scandal surrounding an affair with a well-appointed and clever Ministry worker?

This, Astoria reflected dully, was the real threat, wasn't it? She did not especially care about Mafalda or her father's propensity for foolish love affairs—the _real_ sting from that wound had faded years ago. But Daphne, no matter how estranged, was still her sister and Astoria cared about _her_ a great deal. They shared blood through their father—he was the last real tie binding them together. If George left Beatrice, Astoria would lose Daphne completely and she wasn't going to let that happen. Not yet at least. Her family was already small enough: Mafalda had to _go_.

Her plan with Élise was faulty from the ground up, but it did serve one intelligent purpose: if executed properly, it was very likely to free George from Mafalda's clutches. Astoria would simply have to explain the matter to Maudlin carefully—without mentioning the role her personal vendetta had played in the proceedings. Perhaps he would even be able to _help_ her?

"I agree," Astoria persisted carefully, preparing to unleash hell.

"There you are!"

Astoria's nerves zinged. She had been on the verge of revealing her secret at last and the unexpected interruption left her reeling. For a jazzy second, the ground beneath her feet wobbled unstably—more like the deck of a ship than a lawn.

The voice belonged to Luc and he was not alone: Élise tittered along behind him, intermittently clutching at his sleeves and eating fruit out of a wide fingerbowl of champagne. Appalled by what she had _almost_ just said, Astoria felt herself harden.

"Impressive turnout," sniffed Luc, his eyes never really leaving Élise, "even if it is looking a bit _foreign_ out here."

Élise laughed beautifully and ate another strawberry. Her tongue lapped at the inside of her fingers, searching for leftover juices. Something about the motion struck Astoria as being slightly profane.

"We've just gotten away from Cassandra's dowager aunt," Luc continued, smirking conspiratorially. "The poor woman's been withering away on the wrong side of eighty for a million years already. Only I reckon she got into the sherry tonight because she doesn't want to talk about anything but her runaway husband."

"I thought she was going to sob!" cried Élise. "Some people should really _never_ drink."

"Runaway husband?" wondered Astoria, curious despite herself. Cassandra had certainly never mentioned a missing uncle before.

"Yes. Of course, that was years ago. The sixties probably. She swears that she had no idea it was coming," Luc went on, cracking himself up. "Says he 'wasn't the type of bloke who liked to talk about feelings'. I swear—only the English!"

It took a good deal of restraint for Astoria to resist glancing at Élise, a runaway lover in the making.

"Hmm?" grunted Maudlin, paying them no mind. He was still looking at the house, perhaps thinking about what little of Astoria's story she _had_ managed to tell him.

"I thought Cassandra's aunt lived in Paris?" Astoria wondered out loud, prolonging the conversation on purpose. Anything to distract Élise before she turned around to investigate what Maudlin was staring at. George was still very visible in the front hall. Why wasn't he _mingling_?

"She _does_ ," shrugged Luc, pausing so that Élise could feed him a sticky-fingered berry, "but most of Cassandra's people are from your side of the channel, aren't they? I can only assume that's where she gets her _puritanical_ streak from."

Astoria raised an eyebrow. _T _his__ was quite a change of heart. Luc was the only one of Maudlin's friends who had ever shown a real weakness for Cassandra—a fact that she had been quick to notice at Hogwarts. Even now, Astoria could recall several instances of his following Cassandra about without having to strain herself; it seemed to _her_ that he had spent the entire winter resisting Cassandra's many rebuffs with the patience of a loyal lapdog.

Élise leaned into Luc's side, amused by the extent of her victory over him. Noticing Astoria's expression, her gaze fluttered still higher, mocking the night air with her veela-bright eyes. Then, her gaze wandered past Maudlin's shoulder and fastened upon the foyer doorway.

Astoria held her breath. Was there any chance that Élise hadn't seen George?

 _No, none at all._

"Excuse me!" snapped Élise, straightening up rather suddenly. There was nothing 'carefree' left over in her expression now. Luc reached out to reclaim her, but she slapped his fingers.

Casting Astoria a furious look, she slipped away and melted into the thicket of gentleman standing near the steps.

"What a night!" sighed Luc contentedly, apparently incapable of guessing that anything was amiss. "I know you disapprove, Maudlin, but she really is something else. It's as though she sees straight through exteriors and gets right to the sensual heart of things!"

Astoria's palms were sweating; all of her focus was now bent toward the house. She snorted without meaning to.

" _What_?" demanded Luc. He was _still_ massaging the sting from Élise's slap out of his fingers, but he was also love-struck and in no mood to be disagreed with.

"Nothing," Astoria replied shortly. A mixture of natural dislike and pity prevented her from saying anything more.

"I suppose _you_ think you know better?" he sneered.

Obviously he considered Élise's brand of seductive femininity far superior to Astoria's and, although the insinuation was weak, it stung. Astoria's eyelashes fluttered. Perhaps he was right? After all, if she had _any_ capacity for ensnarement, Malfoy probably would not be avoiding her like the plague…

"What's this?" asked Maudlin, returning to the conversation at hand.

"I was just talking about Élise," ventured Luc, still glaring at Astoria.

"Oh, _that_ ," murmured Maudlin dispassionately. "Yes, yes. You're an accomplished debaucher, Luc, we're all very pleased for you."

" _Whatever_ ," huffed Luc.

He was _not_ being complimented and he knew it—he was being patronized for his interest in a girl that his friends viewed as being only _partly_ human.

"Did you want a drink, Astoria?" continued Maudlin, finally remembering why they had stepped outside in the first place.

Astoria glanced toward the bar. A small but intricate pyramid of crystal glasses glistened in the multi-colored light of the floating fairy lanterns. Behind it, Lucius Malfoy had Aston's full attention.

"No," swore Astoria gravely, unwilling to pass Lucius in order to obtain one.

"My father doesn't have to see you pour anything," declared Maudlin, plainly mistaking the cause of her fear. "Hang on, I'll fetch it for you."

Astoria watched him strike out across the lawn, privately wishing that he wouldn't leave her alone with Luc. A silence descended. At last, making up her mind to say something or else run the risk of appearing inexplicably hostile, Astoria turned around.

Her face smashed into Draco Malfoy's shoulder with enough force to make her teeth rattle.

In a flash, Astoria's mind sputtered and spun into overdrive. Where was Luc? He had been behind her just a moment ago, but now nowhere to be seen. Perhaps had he wandered off to collect Élise? And what was Malfoy _doing_? Astoria hadn't even heard the warning scuffle of his footsteps approaching…

"Sorry!" she laughed falsely, sucking in a shivery breath.

Overcompensating for his awkwardness, Draco recoiled. His reaction was swift, but the outline of his grimace lingered like a ghost. Stiff with embarrassment and desperate to escape his sneer, Astoria turned left. By some curse of fate, Malfoy did the same.

Realizing that she was going to accidentally run into him all over again, Astoria squeezed her eyes shut and bit her tongue. _Hell. Hell on earth._

Draco's limbs stiffened beneath her outstretched fingers. She felt a gust of breath against her cheek. Then, without warning, something warm and baffling brushed against her ear.

What _was_ that? Jesus, had he just _kissed_ her face?

Astoria shocked back a step.

Yes, he _had_. There was no way around it. Even stranger still, he obviously had not meant to. His expression was frozen and his posture was something straight out of a stage-comedy: stock still, head bent forward, one fist tightened.

Astoria struggled to understand; Malfoy did not help her at all. Then, a weird flash of anger passed across his features and his weird stillness broke. His eyes twitched toward her face and he glared provokingly.

He obviously wanted her to say something, but Astoria didn't have the heart to guess _what_.

"Right," muttered Draco angrily, giving the strange impression that he was talking more to himself than to her. He straightened up and grabbed her arm, angling her toward the bushes.

Astoria teetered. She was wearing heels and she was not especially used to being man-handled. What was he _doing_?

"Maudlin's coming back," she stuttered nervously.

"So what?" sneered Malfoy, but his tone belied a hint of underlying insecurity at the mention of Maudlin's name.

Right on cue: "Astoria!" cried a voice in the garden. " _Astoria!_ ASTORIA! _ASTORIA!"_

Seeing nothing else for it, Astoria pulled away from Draco before he could push her behind the hedge.

 _"What_ , Maudlin?" she snapped intolerantly, leaning sideways. " _Stop_ hollering my name! I'm _right here_."

"Ah! So you are!" exclaimed Maudlin jauntily. Using her voice as a guide, he burst through a gap in the crowd, clutching two glasses and smiling pompously.

Malfoy's presence faded. He pulled his shoulders back, keen to slip away. Astoria's fingers contracted involuntarily, betraying a weird instinct to stop him.

 _You shouldn't have said anything. You finally had him on his own..._

"Malfoy! I haven't seen you all night!" Maudlin exclaimed, passing Astoria her drink: too dark, not enough ice... "What are you two doing back here? Admiring the view?"

" _What_ view?" scoffed Draco insolently.

"I suppose I _meant_ the view from the courtyard," corrected Maudlin, affecting his own brand of passive-aggressive primness.

"We're not _in_ the courtyard," Draco sneered, gesturing toward the towering hedgerow with a pointed snap of his hand.

"Perhaps _you_ should go there," suggested Maudlin stiffly, taken aback by Draco's aggression.

Without so much as a consulting sniff, Astoria downed the unappealing drink in her clammy hand. The contents of the glass curdled in her empty stomach immediately, like vinegar slopped on top of cream: a tangible unpleasantness that perfectly matched her current mood.

Draco eyelashes fluttered punishingly but, warily fixated on Astoria's empty glass, he closed his mouth.

Sensing victory, Maudlin stopped bristling. "Dinner should have been served half an hour ago," he muttered, consulting his watch. "Father must be _orating_."

Thankful for the distraction, Astoria looked about for Aston. He had relocated again, but even now he seemed to be making a push toward the veranda. From a distance, he appeared as proud and willful as always, but his flummoxed speed was enough to bear noticing.

So much motion was unusual. Aston rarely made a _pointed_ effort to please; his easy confidence and generous wit typically ensured that people gravitated toward _him._ Perhaps he had been caught unprepared? It was certainly possible that he had underestimated the evening's head count. Astoria had never seen so many familiar adult faces outside a Ministry function before, let alone on foreign soil…

Not that Astoria imaged he was displeased by the extra company. Aston certainly _enjoyed_ guests, but his flair for the unusual—not so _very_ different from his theatrical son's—meant that he also liked to entertain on a grand scale. This was a night of unusually high ranking company, even for his household. Sure enough, it was soon announced that the veranda could no longer accommodate their party. Dinner was being moved to the beach.

Maudlin, who had guessed this eventuality from the outset (for a boy with no observational skills, he certainly _did_ know his father) made quick work of rounding up Alec. Doing his best to appear as helpful as possible, he hustled his friends down the walk with the impatience of a prison warden.

"If we don't move now, father will have to pry Mr. Bonaccord out of the house," he whispered, giving Astoria a rude nudge forward with his thumb. "I can't tell you how many times father's had a garden party only to pop inside and find Bonaccord nosing about in his study. The man's a snake."

"Mr. Bonaccord is _here_?" wondered Astoria, perking up at this news. "I suppose that means he got your letter about the museum board?"

"Yes, of course he did," continued Maudlin thanklessly, hardly pausing for breath. "And let me just say, his _own_ letter was nothing short of stunning! A display of sycophantic lyricism! I _have_ to show it to you later, don't let me forget! He responded to all of my points with the most emphatic apologies known to man—you'll _gag_!"

Astoria grit her teeth. _She_ had written the original note in its entirety. Therefore, it was more than a little irritating to hear Maudlin refer to any of the points it contained as his own. Thankfully, the desire to complain was soon driven out of her thoughts at the bottom of the path.

The abandoned veranda was nothing in comparison to the romantic seascape that awaited them. Rallying at the last minute, Aston's elves had directed their attention toward a flat, well-mowed patch of lawn. There was no shortage of glow; the same lanterns that floated along the garden walk also rested gently along the rafters of a hastily constructed and blindingly white canvas tent. A long table had been assembled and wine was already chilled. The sound of waves crashing—middle tide and rising—was a better soundtrack than any symphony. If Aston was trying to impress, he had picked the right place to do so casually and irrefutably.

"What do you think?" demanded Aston, breaking away from his company to rest a hand on Astoria and Maudlin's shoulders.

"Splendid!" ventured Maudlin quickly. "You have an eye for detail, father."

"If I had planned any of it, I would agree with you," snorted Aston pleasantly. "What I _really_ have is the precaution of an excellent view. Don't forget."

"It's very Fitzgerald," observed Astoria, dimly aware that the drink she had upended had gone straight to her head. "I'm sure it isn't quite want you wanted, but you're pleased with it."

Aston blinked. This was a more philosophical answer than he had been expecting, but Astoria had no doubt that her observation pleased him. He shot her a soft, conspiratorial smile before slipping away to rejoin his guests.

There were too many people to avoid a formal seating arrangement so their small group split up at the tent. Fearing the worst, Astoria wandered about until she found her name tag and, sure enough, her placement was nearly as bad as it had been the night before. She was sitting directly in the middle of the table, across from Cassandra and her ghastly dowager aunt. To her surprise, however, Maudlin was positioned beside her.

"There's Bonaccord! Over there!" hissed Maudlin, elbowing her hard in the side. "He's _smiling_ at me. Lord, he's so drunk he makes it look like a benediction! _Look_!"

Astoria glanced in the direction of Maudlin's furiously bobbing head, but her gaze fell short and landed on Narcissa Malfoy. She looked as lovely and refined as she always did: lightly made up, effortlessly tailored. Although pale and slim, she certainly had the gift of _presence_. She never came across as unsubstantial. She was too aware of her self-worth to be overlooked.

 _Actually_ , no, that _wasn't_ the secret at all. In truth, Narcissa was really quite _tall_ _._ _Every inch she lacked on her waist she more than made up for in height._ Astoria had never noticed that before...

Taking advantage of the fact that Maudlin was pouring them both wine, Astoria swiveled in her seat to peer at Lucius. Her eyes found him near the head of the table and there could be no mistaking his _own_ towering advantage. He was a fist taller than Aston, comfortably surpassing six feet by several inches.

 _How fitting,_ thought Astoria tensely, slumping back into her chair. Try as she might, she could not seem to work the Malfoys' marital height similarity into a proper joke. Boxy McLaggen and his Buxum Wife were easy enough: _they_ came together like two halves of the same punchline. But Narcissa and her husband made creating a parody feel like _work_.

"I _know_ ," hissed Maudlin, misreading her thoughts. "Father stuck Bonaccord as far away from him as possible. It's no wonder the poor sod was so quick to write me back! He's afraid of being permanently exiled from the guest list..."

Astoria was not listening. She already knew this—in truth, she had made several loose allusions to the loss of Aston's favor in her letter. That the same idea was only just now occurring to Maudlin did nothing but bore her. She nodded along when it seemed appropriate and prompted him when necessary, but her thoughts were utterly elsewhere.

In fact, they were almost entirely fixated on Narcissa. This was not because Narcissa was doing anything wrong—far from it, actually—but because her presence made Astoria nervous. It was not long before she began to wish that Aston had seated Narcissa a little closer to her husband, who nearly always stole the stage with his charismatic talk and imperious eye contact.

Denied Lucius's buffering effect, Astoria found herself studying Narcissa's mannerisms over the brim of her wine glass almost obsessively. She did her best to pull them apart for meaning, but it was tricky, because the key to Narcissa's character seemed to be hidden in what she did _not_ do.

For a start, she did not pick at _or_ fuss over herself: Narcissa was the rare sort of woman who dressed herself so carefully that she had no fear of her clothing betraying her. When she wasn't eating, her hands were at rest. At first this seemed like nothing more than good posture, but the more Astoria watched, the more it began to seem like a novelty.

Unlike the vast majority of Aston's guests, Narcissa was not visibly drunk. By rationing her movements, she created a dignified barrier between herself and her giddier conversation partners. It was a subtle trick, but an artful one.

There was something _more_ , too—something Astoria could not quite put her finger on.

It was easy enough to tell when Narcissa was displeased—it happened several times before the fish course—but she never sacrificed politeness enough to actually say so. Instead, Narcissa seemed to convey her distaste in a way that people reacted to subconsciously: using a mixture of sudden withdrawals and foreboding silences. It was clear that her attitude encouraged the best from her audience, but it also seemed to glory in the humiliation of any persons who had the audacity to prove themselves ridiculous in front of her. Astoria could not help but admire this, but she also irrationally _resented_ it.

After all, her own father was as drunk and loud as the best of them, but at least he was making people _laugh_. Surely there was something to be said for contributing to an atmosphere?

Only Astoria could not really convince herself of this. The truth of the matter was that Narcissa's behavior highlighted and exaggerated her own poor taste—to say nothing of the bawdy, dramatic tastes of both her father _and_ her aunt.

Furthermore, unlike Lucius, who savored the same kind of complete triumph that Belladonna usually angled for, Narcissa seemed perfectly content to be privately amused. Perhaps _that_ was the trait that Astoria found so hard to comprehend _or_ like? The distance? The lack of displayed frustration?

Draco tended to copy his father in all of the most important ways, but in _this_ he shared a trait with his mother: when he was annoyed he snapped and sneered, but when he was feeling resentful—an emotion that Astoria, perhaps wrongfully, associated with a more feminine nature—he certainly knew how to affect a subtle and _punishing_ silence.

 _What a pissy trait,_ Astoria seethed, looking away.

And really, what good had it ever done Draco? It had certainly never encouraged _her_ to like him any better. Perhaps Narcissa's time would have been better spent teaching her child not to make fun of other children? Had it ever occurred to her to check _that_ little case of bad taste? No, of course it hadn't. For a woman with impeccable manners, she had certainly raised a beast of a son!

Incredibly, Astoria found herself rallying behind this notion, justifying the extent of her discomfort by encouraging her righteous anger. She raised her glass for another sip of the white table wine and discovered that it was empty.

Narcissa would certainly have no trouble ripping Astoria apart. It would be the easiest thing in the world—she was _made_ of ludicrous edges and wild contradictions.

But what Narcissa didn't know was that Astoria had slept with her son and _that_ was a trump card, wasn't it? Mrs. Malfoy might have an admirable amount of self-possession, but Astoria would always have the weird, disjointed memory of Draco's whimper-ey orgasm in her arsenal. If fate ever conspired to turn Narcissa Malfoy against her—and there was a real chance now that it _would_ —Astoria would _not_ be deprived the satisfaction of the last word.

For a moment, a swell of vindictive pride carried Astoria past better reason, but then the feeling gave way to an awkward disgust.

 _What are you doing?_

Astoria barely knew Narcissa; she had no logical reason at all for disliking her. _Why_ was she berating and plotting against a woman who barely knew her name? Narcissa had done nothing to provoke her—she had merely behaved with tact with and abstained from drunkenness. Surely those were still _good_ things.

 _Draco_ , sighed the relentless inner voice that had dogged her all evening. _It's Draco. Isn't it usually?_

Astoria bristled, faintly uncomfortable with this realization.

 _No matter how much sway you have over him, you'll never mean more than his mother,_ the little voice insisted. _You've been mentally punishing the woman who birthed him because you are too competitive and controlling to live._

Recoiling, Astoria forced herself to look anywhere but at Mrs. Malfoy. The very sight of her—so recently irritating—was now horrific beyond measure.

Lord, she _was_ on a one way path to self-loathing, wasn't she?

Astoria strained her eyes in the direction of the tent's canvas ceiling, boring into it with such intensity that she almost expected the fabric to give way and reveal stars. _Sick and twisted. Twisted and sick!_

Her mind wasn't the only twisted thing—the seam running along the canvas ceiling was as crooked as her thoughts. Only it wasn't. Her _vision_ was swaying.

 _Y _ou're drunk.__

Astoria pushed her empty wine glass away and seized her water goblet. Contrary to her prior experiences with intoxication—whirlwinds of giddiness and regrettable jokes—she found herself in a state of unbearable melancholy.

"Mind your elbows!" whispered Cassandra's aunt rather loudly. She tapped her knife against Cassandra's plate.

Astoria turned to watch, struck by the bizarre notion that Cassandra was _also_ suffering her way through dinner in an isolated bubble.

This aunt—a tall and droopy-faced woman of impressive age—was a perfect stranger. It was _not_ the same relative that Astoria had met at Cassandra's farewell dinner. This woman was taller, more hunched-over, less foreboding; a _chaperone_ , not a master.

Rigid with embarrassment, Cassandra yanked both of her arms off the table. Feeling Astoria's soporific gaze on the side of her face, she turned and sneered. " _What_?"

"Cassandra!" corrected the Dowager, positively trembling with mortification. "You are a guest! Mind your attitude!"

Seething with unspoken anger, Cassandra leaned back in her seat and glared insolently.

"But you look familiar," squinted the aunt.

It took Astoria a moment to realize that this comment was addressed to her.

"She's in the sisterhood," snapped Cassandra, clearly eager to minimize how much time Astoria spent speaking with her aunt. Perhaps she was afraid that the subject of her runaway uncle would reemerge? "The English chapter. You _don't_ know her—you probably just saw her in the group photograph."

"Hmm," the aunt murmured, still squinting at Astoria's face. "Lestrange?"

Before Astoria could even respond, the woman produced a monocle from her Victorian-looking pockets. She leaned forward to peer, disturbing the butter dish with her elbow.

"Christ!" Cassandra snapped. "Yes, Auntie, I suppose so. Put that thing away!"

Astoria had witnessed several of Cassandra's livid explosions, but she had never seen her look so wrathful in public.

 _Good_ , thought Astoria smugly. _Suffer. Lord knows I am._

"Cassandra, why not ask _her_ for help?"

"Because I don't _need_ help!" hissed Casandra. "It's nothing to do with _her_ , Auntie! She's practically a _junior_ member!"

"Nonsense!" the old woman cried. "It's your duty as Chapter President to put out a final newsletter and you've no one to help you!"

Astoria blinked, catching just enough of the gist of their conversation to know that she wanted no part of what Cassandra's aunt was suggesting.

It was hardly Astoria's fault that Cassandra had left the country without finishing up her duties for the Sisterhood. The last thing she wanted was to be commissioned to fill out paperwork while she was on vacation.

"But just think—"

" _Enough_!" Cassandra snapped, tugging her aunt's monocle right out of her gloved hand.

Eager to avoid further insistence on behalf of the Eastern Star, Astoria got up and followed several gentleman toward the path. Dinner was winding down; two or three grey haired fellows were already smoking cigars near the rosebushes.

The evening was still balmy, but the breeze coming off the ocean was enough to make Astoria wrap her arms around her chest. She leaned against a hedge and peered back into the fairy-lit tent. Maudlin was still drinking wine and talking to anyone who would listen—he did not seem to realize that she had left. Meanwhile, a little boy that Astoria did not recognize—no older than eight—was running along the beach in utter ecstasy. He had foreign look about him: not a Mendel, a Yaxley, or a Rowle. The sound of his effortless joy made her eyes prickle.

Eager to avoid crying, she looked up at the sky, tracing the line where the stars began to fade into the boiled orange smog of the casinos and restaurants on the other side of the hill. So many sources of amusement in the world; she felt as far away from them all as the moon.

She had done her best to avoid looking at Draco all night, but now, partially obscured by shadow, she finally allowed herself to glance at him. To her immense surprise, he was already leaning about in his seat, peering sideways in the direction of the garden that Astoria had just slipped off into. She registered this observation with excitement—he was obviously keeping track of her. Then, too late, she realized that he might actually succeed in spotting her.

Before she could make up her mind whether to slip off into the hedges or not, Astoria's eyes met his. Jolting forcibly, she looked away.

 _Walk up the path_ , thought Astoria at once. _If he follows you, you have permission to like him_ — _just a little bit._

This was nonsense bargaining; ultimately it meant nothing. But she _needed_ a sense of purpose _,_ so she turned about and resolutely began to retrace the limestone path.

What did it even matter? Her business with Draco was maddeningly unfinished, but it was also _awkward_. Perhaps she didn't even want to talk to him? _You don't want this,_ she found herself thinking. _You don't want any of it._

The sound of somebody else crunching up the walk behind her was enough to send her heart slamming into her throat, anyway. A hand closed around her arm; she twisted and feigned surprise at the sight of Draco's white blonde head.

Elation mixed with terror in her chest.

"What's happening?" Astoria muttered, regretting the wine now more than ever.

"I'm _trying_ to have a word with you," hissed Malfoy, sounding much angrier than she'd expected.

He wheeled her about until they were on the other side of a low Hawthorne hedge. This garden bordered a courtyard—it was eerily open and silent, but the stones gave every impression of encouraging echoes.

"What do you want?" Astoria mumbled, tongue-thick with indecision. A part of her literally wanted to throw herself on top of him, but another, equally powerful instinct seemed to be urging her to yank his hair out as punishment for causing her so _much_ inner turmoil.

" _What do_ _I_ _want_ _?"_ he repeated wrathfully. " _You've_ been twisting your fingers and staring at me all day! You've obviously got something to say, so _say_ it, Greengrass!"

Astoria blinked, taken aback. This was not what she had been expecting. Wasn't he the one chasing her? She had anticipated smugness from him; she had even fearfully predicted what the self-disgusted silence of his possible rejection would be like. _These_ were the outcomes she was prepared for. She had no idea what to do with trembling white fury. Not only was it unexpected, it was mortifying.

Draco was still holding her wrist, but his grasp was just a little too rough to be pleasant.

"You're hurting me," said Astoria, surprised by how emotionless her voice sounded.

Draco released her immediately. To his credit, the suggestion that he was behaving like a barbarian made him self-conscious. He flushed crimson.

"Fine!" he sneered nasally. "There. I'll never touch you again! You're _safe_."

Was he frustrated with himself for accidentally kissing her earlier? That was _nothing_ —no one had even seen him do it. Or did he think that it was Astoria's intention to reject _him_? Could that be the source of his hostility?

And that was what she was planning to do, wasn't it? She'd spent all morning plotting ways to keep him quiet, ways to remove herself without causing offense. Only now, after an evening of silence, it was very obvious that she did not want to send him away at all.

"I like it when you touch me," said Astoria quietly, figuring there was nothing else for it.

The effect of these words was immediate and perplexing. Draco's scowl slipped, but he did not seem to know what to do with his face. A haunting softness flickered just behind his features, held at bay by wariness. She had never seen him so still; only his eyes were moving. They were probing her sharply—drawn inward, terrified of a punch line.

"Yeah?" he sniffed, looking bizarrely stoic in the moonlight.

"I'll let it happen again if you don't make a show out of it," she admitted.

"Alright," he sniffed again, much too quickly.

Astoria blinked. Was that it? She had hoped the offer would appeal to him, but she'd expected him to taunt her a bit before admitting it—anything to save a little face. Was this _actually_ happening?

"You can't tell Maudlin," she whispered.

Draco's carefully neutral expression twisted and contracted. His nastiness returned and redoubled.

"Why's that?" he sneered.

"You _know_ why," Astoria scoffed.

She had just outright offered to sleep with him—was he _really_ going harp on about Maudlin? For that matter, why wasn't he reacting the way he should? Even _if_ he didn't fancy her enough to be flustered, from a purely hormonal standpoint, shouldn't he be a least a little bit excited?

"Yeah," scowled Malfoy, twitching his weight from foot to foot. "I expect I _do_."

"You've already had plenty of chances to say something to him and you _didn't_ ," countered Astoria.

"Only because I could tell _you_ wanted me to keep my mouth shut," hissed Draco. "Why _is_ that?"

His voice was beginning to take on a raw, throaty quality that Astoria recognized at once. It was not a tone that he tended to use when he was fully in control of his emotions; it was a harbinger of chaos.

"Because Maudlin's a winy brat!" Astoria burst, irrationally disappointed. "You _do_ realize he'd probably kick you out? Is _that_ what you want? What is _wrong_ with you?"

As if in answer to this question, Draco let out a deeply suspicious and very nasal snarl.

" _Why_ give him a reason to throw a fit?" Astoria sneered, absolutely baffled. "Is that what gets your rocks off?"

"Why not?" seethed Draco. "Afraid he'll stop hollering your name every time he gets drunk? I don't _need_ him—neither do you!"

Astoria pulled back warily. She had never known Draco to publicly humiliate himself on purpose. Furthermore, she was positive that he would rather _not_ tell Lucius that he was sleeping with Belladonna's niece, so what was happening here? Everything about her logic _ought_ to be appealing to him.

Did he _honestly_ think that she was secretly in love Maudlin? Astoria was so certain that she had never acted in way to support this idea that it was almost comical to consider.

Then again, Malfoy had a queer way of talking sometimes—as though he privately believed that most people associated love and loyalty with money. He obviously knew that real sentiment existed—he occasionally betrayed the fact that he had some of his own—but he clearly considered actual attachment to be a rarity. Seen in this brutal light, his paranoia made a kind of very sad sense.

It didn't matter if Astoria actually _liked_ Maudlin. Draco would always consider him a threat—because he was handsome, because he had known Astoria for a long time, but _primarily_ because he came from the same kind of extreme wealth that Draco relied on as an advantage.

Bottomless fortune had secured Draco a place on the Slytherin quidditch team and it had ensured his ability to take revenge against Hagrid, but it was of almost no use to him here. As long as there was another boy with an equal capacity for bribery stumbling around the grounds—a prettier _and_ stupider one at that—he would never truly be at ease.

He didn't care about lying to Maudlin—this _wasn't_ a moral issue—he was afraid that, by staying silent, he would be giving Astoria a chance to trade up behind his back. And the idea of being overlooked for Maudlin clearly pained him—he was physically cringing beneath his sneer. For just a second, his eyes seemed to implore her.

Astoria's hand twitched but she could not quite bring herself to touch him. Perhaps this was because his vulnerability had the opposite effect of what vulnerability strictly should: it seemed to lend his insecurity an aspect of something sinister. Even in the lantern-glow, Draco bore far too much resemblance to his father for Astoria to entirely dismiss the notion that he was potentially dangerous. Jealousy was always an ugly thing, but it manifested in Draco with a particular strength. His fear of betrayal was misplaced—Astoria did _not_ want Maudlin—but it _wasn't_ wholly unmerited, was it?

A voice of caution went off in Astoria's ear: _What are you doing? Stop this now._

Despite the fact that Astoria's pulse quickened whenever Draco entered a room, she knew that she could never _really_ allow herself to be with him. If she asked Draco to soften for her, to show her some kind of loyalty—the two emotions that he hoarded the most covetously within himself—she would be risking scorched earth when she eventually wronged him.

And somehow she would. In her heart of hearts, Astoria _already_ knew that she was bound to. In the end, it would not be Elise, or her father or any of the other victims on her long list of plots who would end up striking out against her. It would be Draco. _This_ was the plot that she would bungle.

 _Because you like him._ _You do. You're actually kind of obsessed with him_. __He's a wretched little bully and all wrong for you, but there it is.__

Astoria froze. She did not know what to do with this revelation. She did not feel soft or excited, or any of the other things that she knew that she was _supposed_ to feel. The truth did not make her braver. If anything, it finally achieved what five years of Draco's haughty bragging had failed to do: she was afraid of him at last.

A wild desire to run reached up and caught her by the throat. Astoria pushed away from the hedge, angling her body toward the garden. Maudlin was probably still in the tent. She could leave Draco here and rejoin him—she could forget all about this and spend the rest of the summer contentedly, never questioning her own self-worth…

Draco stepped sideways to cut her off, suddenly alarmed.

" _Wait_ —fuck! I mean, fine. I'll _do_ it," he sneered, frustrated and fumbling. "I don't even _care_. What does it matter? But if you think you can sneak around with me and then have-off with bloody _Mendel_ —"

Could she have predicted the cause of Draco's inner turmoil with more accuracy? No, not without actually reading his mind.

"I don't want anybody else," Astoria frowned.

She was staring at his coat buttons—not out of modestly, but in contemplation. It was true: she did not currently want anybody else as much as she wanted Malfoy. God, but wasn't that a humiliating revelation!

A single glance at Draco's face revealed that something had landed with a massive impact. He was soft, transfixed; he sniffed sharply, trying to recover himself.

 _I don't want anybody else._

Finally realizing how this sounded, Astoria experienced a belated rush of pure fire. It was perfectly true, but she would _never_ have said it if she had been thinking properly.

"I mean, if it's too much of a _bother_ then forget it," Astoria snapped, seized by an inexplicable impulse to backtrack. To refute any evidence that they were exclusive, that she wanted to be his girlfriend—that she cared at _all_.

"What do you mean?" sneered Draco regretfully.

Determined to be cruel, Astoria opened her mouth and lost her nerve. Draco's expression was already mostly a grimace and there was knot in her own throat.

"The idea of me with Maudlin bothers you?" she sniffed.

" _Obviously_ ," Draco scowled back twitchily.

Astoria sucked in a shaky breath. "Why?"

It was the most dangerous question she could have possibly asked— _this_ , above all other things, was the topic that she needed to avoid if she wanted to have her cake and eat it too. She didn't even want to hear the answer—she'd already known it for ages. Except she _did_ want to make him say it. She wanted to hear him admit it out loud. And then, ideally, she wanted him to forget that he'd told her.

Draco stared, torn between annoyance and self-consciousness. "You _know_ why," he sneered evasively.

"Not really, no," Astoria shrugged stubbornly.

"What do you want me to say?" he hissed, becoming slightly angry again.

"I don't know," Astoria relented.

"I'm in fucking Monaco, Astoria—I'm _supposed_ to be in Italy," he persisted, uncomfortably aware that he had missed the mark somewhere. "What do _you_ care, anyway?"

Astoria watched him fume. Nobody else ever reacted to her displeasure this way—indeed, it was a rare occasion that anybody else even noticed that she _had_ a problem. The idea that Malfoy was becoming stuffy and self-righteous because of _her_ was nothing less than a drug. She felt like a spoiled child and she secretly liked it.

"You want me to get sentimental?" he jeered, turning pink. His faced twitched into a very half-hearted sneer. "You'd _hate_ it. That sort of thing makes you itch—"

Astoria let out a disgruntled scoff and contemplated rejoining the party guests on the lime walk.

Worlds were failing him and he knew it. Draco ran an agitated hand through his hair and kissed her jaw; softly, stubbornly. Astoria closed her eyes, trying not to wonder if feelings really _did_ make her itch.

It was a strange sensation, just _letting_ Draco touch her. He waited to see how she would react; she could feel the baited hitch of his breath against her neck. His lips twitched toward her mouth.

It was altogether different than it had been the night before—less crazed, more conscious. She could feel his _awareness_ : of her body, her skin, her hair. Even her reaction to him was worth paying attention to.

Every atom of her being seemed to please him. Or at the very least fascinate him. So much so that his touch was nearly wary, almost apologetic. He coveted her, and he was conscious enough to know that she knew it now, too.

And he was right. It _was_ too soft—there _was_ too much feeling in it. It _did_ make her itch _._

Maudlin's voice was drawing near again. Astoria turned her head, breaking contact with Draco's mouth. She felt light-headed. Her heart was banging a little too hard, starved for oxygen.

"Find me later," she whispered quietly.

0o0

* * *

YOU GUYS. I've had the most disgusting cold. I'm so sorry this took so long. (Seriously, someone near my house must have unleashed a medieval plague of YORE. First it was a cold, then it was flu. Then it was a flu-cold. I HAD A FOLD.)

In any case, I know this was a bit of an introspective chapter—most of the action literally took place in Astoria's head over the course of about four hours. I get the feeling that some people love these sort of posts and other people loathe them, but this chapter FELT like the natural place for a turning point in the plot and I couldn't think of any way to use it without getting a little dreamy. (Essentially, the rest of the story doesn't make sense unless we know that Astoria _does_ like Draco, and I don't think her growing obsession with him has been fully dealt with.) I promise that we'll move out of Astoria's head a little and back into regular action in the next post, though—more than one day might even pass! WHO KNOWS?

As always, your reviews make my day!


	66. Lavender Crush

Chapter Sixty Six

Lavender Crush

* * *

0o0

"Let's go swimming!" declared Maudlin, who was by now drunk enough to leap thoughtlessly into the sea. "God I hate this crowd—two perfect strangers have already asked me what I'm doing next year. And can't you feel how _warm_ the breeze is?"

Luc tore himself away from Élise to hoot his consent, but Astoria (who could not pretend to be anything other than exhausted) glanced shiftily toward the house and offered no comment.

They were still in the garden. A delicate dew had descended, but it was offset by a draft of stiflingly hot air sweeping in over the hills. Bands of crickets hummed in the bushes: their sound struck Astoria as both melodious and calming. After an unduly stressful evening, she wanted nothing more than to crawl into bed and sleep like she had never slept before.

She was not _entirely_ alone in this feeling, either—the oldest and most responsible of Aston's guests were already popping up between the hedgerows like unexpected ghosts, retracing the path toward the waiting row of floos inside. But down in the cove, a continuing roar of sound indicated that the bulk of the party was still very active. _Too early to slip off to bed unnoticed..._

"Your beach is crawling with foreigners," snorted Alec. "I refuse to go skinny dipping in front of the British Ministry."

"Then let's cut around through the woods," supplied Maudlin, fishing for a solution. "There's water access there—Astoria knows, I took her earlier."

"Or _do_ I...?" murmured Alec, perhaps rethinking the hilarity of a full moon.

"Wait!" startled Astoria. "To that _cave_ you mean? It's at the bottom of a thirty foot drop."

"There's a _path_ ," scoffed Maudlin. "We managed it."

"A _goat_ path," Astoria insisted, still eyeing the house. "It's dark now. Someone will fall."

Draco snorted his approval, clearly keen to avoid a brush with death, but Astoria resisted the urge to glance at him for further support. She did not know if she could trust her expression and a part of her was very afraid that Maudlin would notice.

"What were you two doing alone in a _cave_?" demanded Luc. " _Treasure_ hunting?"

He turned to squint at Astoria suspiciously. She met his gaze. If he was uncomfortable with the notion of Maudlin spending time alone with girls so soon after his break up, she wanted to head him off at the pass, but Maudlin beat her to the punch before she could get so much as a word in.

" _Nothing_ ," he sneered, too fast and too defensively. "What did _you_ do today? We never even saw you."

"Yeah, well," leered Luc, running a finger under Élise's chin, "no apologies for _that_."

Despite all the attention she was receiving, Élise's mind was clearly elsewhere. With her eyes cast toward the beach, she did not even seem to notice that Luc was touching her until his fiddling fingers finally forced her to face him. Swift as lightning, she knocked his hand away.

"There's nobody inside the house," Élise raised a pale wrist and motioned toward the shadowy second floor, "let's go _there_."

Astoria peered warily up at the row of darkened windows. She did not know if Élise's motivation for slipping away stemmed from a desire to avoid George (a reasonable plot), or to corner Astoria alone for a conference, but the latter was something she wished to avoid.

"I _suppose_ ," Maudlin relented, plainly disappointed. "Maybe one of the balconies..."

It was decided. They reentered the house behind several other guests and then waited about in the hall for Maudlin, who promptly slipped off to search for an elf with an unopened bottle of wine.

The hot breeze continued to gutter the drapes like candle fire. Astoria sat down on the bottom step of the main staircase and stared off at the nearest row of fireplaces. Several departing guests had formed a small congregation there. An old witch was reading the dates on a tapestry; a portly gentleman—Mr. Bonaccord, in fact—was fiddling suspiciously with a timepiece on the mantle. Even as Astoria watched, he picked the clock up and eyed the stamp on the back approvingly.

 _A robber in the making_ , she thought, trying not to smirk.

Closer to the terrace, Cassandra was still arguing with her elderly aunt. More curious to know what _they_ were bickering about than she was to witness a theft, Astoria ceased spying on Bonaccord and leaned around Alec's legs to eavesdrop.

"...none of your business!" she heard Cassandra hiss. "...because I _already_ have it in hand... there's no one... I most certainly will _not_!"

 _Interesting_.

For the most part, Cassandra behaved to the very letter of correctness in public. Her aunt—close to eighty and obviously something of an eccentric—would have to work hard to find a reason to police her niece's social tact. So what on Earth were they be fighting about? Astoria's mind sparked with dramatic possibilities.

"Got it!" announced Maudlin, reappearing though one of the closed-off living rooms. "Everybody move before Cassandra spots us."

Astoria got to her feet, privately certain that Cassandra already _had_ spotted them, but felt no inclination to seek out their company.

The marble halls above glowed like bone marrow in the moonlight and faded into spooky, black obscurity on either end. After hours of listening to surf pound the beach, the immense silence of vaulted stone struck Astoria as slightly chilly and foreboding. She clung to the group until they emerged through a set of doors onto the balcony they had eaten lunch on earlier. Heat—briefly held at bay by the house's shuttered vastness—returned with all of the intensity of a child's fever.

The view here was familiar, but significantly altered by nightfall: stars pricked the sky overhead and the hazy orange lights of Monte Carlo glowed invitingly across the bay. One sniff of the air (scented with a mixture of brine and night jasmine) was enough to make Astoria understand why Maudlin had not wanted to sit indoors: it was too stifling inside—there was no sense of _movement_.

Her eyes immediately shot toward the expanse of ocean that stretched along the horizon. Something about the sight made her feel looser, less tired. For a long minute, she allowed herself to think about nothing but the vast expanse of water in front of her—of all the foreign lands that it touched. The sight made her feel introspective: she knew that she did not want to be cooped up at home with Belladonna, but the possibility of _otherness_ —of somewhere else—was just appealing enough to convince her that she didn't really want to be _here_ , either.

Still, there was no point in being a malcontent. She steeled herself, trying to embrace what she had while she had it. So what if Malfoy was an ass? Nobody _here_ thought so. And so what if Maudlin was a petulant brat? Surely she hadn't expected _that_ much to change?

Only one worry refused to be ignored: in the the bright moonlight, it was impossible _not_ to notice Élise's hostile glare.

"Who was that woman—the one Cassandra came with?" Astoria asked, determined to prevent a public confrontation if she could.

"The aunt?" scoffed Maudlin. "That's Merrily Rowle. Nut case. Emilie once told me that she paints birds in the bath."

"Birds _taking_ a bath?" wondered Luc.

"No, _from_ the bath," Maudlin clarified, going in for a swig off his wine bottle. "She spends half of her time in bathwater these days. Apparently she _used_ to be quite the socialite. Posed for all the magazines, you know. But then her husband ran off and she stopped making sense altogether. Somebody _taste_ this—am I drinking a Malbec?"

Astoria mulled this new information over quietly, trying to factor Merrily's supposed madness into the argument that she had witnessed. The pieces stubbornly refused to join together.

"She married a Rowle?" Astoria pressed.

"No," frowned Maudlin. "She must have switched back to her maiden name. Merrily's husband was a foreigner. Russian maybe? I don't know, it was after the war..."

Élise seized the bottle from Maudlin and tilted it to her lips.

"It's a Merlot," she scoffed imperiously, "not a _Malbec_. I'd bet anything. You obviously have no taste for red wine."

"Because _you_ do?" muttered Maudlin resentfully, jerking the bottle back. "Veela _trash_..."

A curious moment of silence descended: a bubble of tension so fragile that a single word could and _would_ pop it. Élise glared furiously. Maudlin squinted resentfully. For fifteen glorious seconds, Astoria stared at the rippling surface of the ocean, trying to transmute every ounce of logic that she possessed into a single, cunning act.

If she wanted to take control of the moment before Élise did, _now_ was the time. Élise should not be allowed to strike first—Astoria knew that. She was too impulsive, too dangerous to take the lead. The likelihood of an incriminating retort seemed immense. Besides, Élise wanted a word alone with Astoria anyway—it was written all over her spun-sugar face. Perhaps the smartest thing was just to isolate her? _Fight with her in private and then slip off to bed._

"You're an ass, Maudlin, you know that?" sneered Astoria, reclaiming her feet.

With an uncomfortable shiver of astonishment, Maudlin straightened up.

"Sorry?" he scoffed, positive that he must have misunderstood her.

"I need a bathroom," Astoria persisted, ignoring the looks of mingled surprise coming from every direction. " _Élise_?"

"You're taking _her_ side?" spluttered Maudlin. "Astoria! You're joking—"

"Steady on!" cracked Luc, looking extremely bothered. "You're the one running your mouth! Nobody _else_ is tossing insults around..."

"It's _my_ house!" roared Maudlin.

White lipped and seething, Élise got up and followed Astoria through the patio doors.

"That simpering, puffed-up _weasel_!" she hissed, grabbing Astoria by the arm.

"Come on!" Astoria pleaded, using her own body as leverage to yank Élise away from the door. They stumbled along the hallway, tumbling in the familiar direction of their guest wing.

Élise pulled up short and snarled, "Get off!"

"Not until _you_ remember where you are!" Astoria snapped. "Stop instigating!"

"Why?" Élise jeered nastily. "Am I making you _nervous_? You don't like watching your favorite boy dance?"

"You _are_ making me nervous—this isn't a game!" Astoria hissed through her teeth. "Do you understand what I will _do_ to you if you fuck this up? You will _not_ be welcome here!"

Élise wrenched away. Her silvery hair spilled across her face like moon-dazzled milk. For a long moment, they glared hatefully at each other; sussing one another up, searching for weaknesses.

"Do your _worst_ ," Élise sneered, squaring her shoulders. "Luc is half in love with me already and the truth will only make you look bad."

"I'll tell my father how desperate you are," Astoria hissed, certain that, for whatever reason, _this_ was Élise's Achilles heel. "I'm his daughter—he'll forgive me, but he'll think you're pathetic!"

"An he'll think _you're_ a psychopath!" Élise bit back, plainly nettled and failing to disguise it. "George doesn't care, anyway! He hasn't talked to me _once_ —all he does is fuss over that wrinkled secretary he brought with him. _Fucking ingrate_ —I'm nineteen years old and on the cover of half his wife's fashion magazines! Who does he think he _is_?"

"Of course he cares!" insisted Astoria desperately, finally beginning to understand that Élise was as much a loaded weapon as she was a woman. "He's done nothing but watch you all night!"

Élise eyelashes fluttered uncertainly and her expression flickered; a visual manifestation of vanity and spite fighting for supremacy over logic.

"Prove it!" she spat, positively shuddering.

Astoria clicked her teeth and cast her eyes upward, thinking hard. If only her father had _said_ something—a direct quote that she could spin to her advantage now. Only he hadn't—he'd simply frowned unhappily and watched Élise flirt with Luc from a distance.

The sound of muffled voices and the heavy thunk of the patio door slamming open brought Astoria's eyes back down to ground-level. Alec, Luc and Maudlin were coming in, still arguing bitterly. But Draco was already standing against the inside of the door, quietly watching them.

With a jolt, Astoria wondered how long he had been in the hall. _Too_ long, if his sly, calculating expression was anything to go by.

"Astoria!" hollered Maudlin, whipping a formidable hand up in front of Luc's face to silence him. "If you want to say goodnight to your father, now is the time! Unless you'd rather _not_ —I'll just tell him you're in the loo with a half-breed and couldn't be bothered!"

Swearing under her breath, Astoria peeled away from Élise and surged down the stairs.

"I'm right!" pleaded Maudlin as she stormed past him. "You _know_ I am!"

Downstairs, a good deal of the company had trickled up the path from the beach. Most were wandering the garden, where they'd begun the process of resuscitating the bar. Cassandra was gone, but both Alistair and Roland Yaxley were still lingering on the grass, chatting leisurely with Aston and half a dozen British citizens—including Lucius Malfoy.

As eager to avoid their colony of villainy as she was to outstrip Maudlin, Astoria skirted the hedgerows and cast a poorly focused eye about for her father. Her limbs were shaking—partly because confrontation had a tendency to rattle her, but mostly because the situation with Élise had officially spiraled out of her control. Something had to be done and _soon_. If that meant provoking George—harassing or otherwise _tricking_ him into action—Astoria suddenly felt herself very equal to the task.

"Father!" she exhaled warmly, finally spotting the shape of his eager face in the crowd. He was standing between a pair French-speaking twins—both of them male, vividly red-headed and no older than thirty.

"Darling!" effused George in rapid French, holding an arm out to her. "Have you met the Flamels? They're the latest dynamic duo to take a crack at the French Ministry building—both architects. You've got these gentleman to thank for this year's Minister's ball. Albert and Louis—have either of you met my daughter, Astoria?"

Albert and Louis both turned to flash Astoria a set of identical, toothy grins.

Astoria shook hands, marveling at the sharpness of the twins' features. With hair the color of ripe strawberries and eyes darker than coffee, they more closely resembled story-book imps than professional men. She waited impatiently for them to lose interest in her—nodding along thoughtlessly. Then, at the first opportunity, she pounced.

"Where's Mafalda gone?" she whispered in English, leaning further into the radius of her father's cologne. "Has she left?"

Having only one mistress to contend with would certainly make the task of leading her father down the proverbial garden path that much easier. Astoria silently prayed that Mafalda had returned to town.

"Refreshing her drink, I expect," answered George. "Have you lost Maudlin? I thought I saw him near the terrace."

He spoke with an accented lilt that Astoria had not heard in ages. Despite the fact that he was always a little uncomfortable in Aston's presence, her father had nevertheless been born and educated in France. He was very much in his natural element—if she wanted to rattle him, she would have to be direct.

"He's with Luc," insisted Astoria, adding somewhat spitefully, "and _Élise_."

"Oh?" quirked George. His hand twitched toward his mouth for an instinctive sip of gin. "Yes, _her_. That must have been somewhat shocking for you. I hope you weren't upset..."

Astoria blinked, trying to decide if her father was alluding to his affair with Élise—and the corresponding switch of partners that had taken place afterwards—out loud in front of strangers. She had no idea if Albert and Louis spoke English but, considering their government contracts, she strongly suspected they _might_.

"Shocked?" Astoria repeated dubiously, tasting the word in her mouth. _No_ , she wasn't shocked.

"I only mean to say that you must not have expected—ah!" he broke off, his eyes alighting on something over Astoria's shoulder. "Malfoy!"

Astoria pivoted, bracing herself for the ominous impact of Lucius's Malfoy's shadow, but it was only Draco and he was alone.

"Sir," drawled Draco smoothly.

Astoria waited, certain he would carry on elsewhere, but he came to a leisurely stop. _This_ was his destination? And had he just called her father 'Sir'? A new and unexpected fear began to blossom in her chest. Draco never went out of his way to speak to George—and he could barely be counted on to address his _professors_ politely, let alone itinerant lawyers. What was he doing?

"We were just discussing your new school friends," continued George, regaining composure with an affable—almost foolish—ease. "What a load of excitement they must have caused on the grounds this year!"

"Not especially," Draco drawled. "Hogwarts has a way familiarizing ridiculous things. Nothing short of a murder excites us anymore."

Astoria's suspicions sharpened. She cocked her head sideways, no longer even pretending to look elsewhere. Draco was _smiling_ and his tone _,_ though still characteristically snide, had an edge of indulgence to it that he usually reserved for the likes of Lucius or Cornelius Fudge.

"Weren't you with Maudlin?" snapped Astoria tensely, desperate to make him go away. "He's probably looking for you."

"Yeah," confirmed Draco, raising an suggestive eyebrow, "but we were disturbing Millefeuille and that Veela girl of his."

At the mention of Élise, a bolt of stubborn and discomforted emotion flashed across George's placid features.

"Oh, the model?" her father ventured, speaking into his glass, which he had subconsciously raised again. "What a _funny_ pair they make."

"You think so?" remarked Draco, curling his lip. "Seems about right to me."

 _Merlin._ He had heard Astoria upstairs in the hall, he _must_ have. He knew that she was doing everything in her power to reroute her Father's attention onto Élise and he had come to stop her.

"Nonsense!" scoffed George. "That type of girl is never particular about anything—that's just their way. _Anyone_ could have her..."

"If _you_ say so," drawled Draco, still employing his weird, unctuous tone of camaraderie, "but _I'd_ say she's spoken for."

"The poor boy has no idea what he's gotten himself into!" snapped George, endeavoring to look sympathetic.

"He's young, isn't he?" shrugged Draco. "I suppose she fancies him. There's my father—I should say goodnight."

Having dropped his final bomb, Malfoy turned on his heel toward the house. Astoria watched him go, half-blinded by shock. She had known that Draco would be against her plan with Élise from the start, but even Astoria—with her boundless capacity for suspicion—had not expected him to interfere so _casually_. Hadn't he _just_ assured her that he would play nice less than an hour ago?

A weird thunder filled her ears. Without any idea what she was saying, she bid goodbye to George and darted out across the lawn, following Draco's blond head across the terrace and into the hall. She did not stop for anything, did not even bother to think about the fact that Lucius was still outside with Aston—it didn't matter where Draco was actually going as long as she caught up with him in time.

 _"Malfoy!"_ she hissed.

The sound of her voice—a raw, throaty rasp—was enough to visibly startle several guests, but Draco simply came to a stop near the foot of the stairs.

"You're _welcome_ ," he scoffed lazily.

"Excuse me _?_ " Astoria snarled, too irritated to even court the possibility of confusion. "What was _that_?"

Malfoy paused, taken aback. His eyes flicked toward her livid face. Something close to irritation clouded his features.

"That was _me_ doing _you_ a favor," he said slowly.

" _You_ don't get to decide that!" Astoria hissed. She poked him in the chest and, though smaller, still managed to force him up several steps.

"What, are you mad that I beat you to the punch?" scoffed Draco, plainly perplexed. "I _knew_ there was something up with that Veela! I said so two days ago..."

"So what!" snapped Astoria. "That doesn't give you an excuse to spy on me in the halls!"

" _C_ ute," sneered Draco, properly annoyed now. "Really _nice_ , Greengrass. I just did more for you in one conversation than you've managed in a week—but go ahead and yell at me."

"I'm trying to get my father to shag the bloody Veela— _not_ send her a wedding present!" Astoria snarled furiously. "You've messed everything up!"

"Really?" sneered Draco, but his expression was very much at odds with his tone. In fact, he was radiating triumphant skepticism. " _Think_ about it. What will frustrate him more—an ex- _whatever_ with a thing for him _,_ or a half-breed that he can't have because he lost her to a boy half his age?"

Astoria paused, teetering on the verge of a breakdown.

"Your way wouldn't have worked," he persisted stubbornly. "I'd have told you that if you'd just admitted what you were up to in the first place!"

"No," Astoria mumbled, still afraid of being tricked, "now he'll think she's unavailable..."

"Good!" snapped Draco. "He doesn't actually like her—who would? It's all ego, Greengrass. You were just bothering him. Thanks to me, the stupid git will probably toss his hat back in the ring!"

Astoria ran a shaky hand through her hair. An aftermath of fear was still coursing through her veins in unwanted, shaky circuits. She no longer felt betrayed, but she was by no means thankful. She _did_ feel something, though—something distinct that she could not seem to name. _Exposed_ perhaps?

"I still don't get _why_ ," Draco needled, plainly frustrated. "My father won't fire him in the middle of a case. He's no fan of half-breeds, but he _tolerates_ things. He'll look the other way unless it's obvious."

Astoria sniffed. Draco hesitated—his eyes darted toward the busy hall below. Angling for privacy, he gestured with his head and slouched up a few more steps.

"George would have to bring her out in public before it mattered," he continued bluntly, "and he won't do that, because your father is an idiot, but he's not _dumb._ "

" I know!" Astoria snapped. "I don't care about about having him fired."

"What're you _doing_ then?" sneered Draco.

"I don't know!" burst Astoria, shivering feverishly. "Maybe I just wanted to watch him suffer! Did you ever think of _that_?"

Astoria could tell by the look on his face that he hadn't—in fact, _she_ could hardly even believe she'd said it. Far more disconcerting than Draco's surprise, however, was his thorough lack of immediate disgust. Far from disturbed, he almost looked relived.

Draco leaned back against the banister, bright-eyed and flushed. "Huh," he finally scoffed.

Astoria clenched her fists, positively quivering with guilt. After all, he _should_ be disgusted—any _good_ person would be. And yet, Astoria could not quite escape the satisfaction of having _finally_ been heard. How many times had she tried to tell Maudlin about Élise?

"I'm a mess," Astoria choked wetly. "You _know_ that, right?"

Draco's semi-startled gaze caught hers.

"Not _really_ ," he muttered awkwardly. "You could be worse."

The fact that his first instinct was to exonerate her—to somehow excuse her—only made her feel more wretched.

"How?" Astoria half cried.

Draco let out a hiss and thought for a second, plainly afraid that she would start weeping. With a surrendering shrug, he confessed, " _I_ don't love my grandparents."

If he was trying to make her feel better, this was _not_ the right way to go about it.

"That's different!" Astoria spluttered. But, almost irresistibly, she added, "Seriously?"

"I mean, I barely knew my father's parents—they died years ago," explained Draco. "But my mother's mother—Druella? _Nothing_. And my great-grandmother on that side? Even less."

He drew a hand through the air, as if to indicate a nullifying dash across the top-most branches of his family tree.

Astoria could not think of a single thing to say.

"Wait," she finally choked, "did you _know_ her, though?"

"My great-grandmother? Yeah. We used to see her a few times a month," confirmed Draco heartlessly. "I skipped her funeral to go flying with Crabbe."

Astoria's eyes widened and her lip quivered, fighting back either a sob or a nervous laugh; she no longer knew which.

"Of course, mother thought I was too young for funerals, anyway," Draco went on, narrowing his eyes, "but even if she hadn't, I would've tried to get out of it."

" _Why_?" mouthed Astoria. "What did they _do_ to you?"

"Nothing," admitted Draco, repressing a look of remembered distaste. "But my great grandmother was old. So old that just _looking_ at her made people think about death. And Druella—haven't you _ever_ met her? She's loud and incurably bossy. _My_ parents were never loud, you know—the woman is frankly startling."

"Aren't you Druella's only grandson?" wondered Astoria, uncomfortably aware of how one-sided Draco's sentiment must be.

Unless her understanding of history was very much mistaken, Narcissa's sister Bellatrix had been imprisoned before she could have children. There was another sibling, too—the corners of her mind even supplied a name: _Andromeda_ —who'd been school friends with Belladonna, but her aunt never talked about her. In fact, no one did, leaving Astoria to assume that the third sister probably hadn't married well—or else had forged ties with muggles.

Draco made a careless motion of assent.

"For God's sake!" she hissed. "Your grandmother probably thinks you're the second coming!"

"Yeah," shrugged Draco. "Probably."

Astoria swore.

"Like _you_ have a leg to stand on," he sneered. "You'll never catch _me_ torturing my father for fun!"

"Fine, but _my_ thing is because my father neglects me—" Astoria protested, eager to make him understand, "— _your_ thing is just sociopathic!"

"Yeah?" drawled Draco shamelessly. "You send _your_ grandmother a letter a week, do you? Go to tea with her every Saturday?"

"Shut up!" Astoria stomped her foot. "Does your _mother_ know that you hate Druella?"

" _No_ ," jolted Draco, finally betraying an appropriate sense of alarm. "Why the hell would I tell my mother?"

"Why would you tell _me_?" Astoria persisted, flabbergasted. "Don't tell _anybody_ that—it's mental!"

A suspicious scuffle suddenly echoed off the vaulted ceiling; loud and uncomfortably close, shattering any illusion of privacy.

Startled, Astoria peered down the length of the hall. Near the far end, she could just make out the conjoined shapes Luc of Élise, who were making out so enthusiastically that their limbs appeared to be joined together.

"Élise's room is right next to mine," Astoria muttered, suddenly very tired again. "She walked in on me in the bath this morning. I'll probably have to listen to them all night."

The entire scenario was her own fault, of course, but the fact that she was responsible for it did almost nothing to curb her disgust.

"Stay with _me_ ," suggested Draco evenly. "I'm on the other side of the hall."

His expression was composed, but it flickered with underlying suggestion—and maybe even a little defiance. There was obviously a test hidden in his offer: he wanted to know how far he was allowed to push.

Astoria glanced nervously down the staircase. She surveyed the crowd; no Aston, no Maudlin. Neither of them had seen her follow Draco up the steps.

 _Terrible idea. Like handing an open purse to a pick-pocket. Go to bed._

Ignoring her own advice, Astoria nodded her consent and motioned for him to guide her.

Wordlessly, Draco stepped aside and followed her up the staircase. She could feel his silent presence behind her; oddly warm and a little bit furtive. They located his door and Astoria went inside first. The room was very dark, but she could still make out the outlines of furniture; the illuminated glow of the window behind the curtains, a writing desk. Maudlin had assigned him a _much_ nicer room.

 _What does that mean?_ Astoria asked herself, peering about with an unusually focused eye. _Why would he feel the need to show off?_

Silence rang in her ears. She knew she ought to turn and face Draco, but she couldn't quite bring herself to do it. The power balance she had grown accustomed to was off. They were in _his_ room, and she'd let him take her there. Factually speaking, Draco was bigger and probably also stronger than she was. Astoria _wasn't_ afraid—but that didn't entirely prevent her from feeling vulnerable.

She tilted her head and was surprised to discover that he was already standing very close behind her. Astoria's shoulder brushed against his chest. She tried to turn toward him, but he was already on her. They stumbled a little. When Astoria's fingers found the front of his shirt, she heard his breath hitch.

He was obviously excited—flushed and, from what she could tell, already hard—almost a compliment, really, considering the fact that he had barely touched her. But he was also noticeably tense. Their last encounter had happened in a spur of the moment rush. It hadn't required (or indeed inspired) any artful prowess on his part. Whatever _this_ was—calmer, more intentional and private—it carried all of the awkward pressure of a redemption round. She suddenly understood that he wasn't inherently graceless. He was _anxious_ , in every sense of the word.

For some reason, this realization resonated like thunder inside her chest. She softened with an unexpected surge of sympathy. No matter how messy the first time had been, she felt no desire to make him suffer for it.

His mouth found hers; they fumbled backwards, a tangle of desperate lips and clutching hands.

"Do you hate _me_?" she whispered, breaking away. "Am I like your grandmother?"

She knew the question was a perverse one before it even left her lips, but she could not quite stop herself from asking it.

" _What_?" panted Draco sharply. She could almost hear the disturbed frown in his tone. "That's not— _no..._ "

"Okay," Astoria muttered, letting him kiss her again.

The back of her legs bumped against his bed. Astoria instinctively struggled to kick off her shoes, but Malfoy was so intent on pushing her body onto the blankets that she fell back with one wedged sandal still on. He came down after her, knocking something off the dresser.

Astoria's eyes picked out the fallen object on the floor. It was a watch. Irresistibly, her mind conjured up a visual of Maudlin pacing ( _Time?_ TIME!) and she began to wonder if Draco was in the middle of a silent boycott on clocks. The thought amused her so much that she giggled.

"What?" muttered Draco, this time self consciously.

"Nothing," Astoria breathed into his shoulder.

Her fingers fumbled with his dinner coat. Draco's knee was between her legs, one hand indenting the mattress above her head, the other struggling with her tights. His body was slightly heavy, reassuring, attentive. The more Astoria rubbed against him, the less she thought. Period. She hooked her calf around his hip and helped him peel the stockings off. They came down, knickers and all. Her bare skin tingled in the chilly air.

At about the same time, something in her mind seemed to slip; a sticky gear, long out of sync, finally knocked into place.

 _Fuck it._

She pushed herself up onto her hands and pulled down her dress, wriggling the garment toward her hips. Ironically, despite the fact that she and Draco had already slept together, this was still the first time she'd ever stripped in front of him. The realization made her feel awkward. She tried to push the dress toward her ankles, but Draco's body was in the way. She settled for dragging his shirt out of his pants and halfway over his head.

Still half blinded by his collar, Draco hitched himself up so that her legs were around his waist again. She finished tugging his shirt off. The sudden sensation of his skin against the inside of her thighs went straight to her head, dialing back the volume of her mind to an easily ignored whine.

The volume of the outside world was less obliging: she could hear voices in the hallway again—Maudlin this time. He was still shouting. _God, why was he always shouting?_

Astoria turned her head, distracted, praying that he was on his way to bed. What if he decided to search for her—or, even worse, for _Draco?_ He would certainly be in for an unpleasant surprise if he barged in on them...

" _Don't_ ," Draco murmured. She could feel his fingers on the side of her neck, her jaw. "It doesn't matter—"

Astoria squirmed, unpleasantly reminded of Luc's attempt to reclaim Élise's attention in the garden earlier that evening. She thought about the Veela-swift brutality of Élise's slap. Why didn't anybody ever pay attention to the right person?

"Just _look_ at me..." muttered Draco, his breath gusting against her ear. Then, lower still: " _Please_."

Astoria tilted her face toward the sound of his voice. Maudlin continued to rant—but, for the first time ever, she gave herself permission to ignore him.

0o0

A yellow haze was just beginning to permeate her eyelashes when Astoria awoke the next morning. It was already warm and the air in the room was heavy with the scent of greenery; she caught a whiff of lavender on the pillowcase. For a long moment, she lay absolutely still, taking stock of every sensation: the soft, unfamiliar languor of her body; the steady and reassuring rhythm of Draco's breathing; her slow, sleepy pulse.

It was the first morning since leaving home that she had not woken up in a state of panic. Everything—from her heart to her bones—thanked her for it.

Gradually, however, reality began to permeate her daze: she was _not_ in her own room and, for an aspiring alcoholic, Maudlin was a very early riser. They had fought the night before, which meant that there was already a good chance he was on the prowl. If she wanted to avoid lying, she really ought to return before he discovered that she was missing...

But Draco's arm was still draped across her chest, his fingers curled against her collar bone. As subtly as possible, Astoria began to feel around between the sheets, trying to locate her dress with her feet.

"Hmm?" Draco grunted, stirring slightly.

"Shh," Astoria whispered. "It's morning. I should go."

Spotting her dress, she reached over his sleeping body and tugged it into her grasp.

Still only half-conscious, Draco rolled over. Sensing her shadow, he reached blindly upward and trailed his hand through her hair. The touch was so soft that Astoria froze to watch him out of the corner of her eye. He thumbed the end of a loose lock and pressed it against his arm, perhaps comparing the color against his own. For two people with similar skin tones, they really did have wildly different shades of hair: Draco's particular white-blond reflected the light like fresh snow—Astoria's matte brown simply absorbed it.

Draco sucked in a satisfied, nasal shudder and his eyelids fluttered shut. His grip slackened and dropped away.

A frisson of joy and horror shocked Astoria into stillness. The gesture was clearly thoughtless—he wasn't even awake—but it still startled her. Friends did not stroke each other's hair that way. Even Theodore—the person she trusted the most in the world—wouldn't have done it. In a strange way, his simple hair fondling struck her as being more intimate than their shared nudity.

Astoria slid gracelessly out of bed and pulled her dress over her head. She turned to squint at Draco's sleepy outline. His eyes were still closed, his brow slightly creased—the only indication that he was aware of anything at all.

 _He's not your boyfriend,_ Astoria forced herself to remember. _It only seems that way right now. Think about how you'll feel when you go home again._

 _Home again._ The idea was like a gut-punch; it nearly knocked the breath out of her. _What are you going to do when you go home?_ She couldn't hide this forever—she was lucky she'd managed it so far.

Astoria squeezed her eyes shut and shook her head. Later. She would figure it all out later, when she _had_ to. She always did...

The hall outside his room was marginally brighter and cooler. It restored her to a sense of calm. Eager to avoid being seen, Astoria hoisted her sandals in her hands and jogged the length of purple carpet.

Her bedroom was exactly as she had left it, only tidier. House Elves had straightened up her luggage and made her bed; the sheets lay turned down, untouched and inviting. Suddenly a little afraid that this was the sort of thing the Mendel servants might report back to Aston, Astoria took the precaution of rumpling her pillows before ducking into the bathroom.

She unloaded both shoes under the tub (her clumsy toss earning a gong-like clang) and bent over turn on the tap. An early breakfast suited her right down to the ground. She was already hungry and she wanted an opportunity to assess Maudlin's behavior before Draco arrived. So far, in almost every regard, her morning was proceeding without a hitch—a rather shocking streak of luck considering her recent track record.

"Is Miss planning to do something particular with her hair?" shrilled a squeaky voice behind her. "Because Lavender is bringing nothing but her combs and pins."

Astoria shot up straight, spraying a handful of water across the bath mat.

Several feet away, a frail and very frightened elf stood shivering in the shadow of the sink.

"Oh, Miss!" the tiny thing pleaded. "I is sorry! I is not meaning to scare you!"

"S'alright," Astoria grunted, privately afraid the elf might drown itself if she said otherwise. "I just wasn't expecting..."

"Lavender, Miss," the elf edged forward. "Master Maudlin is sending me. I is thinking you knew I was coming."

"No," Astoria frowned. "He didn't say anything."

A dark thought occurred to her.

"Did he ask you to watch me?" she demanded.

" _No_!" winced Lavender, wringing her apron with her fragile hands. "I is doing _hair_ , Miss! Just hair!"

"I—" Astoria paused, more confused than ever. "Are we going out today? Am I supposed to be dressing well?"

"He is only ordering me to help," answered Lavender primly. "He is not giving me any further instructions."

Seeing nothing else for it, Astoria waited for the elf to turn around and lay out her tools before quickly shedding her clothing and slipping into the bathwater. The soap was more familiar than than the one she'd used the day before—undoubtedly a brand that she had packed herself.

Several minutes and three savage brush pulls later, Astoria found herself fully dressed; her hair magically dry, trimmed and perfectly pinned. Lavender had made quick work of her and it was _still_ the best that she had looked in ages.

"Miss is wanting lipstick for color," Lavender warned, tucking combs and irons into her pockets. "You is not sleeping enough."

Astoria's focus in the mirror shifted away from her own reflection to study the elf. For all of her slightly affected mannerisms (she was rather snobbish for a house elf) Lavender appeared to be quite young. Her beaky face was thin and taunt—quite the opposite of Bonky, who prowled Belladonna's halls wearing nothing but a potato sack and a scarf of his own jowls.

"There you are!" cried Maudlin robustly, causing Astoria her second jolt before breakfast. "I've been looking for you!"

Astoria pivoted, instinctively raising a hand to protect the delicate knot of hair at the base of her neck.

"Does that door even _lock_?" she sighed. "It's like I can't have a _bath_ alone."

"Huh?" quirked Maudlin. " _Oh!_ " He turned to study the doorknob and shrugged.

Astoria drummed her fingers against the sink. A tiny _pop!_ near the radiator warned her that Lavender had vanished. They were alone.

"You sent your elf to dress me," accused Astoria. "Was I embarrassing you?"

"What?" demanded Maudlin, still distracted by the useless lock. "No, no! I just—I noticed that you didn't bring your aunt's. I thought you could use the help."

"I've _never_ traveled with my aunt's elf," insisted Astoria suspiciously. "And _you've_ never loaned me one."

" _Really_?" frowned Maudlin, bustling further into the room. "That mad! Well, in any case, you can have Lavender for now. She usually tends to my mother, but mother's spa prohibits personal staff. Something about 'embracing inner serenity through simplicity'."

He flashed a set of air quotes before checking the edge of the tub for moisture. His fingers came away damp, but he sat down anyway.

"You know, I'm not sure I caught the dates of your visit?" he continued. " _Draco_ leaves this weekend. And Lord knows how long Alec will stay..."

"Till the end of the month," supplied Astoria tartly.

"Well, that should be fine," gusted Maudlin nervously, pawing his hands on his pants. "Mother won't be back until August."

Astoria stared at him, baffled and just a little annoyed.

"You're mad at me," he finally sighed. "You have been all week and I don't know why."

Astoria bit back a reflexive desire to respond affirmatively: _'yes'._

"Because of the thing with the Veela and the wine?" she snorted. "Maudlin, we _both_ know you'll drink anything..."

"Just because I'll drink anything doesn't mean that I can't differentiate between the good and the bad!" Maudlin argued sharply. "In _any_ case, that's not the point! Merlin— it's like I can't see ten feet in front of my own face, Astoria. Half the time I can't separate my friends from the people who hate me. Everything is a blur!"

"That's because you've been drunk since Paris," she deflected.

" _Yeah_ ," Maudlin allowed, staring evasively at the wall behind her. "You know, you of all people should understand—you're high-strung. The next time you get drunk, try _staying_ that way. It's _marvelous_..."

He tapered off, looking very withdrawn and glum.

" _Maudlin_ ," Astoria began.

"I'm not _trying_ to annoy you," he persisted quietly, finally meeting her eye. "I don't _want_ to make you unhappy. I've just been _so_..." He paused, struggling for the right words.

This time it was Astoria who couldn't quite look at _him_. If she was being honest with herself, his drunkenness—although undoubtedly aggravating—was very much a scapegoat. The real problem was that Astoria had done nothing but deceive him since arriving. She'd lied to him about Élise, she'd lied to him about Draco—hell, she'd even lied to him about her wardrobe. And here she was, liable to _keep on_ doing so for the foreseeable future. Her anger—if it could even be called that—was actually little more than misplaced guilt.

"It's _fine_ ," she whispered, surprised to hear her voice crack. "I'm not angry."

Maudlin's shoulders sagged with relief. He seemed to be on the edge of saying something else when a second loud _pop!_ near the door drew his attention. Astoria turned to look as well. House Elves rarely ever made noise unless they were expected...

"What?" called Maudlin, failing to disguise the hard edge of his annoyance.

It was Lavender.

"Pardon," she squeaked, "but Miss is having a visitor."

"Really?" scoffed Maudlin incredulously. He shot a look at Astoria over his shoulder. " _Who_?"

"A Miss Cassandra Rowle," intoned Lavender. "I is telling her to wait in the library."

"Are you _kidding_ me?" sneered Maudlin, bounding to his feet. "Is there some kind of _solstice_ happening today? Why does nobody ever warn me?"

Lavender fixed Maudlin with a stern, almost insolent look. Then, having done her duty, she rather hilariously Disapparated without a word.

"I'm going to like _her_ ," Astoria smirked.

"Yeah?" snapped Maudlin. "Don't get _too_ attached. I might still have to kill her off to give Rowle a convincing elf funeral!"

"For Merlin's sake _,"_ muttered Astoria, bending toward the mirror for one last look. "Are you coming?"

"Fuck no! Have at it—" Maudlin burst, raising both hands in surrender, "—she's _all_ yours!"

0o0

Astoria found Cassandra waiting for her on a sofa in the first floor library. Dwarfed by the nearest table's giant bouquet of tea roses and dressed in a pale blue skirt-suit, she looked more prim and fox-like than ever. Behind her, the drapes had all been pulled back, revealing a surprising—but symbolically fitting—stripe of purple storm clouds in the distance. Meanwhile, in the foreground, a silver tea service glistened invitingly and a brown package, roughly the size of a human infant, rested on Cassandra's lap.

She looked up when Astoria entered, already glaring as though she wished the earth would swallow her whole.

"What's that?" Astoria demanded rudely, gesturing toward the suspicious package. "It can't be a bomb—the elves wouldn't have let you in if it was ticking."

"Hah!" projected Cassandra brightly, her brown eyes shining in a way that made Astoria's stomach churn. "It's for you!."

She tossed the heavy manila envelope—for that was what it was—onto the table, where it landed like a stone, rattling the china and loosening several of the tea rose's petals.

"Alright," Astoria twitched, " _funny_. Why don't you cut to the chase and tell me what's in it? You're obviously here because of it and I want to know where the ax is going to fall."

"Oh my _God_ ," moaned Casandra. "Right on you, if you don't shut up! Don't you realize that you never stop _talking_?"

"Sort of a funny sentiment from someone who came all this way to see me," Astoria snapped, approaching the table. An arrangement of muffins, pasty, and mini quiches abutted a fanned out display of fashion and business periodicals. None of it appealed to her while Cassandra was present.

"They're donation forms," explained Cassandra at last, bringing a teacup to her lips. "For the Sisters of the Eastern Star."

Astoria sloshed two fingers of tea into a cup and tossed it back like a shot.

"What's that got to do with me?" she sniffed stubbornly, eager to get on to her proper breakfast in a different room.

"You're still a member aren't you?" returned Cassandra slowly, adopting a very condescending drawl. _"_ And _I'm_ still president until the end of the summer—so like it or not, I'm calling on you for help."

"Ask Emilie," Astoria sniped. "I'm on vacation."

"Emilie's in Paris," hissed Cassandra, reaching her limit. "I'm _here_ , so you'll just have to do."

"While we're on that subject, why _are_ you here?" demanded Astoria insolently. "Why not go to Paris? Or London? Or wherever _else_ your family has a house and leave me alone!"

"It's not my place to tell my great aunt where she should or shouldn't summer!" Cassandra snapped, the tremor of her irritation no longer even superficially disguised.

A silence descended. This was a load of crock and they both knew it. Cassandra was in Monaco because Roland Yaxley was in Monaco—end of story. For a moment, the truth of Cassandra's embarrassingly hopeful motive hung in the air between them like a lightning-rod.

"You don't even _want_ my help," huffed Astoria, relying on nothing but fast conjecture. "Your great aunt put you up to it because she's a mad as a hatter!"

In the blink of an eye, Cassandra stiffened. The effect would have been one of bloodless rage if only she hadn't gone red in the face at the exact same moment.

"Who told you that?" she demanded, her voice low and rigidly controlled.

A rumble of fear warned Astoria to cover her bases.

"Nobody _told_ me," she lied. "The woman wore a pince-nez and a pair of opera gloves to the beach!"

Cassandra's eyelashes fluttered and Astoria braced herself, privately certain that the time for a cat fight had finally come. But then, without warning, Cassandra slumped back against the couch and let out a long, defeated breath.

"Alright," she allowed regretfully, eyes still flickering. "Fine."

The sudden humanization of Cassandra's features was unnerving. Astoria knew all about mad aunts—they were a bread and butter staple in her own home. She began to feel her first pangs of regret.

"But since you've worked it all out for yourself, you must _also_ realize that I'm not leaving here until you take that envelope and agree to a schedule," concluded Cassandra crisply, finishing off her tea.

"Donation letters?" Astoria finally relented. "I don't even know what you want me to do with them. Keep track of the money?"

"Spoken like a true amateur bookie!" laughed Casandra coldly. "Wouldn't _that_ be fitting? No, I want you to write thank you letters. One for each benefactor, ideally personalized—but don't get imaginative. I hate to think what your idea of flattery looks like."

"There's got to be a hundred forms in there!" Astoria protested hotly. "You expect me to write a different note for each?"

"Use magic," Cassandra shrugged. She put her empty tea cup down, stood up and trod on Astoria's foot— _hard_ and very much on purpose.

"I can't use magic!" Astoria snapped, stifling a well-merited grimace even as her foot ached. "I'm underage."

Cassandra already knew this, but she _still_ managed to force her wicked grin into a polite, apologetic smile.

"Then I suppose you'll be doing them by hand." She paused and frowned. "You _can_ spell, can't you?"

"Alright, enough!" Astoria hissed. "You handle the letters—it'll take me four days to do what you could get done in ten minutes. Give me something else to do."

" _Hmm_ ," Cassandra mused, running her hand over the display of magazines beside the untouched breakfast tray (apparently neither of them were comfortable enough to eat). " _No_. They're mostly English families—I'm sure they'll appreciate a native Sister's signature."

She flipped open the thickest periodical and began to scan the index. Astoria looked on in wonder. What was she _doing_ —checking up on the fall line? Couldn't she do that at home? Emilie might be in Paris, but surely there was someone _else_ more suited to the task perusing the news with her?

"They've printed the pictures from the minister's ball," Cassandra continued distractedly, ignoring Astoria's glower. "I don't know why I even bother looking—they _never_ mention me..."

 _Then don't_ , thought Astoria savagely.

"Here, see!" she flourished the first two-page spread in Astoria's direction. "Not a single picture of me, but _three_ of Luc's Veela girl. Absolutely disgraceful..."

Against her better judgement, Astoria inclined her head to have a better look. She recognized the navy carpet and the golden filaments at once—Draco had bled all over them. As for Élise, she appeared just as magnificent in print as she did in life; an impossible confluence of fluid motion and moon-struck lighting. Without meaning to, Cassandra and Astoria both snorted in unison.

Cassandra scowled at this bit of shared synergy and turned another page. After only a cursory scan of the photographs, she let out a second sound of bitter irritation. This time Astoria did not join her.

"Classic!" snapped Cassandra, tapping the offending page so hard that she indented the paper with her perfectly rounded fingernail. "You left your _own_ country less than a week ago, and there you _bloody_ well are!"

She was correct. There, in the middle-most photograph, cushioned between Maudlin's and Draco's masked faces, stood Astoria's photographic image.

Astoria was almost too stunned to retort. Appearing in a fashion magazine was something of a shallow childhood dream. Even now, in Cassandra's stepping radius, she could not prevent a flush of shameless satisfaction from mounting her cheeks. It wasn't even a bad picture! Her mask concealed the fact that she had been drinking and her robes were a vision—flaring like blood in the metallic cast of so much candlelight. But the longer she looked, the more Astoria's triumph faded to uneasiness.

Perhaps the old saying was true: a picture really _was_ worth a thousand words and this one was speaking volumes. On the right, Maudlin appeared to be sneaking a sip of champagne over and over again in miniature. Draco, bored and contemptuous, stood at a hovering angle behind Astoria's body; his tiny photographic eyes darted compulsively toward _her_ tiny photographic face. And Astoria—although the camera did not show it—was plainly fixated on the picture gallery. _Exactly where Élise had spent the bulk of her evening..._

"I'm between Maudlin and Draco," Astoria finally ventured, eager to shove the magazine out of sight. "That's the only reason my photograph was used."

"I see that," snapped Cassandra. Bending the page at an angle, she read the caption out loud, " _On the left: Maudlin Mendel and unknown date (Lestrange?)._ "

"He wasn't even my date," Astoria protested, knowing it wouldn't help. "The writer just _assumed_ I was."

The peaceful magic holding Cassandra in place finally broke. She dropped the magazine, scooped up the folder full of receipts and slapped them into Astoria's hands on her way out.

0o0

* * *

Ok, first things first: let's address updates! I know I've been very off-schedule lately—but honestly, up until the end of May, I was working a weird side job with super irregular hours. I haven't lost any interest in this story, but I don't handle constantly shifting sleep patterns well and it's hard to find the energy to write when I'm exhausted! Thankfully, I'm back at my normal summer job now (with mostly consistent, _day-time_ hours) and I'm very optimistic about being able post more often. Secondly (and very much on the same note) I also want to come right out and say that this story will never be abandoned without warning. I can tell the long periods between updates makes some of you very nervous. BUT, barring my untimely demise, an update will always come.

ALSO, on a slightly more technical note, it's probably also worth pointing out that chapters that take place during the summer or over a beak usually take longer to create—probably because they more closely resemble original fiction. The HP books provide a very helpful timeline of events, but when the characters leave Hogwarts, I'm forced to rely mostly on my own plot contrivances and settings. Ideally, everybody will be back at school within a few chapters (and my posting will be back on a twice monthly schedule).

Until then: #Dracodoesn'tlovehisgrandmother.

As always, reviews are just the best. I read and treasure them all! I'm going to be very busy this upcoming week (I have seven days off so I'm going on a mini-holiday!) but I'll make time to come back and give this chapter a second edit (I impulsively uploaded knowing how much moving around I'll be doing). Seriously, though, if anyone has any questions they're dying to ask, now is the time! The flip-side of vacation is that I'll be extremely reachable 'till next weekend!


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